True Grit - Charles Portis [10]
“If you don’t like it here you should pack your traps and go back where you came from.”
“Would that I could get out from under!” said he. “I would be aboard the Friday morning packet with a song of thanksgiving on my lips.”
“People who don’t like Arkansas can go to the devil!” said I “What did you come here for?”
“I was sold a bill of goods.”
“Three hundred and twenty-five dollars is my figure.”
“I would like to have that in writing for what it is worth.” He wrote out a short agreement. I read it over and made a change or two and he initialed the changes. He said, “Tell your lawyer to send the letter to me here at Stonehill’s Livery Stable. When I have it in my hand I will remit the extortion money. Sign this.”
I said, “I will have him send the letter to me at the Monarch boardinghouse. When you give me the money I will give you the letter. I will sign this instrument when you have given me twenty-five dollars as a token of your good faith.” Stonehill gave me ten dollars and I signed the paper.
I went to the telegraph office. I tried to keep the message down but it took up almost a full blank setting forth the situation and what was needed. I told Lawyer Daggett to let Mama know I was well and would be home soon. I forget what it cost.
I bought some crackers and a piece of hoop cheese and an apple at a grocery store and sat on a nail keg by the stove and had a cheap yet nourishing lunch. You know what they say, “Enough is as good as a feast.” When I had finished eating I returned to Stonehill’s place and tried to give the apple core to one of the ponies. They all shied away and would have nothing to do with me or my gift. The poor things had probably never tasted an apple. I went inside the stock barn out of the wind and lay down on some oat sacks. Nature tells us to rest after meals and people who are too busy to heed that inner voice are often dead at the age of fifty years.
Stonehill came by on his way out wearing a little foolish Tennessee hat. He stopped and looked at me.
I said, “I am taking a short nap.”
He said, “Are you quite comfortable?”
I said, “I wanted to get out of the wind. I figured you would not mind.”
“I don’t want you smoking cigarettes in here.”
“I don’t use tobacco.”
“I don’t want you punching holes in those sacks with your boots.”
“I will be careful. Shut that door good when you go out.”
I had not realized how tired I was. It was well up in the afternoon when I awoke. I was stiff and my nose had begun to drip, sure sign of a cold coming on. You should always be covered while sleeping. I dusted myself off and washed my face under a pump and picked up my gun sack and made haste to the Federal Courthouse.
When I got there I saw that another crowd had gathered, although not as big as the one the day before. My thought was: What? Surely they are not having another hanging! They were not. What had attracted the people this time was the arrival of two prisoner wagons from the Territory.
The marshals were unloading the prisoners and poking them sharply along with their Winchester repeating rifles. The men were all chained together like fish on a string. They were mostly white men but there were also some Indians and half-breeds and Negroes. It was awful to see but you must remember that these chained beasts were murderers and robbers and train wreckers and bigamists and counterfeiters, some of the most wicked men in the world. They had ridden the “hoot-owl trail” and tasted the fruits of evil and now justice had caught up with them to demand payment. You must pay for everything in this world one way and another. There is nothing free except the Grace of God. You cannot earn that or deserve it.
The prisoners who were already in the jail, which was in the basement of the Courthouse, commenced to shout and catcall through little barred windows at the new prisoners, saying, “Fresh fish!” and such like. Some of them