Critch nodded his understanding. A sooner was a person who slipped across the border ahead of the starter's gun. In years to come, it was to become an affectionate second-name for Oklahoma – that is, 'the Sooner state' – as was Jayhawk to become a nickname for Kansas and Cornhusker for Nebraska.
'O' course,' Arlie continued, 'there was a lot of fuss about it. But I reckon you know it'd take more'n fuss to move Paw, an' lucky for him he had the political pull to ride the storm through.'
'Good for him,' Critch murmured. 'But you've only accounted for a few thousand acres, Arlie. How did he recover the rest of his holdings?'
'With money,' Arlie shrugged. 'I mean, he bought up the homesteaders' claims. A lot of 'em didn't have the money to carry them through a bad year, an' had to sell to Paw. The others – well, they got kind of nervous with so many Indians livin' around 'em. Got the idea, somehow, that their scalps might wind up on a pole if they didn't sell. So – '
'I see,' Critch said. 'I think I get the picture.'
'Now, don't get no wrong ideas,' his brother protested. 'Maybe they had a leetle pressure put on 'em, but they all got a fair price for their claims. More'n they were worth in most cases. You wouldn't remember, bein' away so long, but a heap of the land out here just ain't fit for nothing but grazin'. Try to put a plow to it, an it'll blow away on you. Frankly' – he shook his head, troubledly, 'I wish Paw didn't have so danged much land. Wish we had less land, and more money to work it with. I tell you, Critch, I get so damned worried at times that…'
He shook his head again, his voice trailing off into silence. Then, his expression clearing, he said, well, to hell with it.
'You and me'll work things out together, little brother. I couldn't do anything with that God damned Boz, but now that I got him out of the way…'
'Uh – out of the way?' Critch said.
'I killed the son-of-a-bitch. Prodded him into makin' a try for me, and then I gutted him. I just had to do it, Critch. He'd've got me if I hadn't. There was a couple of times when the bastard would've killed me if I hadn't been watching sharp.'
'That sounds like Boz, all right,' Critch nodded. 'He was always mean and sneaky.' And he silently added to himself that the manner of Boz's death was also typical of Arlie. Boz had bitten off far more than he could chew in tying into the middle-brother. Despite Arlie's open countenance and bubbling good humor, he could be deadly hard when he had to be. More importantly, he was smart enough to get away with the results of his hardness – transferring the bee from his own back to his victim's.
As the train poked along through the prairie, Critch nodded and smiled as Arlie rambled on genially. Nodded and smiled without actually listening, slowly coming to a decision in his own mind.
He wasn't going back to King's Junction. With seventy-two thousand dollars in his poke, he didn't need to go back. It was sufficient to support him in luxury to a ripe old age, so he could do quite well without his inheritance from Old Ike. In fact, as Arlie painted the picture, the inheritance was more potential than actual. The King holdings were burdened with debt, and Ike's feudal manner of doing things made that debt doubly burdensome. He, Critch, could easily be a very old man before his potential wealth became a reality. And it was highly unlikely that Arlie would allow him to live to be an old man.
Arlie appeared to like him, and doubtless did. Still, he would regard Critch as a threat – just as he had regarded Boz as one. So…
_He'd be on his home ground, Critch thought. Home for him, and strange territory for me. I don't buck another man's game; I was a sucker to even think of it. Mr. Critchfield King will settle for what he's got, and stay healthy!_
At El Reno, Arlie dismissed the Indian youth with a few silver dollars and a guttural torrent of Apache. Then, grabbing up Critch's bags with his own, he tossed them onto the dray of the town's leading hotel.
'We'll register-in later,' he told his brother. 'Right now, we got to get over to the U.S. Marshal's office.'
'Marshal's office?' Critch blinked. 'What for?'
'So's I can report that little accident that happened to Boz, like I came here to do,' Arlie said. 'What's the matter with you, boy? Ain't you been listenin' to nothing I said?'
'Well, uh – But I've got some business to take care of, Arlie. Suppose I get it out of the way while you see the marshal, and we can – '
'Suppose,' Arlie cut in, 'you come along to the marshal's office with me like you already promised to do. Sort of give me your moral support, as the sayin' is.'
'But – but it's very important that I – '
'Might not be,' Arlie said firmly. 'No, sir, it might turn out a hell of a lot more important for you t'be introduced proper to the marshal. There's a flock of sharpers and high-binders floodin' into El Reno, and a dude-lookin' fella like you could get mistook for one of 'em. Yes, sir,' he added slowly, 'you could get mistook awfully easy, Critch. Wouldn't be at all surprised if you was picked up an' shook down before you'd gone a quarter-mile.'