The Complete Western Stories of Elmore Leonard - Elmore Leonard [185]
Given said nothing. He stiffened as Ward rose and came toward him.
“What’s the matter? I’m just going to see you’re more comfortable.” Ward leaned over, lifting the boy’s legs one at a time, and pulled his boots off, then pushed him, gently, flat on the bunk and covered him with a blanket that was folded at the foot of it. Given looked up, holding his body rigid, and saw Ward shake his head. “You’re a mighty sick boy. We got to do something about that.”
Ward crossed the cell to his bunk, and standing at one end, he lifted it a foot off the floor and let it drop. He did this three times, then went down to his hands and knees and, close to the floor, called, “Hey, Marshal!” He waited. “Marshal, we got a sick boy up here!” He rose, winking at Given, and sat down on his bunk.
Minutes later a door at the back end of the hallway opened and Boynton came toward the cell. A deputy with a shotgun, his day man, followed him.
“What’s the matter?”
Ward nodded. “The boy’s sick.”
“He ought to be,” Boynton said.
Ward shrugged. “Don’t matter to me, but I got to listen to him moaning.”
Boynton looked toward Given’s bunk. “A man that don’t know how to drink has got to expect that.” He turned abruptly. Their steps moved down the hall and the door slammed closed.
“No sympathy,” Ward said. He made another cigarette, and when he had lit it he walked over to Given’s bunk. “He’ll come back in about two hours with our dinner. You’ll still be in bed, and this time you’ll be moaning like you got belly cramps. You got that?”
Staring up at him, Given nodded his head stiffly.
At a quarter to twelve Boynton came up again. This time he ordered Ward to lie down flat on his bunk. He unlocked the door then and remained in the hall as the day man came in with the dinner tray and placed it in the middle of the floor.
“He still sick?” Boynton stood in the doorway holding a sawed-off shotgun.
Ward turned his head on the mattress. “Can’t you hear him?”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I think it’s something else,” Ward said. “I never saw whiskey hold on like that.”
“You a doctor?”
“As much a one as you are.”
Boynton looked toward the boy again. Given’s eyes were closed and he was moaning faintly. “Tell him to eat something,” Boynton said. “Maybe then he’ll feel better.”
“I’ll do that,” Ward said. He was smiling as Boynton and his deputy moved off down the hall.
Lying on his back, his head turned on the mattress, Given watched Ward take a plate from the tray. It looked like stew.
“Can I have some?” Given said.
Chewing, Ward shook his head.
“Why not?”
Ward swallowed. “You’re too sick.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“How come I’m sick?”
“You haven’t figured it?”
“No.”
“I’ll give you a hint. We’ll get our supper about six. Watch the two that bring it up.”
“I don’t see what they’d have to do with me.”
“You don’t have to see.”
Given was silent for some time. He said then, “It’s got to do with you busting out.”
Obie Ward grinned. “You got a head on your shoulders.”
Boynton came up a half hour later. He stood in the hall and when his deputy brought out the tray, his eyes went from it to Pete Given’s bunk. “The boy didn’t eat a bite,” Boynton observed.
Ward raised up on his elbow. “Said he couldn’t stand the smell of it.” He watched Boynton look toward the boy, then sank down on the bunk again as Boynton walked away. When the door down the hall closed, Ward said, “Now he believes it.”
It was quiet in the cell after that. Ward rolled over to face the wall and Pete Given, lying on his back, remained motionless, though his eyes were open and he was studying the ceiling.
He tried to understand Obie Ward’s plan. He tried to see how his being sick could have anything to do with Ward’s breaking out. And he thought: He means what he says, doesn’t he? You can be sure of that much. He’s going to bust out and you got a part in it and there ain’t a