True Grit - Charles Portis [8]
I said, “How much are you paying for cotton?”
He looked up at me and said, “Nine and a half for low middling and ten for ordinary.”
I said, “We got most of ours out early and sold it to Woodson Brothers in Little Rock for eleven cents.”
He said, “Then I suggest you take the balance of it to the Woodson Brothers.”
“We have sold it all,” said I. “We only got ten and a half on the last sale.”
“Why did you come here to tell me this?”
“I thought we might shop around up here next year, but I guess we are doing all right in Little Rock.” I showed him the note from the sheriff. After he had read it he was not disposed to be so short with me.
He took off his eyeglasses and said, “It was a tragic thing. May I say your father impressed me with his manly qualities. He was a close trader but he acted the gentleman. My watchman had his teeth knocked out and can take only soup.”
I said, “I am sorry to hear it.”
He said, “The killer has flown to the Territory and is now on the scout there.”
“This is what I heard.”
“He will find plenty of his own stamp there,” said he. “Birds of a feather. It is a sink of crime. Not a day goes by but there comes some new report of a farmer bludgeoned, a wife outraged, or a blameless traveler set upon and cut down in a sanguinary ambuscade. The civilizing arts of commerce do not flourish there.”
I said, “I have hopes that the marshals will get him soon. His name is Tom Chaney. He worked for us. I am trying to get action. I aim to see him shot or hanged.”
“Yes, yes, well might you labor to that end,” said Stonehill. “At the same time I will counsel patience. The brave marshals do their best but they are few in number.
The lawbreakers are legion and they range over a vast country that offers many natural hiding places. The marshal travels about friendless and alone in that criminal nation. Every man’s hand is against him there save in large part for that of the Indian who has been cruelly imposed upon by felonious intruders from the States.”
I said, “I would like to sell those ponies back to you that my father bought.”
He said, “I fear that is out of the question. I will see that they are shipped to you at my earliest convenience.”
I said, “We don’t want the ponies now. We don’t need them.”
“That hardly concerns me,” said he. “Your father bought these ponies and paid for them and there is an end of it. I have the bill of sale. If I had any earthly use for them I might consider an offer but I have already lost money on them and, be assured, I do not intend to lose more. I will be happy to accommodate you in shipping them. The popular steamer Alice Waddell leaves tomorrow for Little Rock. I will do what I can to find space on it for you and the stock.”
I said, “I want three hundred dollars for Papa’s saddle horse that was stolen.”
He said, “You will have to take that up with the man who has the horse.”
“Tom Chaney stole it while it was in your care,” said I. “You are responsible.”
Stonehill laughed at that. He said, “I admire your sand but I believe you will find I am not liable for such claims. Let me say too that your valuation of the horse is high by about two hundred dollars.”
I said, “If anything, my price is low. Judy is a fine racing mare. She has won purses of twenty-five dollars at the fair. I have seen her jump an eight-rail fence with a heavy rider.”
“All very interesting, I’m sure,” said he.
“Then you will offer nothing?”
“Nothing except what is yours. The ponies are yours, take them. Your father’s horse was stolen by a murderous criminal. This is regrettable but I had provided reasonable protection for the animal as per the implicit agreement with the client. We must each of us bear our own misfortunes. Mine is that I have temporarily lost the services of my watchman.”
“I will take it to law,” said I.
“You must do as you think best,