King Blood(30)

Arlie had been leaving him with sympathy for hours. Ever since he had carried Critch up to his room, and brought him back into consciousness. And how understanding, how forgiving, he had been over Critch's earlier attempt to slug him!

_Now, don't you fret none, little brother. Mighta done the same thing myself. Fella loses a lot o' money, he just naturally strikes out at anything near him._

Critch reached down to the floor for the whiskey bottle; momentarily drowned out Arlie's voice in a long, gurgling drink. The drink emptied the bottle, and he pitched it into the wastebasket where also reposed his ruined coat.

'… awful lotta whiskey this afternoon.' _Arlie again, God damn him!_ 'Why'n't you let me get you somethin' to eat, Critch?'

'No,' Critch said curtly. 'I'll eat when I'm ready.'

'But… well, all right. Reckon I'd feel the same way, in your place.' Arlie shook his head sadly. 'I sure feel sorry for you, Critch. Sure wish there was somethin' I could do for you.'

'I wish there was something I could do for you,' Critch said.

'Y'know,' Arlie continued in a musing tone. 'Y'know what I figure, Critch? I figure that money musta been stolen off of you after we left the marshal's office. Otherwise, Marshal Harry woulda spotted them slits in your coat, and wanted to know what was what.'

'Well? What about it?'

'Well, o' course, we did pass a lot of people between his office an' that saloon. But it does narrow things down a little, don't it? I mean, known' about when you was robbed. So maybe if you was t'go to Marshal Harry an' report the theft…'

His voice trailed off into silence, his eyes sliding away from Critch's bitter gaze. 'Well, uh, maybe,' he resumed, after a moment's silence. 'Maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea after all. Might get yourself tied up in more questionin' than you could get free of in a year o' Sundays. Ol' Harry, he'd probably want to know just how you came by the money an' why a educated fella like you was carryin' it around in cash, an' exactly how much you had, right down t'the last nickle. An' uh – just how much did you have, little brother?'

Critch shot him a furious look; again almost maddened to the point of physical violence. Then, getting control of himself, he decided that Arlie quite likely didn't know the amount of the theft. He didn't, since it would have been highly impractical for him to have stolen the money himself. Instead, he had had that Indian youth steal it – I.K., or whatever his name was – arranging to meet with him later for a division of the money. (A division which would profit the Indian damned little.)

'Yeah, little brother? How much did you say you had?'

Critch hesitated, a vengeful idea coming into his mind. Suppose he told Arlie that the sum was much larger than it was. Arlie would naturally demand that the Indian produce that amount, and when he couldn't – well, all hell would pop, right? That Apache kid was obviously capable of a great deal of nastiness – as, needless to say, was Arlie. And if the two of them should get in a fight –

Huh-uh; Critch mentally shook his head to the notion. Revenge he could do without, at least for the present. His pre-eminent need was the money, and his best chance of getting it back was to have Arlie get it. A friendly Arlie – one who believed that little brother, Critch, was friendly toward him and entirely unsuspecting of his duplicity.

So, now, Critch raised somber eyes to his brother's face; heaved a huge sigh as Arlie prompted him yet a third time.

'Arlie,' he said. 'I'll tell you, but I want you to keep it in strict confidence. I can trust you to do that, can't I?'

'You know you can, boy,' Arlie declared warmly. 'Just you ask, an' that's the way it'll be.'

'I'd rather you didn't even tell Paw. He'd probably get all upset, like old people do sometimes, so why worry him about it?'

'Why, sure, sure. No point to it at all. So, how much…?'

'Seventy-two thousand dollars.'

'Seventy-two thousand dollars,' Arlie nodded. 'Well, now – '

He broke off with a gasp, lurched out of his tilted-back chair. He stared at Critch, mouth working wordlessly. Shakily pointing a finger at him as he tried to find his voice.

'Y-you said… You said – Naw! No, by God!'

'Yes, Arlie. Yes.'

'Holy howling owls! Where did you get – ' He broke off, again; stared at Critch in open admiration. 'Critch, boy, I got to hand it to you! Gettin' yourself a whole seventy-two thousand dollars and without gettin' yourself wanted. That's right, ain't it?' he added, a trifle anxiously. 'You ain't wanted? Ain't no one comin' after you for that money?'

Critch shook his head. 'No one,' he said. 'I'm in the clear.'

'No one at all?' Arlie insisted. 'You're sure of it?'

'Positive. I wish I was even a tenth as sure of getting the money back.'

Arlie mumbled commiseratingly. He said that maybe he ought to be sort of looking around for the lousy, lowdown thief. Might just get lucky and run into him.