True Grit - Charles Portis [27]
I wrote out a short agreement regarding the business between us and had him sign it. I gave him twenty-five dollars and told him I would give him another twenty-five when we made our departure. The fifty dollars balance would be paid on the successful completion of the job.
I said, “That advance money will cover the expenses for the both of us. I expect you to provide the food for us and the grain for our horses.”
“You will have to bring your own bedding,” said he.
“I have blankets and a good oilskin slicker. I will be ready to go this afternoon as soon as I have got me a horse.”
“No,” said he, “I will be tied up at the courthouse. There are things I must attend to. We can get off at first light tomorrow. We will cross the ferry for I must pay a call on an informer in the Cherokee Nation.”
“I will see you later today and make final plans.”
I took dinner at the Monarch. The man LaBoeuf did not appear and I hopefully assumed he had moved on for some distant point. After a brief nap I went to the stock barn and looked over the ponies in the corral. There did not seem to be a great deal of difference in them, apart from color, and at length I decided on a black one with white forelegs.
He was a pretty thing. Papa would not own a horse with more than one white leg. There is a foolish verse quoted by horsemen to the effect that such a mount is no good, and particularly one with four white legs. I forget just how the verse goes but you will see later that there is nothing in it.
I found Stonehill in his office. He was wrapped in a shawl and sitting very close to his stove and holding his hands up before it. No doubt he was suffering from a malarial chill. I pulled up a box and sat down beside him and warmed myself.
He said, “I just received word that a young girl fell headfirst into a fifty-foot well on the Towson Road. I thought perhaps it was you.”
“No, it was not I.”
“She was drowned, they say.”
“I am not surprised.”
“Drowned like the fair Ophelia. Of course with her it was doubly tragic. She was distracted from a broken heart and would do nothing to save herself. I am amazed that people can bear up and carry on under these repeated blows. There is no end to them.”
“She must have been silly. What do you hear from the Little Rock soap man?”
“Nothing. The matter is still hanging fire. Why do you ask?”
“I will take one of those ponies off your hands. The black one with the white stockings in front. I will call him ‘Little Blackie.’ I want him shod this afternoon.”
“What is your offer?”
“I will pay the market price. I believe you said the soap man offered ten dollars a head.”
“That is a lot price. You will recall that I paid you twenty dollars a head only this morning.”
“That was the market price at that time.”
“I see. Tell me this, do you entertain plans of ever leaving this city?”
“I am off early tomorrow for the Choctaw Nation. Marshal Rooster Cogburn and I are going after the murderer Chaney.”
“Cogburn?” said he. “How did you light on that greasy vagabond?”
“They say he has grit,” said I. “I wanted a man with grit.”
“Yes, I suppose he has that. He is a notorious thumper. He is not a man I should care to share a bed with.”
“No more would I.”
“Report has it that he rode by the light of the moon with Quantrill and Bloody Bill Anderson. I would not trust him too much. I have heard too that he was particeps criminis in some road-agent work before he came here and attached himself to the courthouse.”
“He is to be paid when the job is done,” said I. “I have given him a token payment for expenses and he is to receive the balance when we have taken our man. I am paying a good fee of one hundred dollars.”
“Yes, a splendid inducement. Well, perhaps it will all work out to your satisfaction. I shall pray that you return safely, your efforts crowned with success. It