The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard - Elmore Leonard [171]
“You don’t look that old.”
“Older’n you. I’m almost thirty-one.”
“Were you an officer?”
“No, ma’am. Sergeant.”
“You’re going home to your folks?”
“Yes, ma’am. My dad has a place near Banderas.”
“They’ll be glad to see you.”
Mitchell half turned as Hyatt said, “How do we know you’re from Whipple?”
“I just told you I was.”
“What proof you got?”
“I don’t have to show you anything.”
Hyatt’s hand hung close to his holster. “You don’t think so, huh?”
“Look,” Mitchell said. “Why don’t you quit standing on your nerves.”
“Let’s see your proof,” Hyatt said.
Mitchell glanced at the woman. “You ought to keep him locked up.”
The woman half smiled. “Do you have discharge papers?”
Mitchell’s hand slipped into his open coat and patted his shirt pocket. “Right here.”
“Why don’t you show him?” the woman said. “So we’ll have a little peace.”
MITCHELL SHOOK his head. “It’s a matter of principle now.” A matter of principle. And a matter of twelve years someone telling you what to do. You can take it when you’re being paid to take it. But this one isn’t paying, Mitchell thought. Take that handgun off him and bend it over his head? No, just get out. You don’t have any business here.
The woman said, “Men are always talking about principle, or honor.”
“Well, I’m through talking about it tonight,” Mitchell said. He handed the empty cup to her. “Much obliged. I’m moving on now.” She looked at him, but said nothing.
He saw her eyes shift suddenly.
Behind you!
It snapped in his mind and he heard the movement and he wheeled, bringing up his arms, throwing himself low at Hyatt who was almost on top of him. His shoulder slammed into Hyatt’s knees and he drove forward as the pistol barrel came down against his spine. His arms clamped Hyatt’s legs and he came up suddenly, His boots digging into the sand, throwing Hyatt’s legs over his shoulder. Hyatt landed on his back, rolling over almost as he struck the ground, frantically reaching for the revolver knocked from his hand, almost touching it as Mitchell dropped on top of him.
They rolled in the sand, Hyatt’s fingers tearing through Mitchell’s shirt, clawing at his throat. Mitchell’s hand found the revolver. He threw it spinning across the sand and his fist came back to slam against Hyatt’s face. He pushed himself free, rolling, rising to his feet, and as Hyatt came up he swung hard against his jaw. Hyatt staggered. He started to go down and Mitchell hit him again, holding him momentarily with his left hand as his right clubbed into the upturned face. Hyatt’s head snapped back and he went down.
Mitchell turned to the woman. He was breathing heavily and his left hand was pressed to the small of his back. “Are you married to him?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not really.”
Mitchell hesitated. If he turned away he’d never see this woman again. Something made him ask, “Do you love him?”
She looked at him, her face softly impassive in the firelight. “You’d better move along,” she said quietly.
For a moment Mitchell’s eyes remained on her, as if he were reluctant to leave. He turned to the sorrel, then hesitated again and walked over to Hyatt.
“Mister, you brought this on yourself. Your man out there thought I was somebody named Cliff and he brought me in because he was too scared to do anything else. I don’t care who you are. …I don’t carewho Cliff is—” Mitchell broke off. “If you want to know the truth, I think you’re crazy.” He glanced momentarily at the woman before telling Hyatt, “Maybe you got some good points, but if you do you keep them a secret.”
Hyatt’s head came up slowly. He watched Mitchell go to his sorrel and mount. He watched him silently, his hand covering a folded piece of paper on the ground beneath him. A square of paper folded four times just to fit into a shirt pocket.
Mitchell urged the sorrel into the trees, letting it have its head, but holding it enough to reach the road farther down from where Rady would be. The woman stayed in his mind: standing in the firelight,
her eyes meeting his and not lowering even