He allowed his voice to trail off into silence, giving his brother a look of preternatural solemnity. Arlie scowled furiously, started to say something, then turned to the door and yanked it open. On the point of slamming it, he turned again and faced his brother. Grinning good-naturedly; his expression more or less back to normal.
'All right, little brother. All right. I just might have another reason for wantin' you back at the Junction.'
'You just might,' Critch agreed.
"Course, I ain't sayin' that that is the reason. But it might be I'd feel a lot safer that way. Might figure it'd be a lot easier to look out for you, if I knew exactly where to look out.'
'There's another side to that coin, of course.'
'Meanin', the more distance there was between us the safer I'd be?' Arlie shook his head, grinning. 'Huh-uh, little brother. Huh-uh. Because I know something about you that you don't even know yourself.'
'Such as?'
'Such as somethin' you can't do. Oh, you think you can. Prob'ly thought about doin' it plenty of times. Prob'ly even planned t'do it. But it's God danged lucky you never tried, because you couldn't no more do it than you could rub your ass an' your elbow at the same time. An' the reason I know you can't do it is because I can an' I know what it takes. An' you ain't got what it takes, little brother. You just ain't got it.'
'I ain't got what it takes,' said Critch, 'to do what?'
'To kill. You could maybe hire it done. I figure you maybe might hire it done if you was in the proper fix t'do it. So… 'Arlie's drawl faded off into the silence, his grin dying with it. And once again he became the concerned big brother, the doer of good deeds. 'So,' he resumed slowly. 'So I reckon it's a plumb fine idea for you to come back to the Junction with me, Critch. Don't you? Don't you reckon it's just about the finest idea a fella ever had?'
Critch nodded dully. 'Plumb fine,' he said.
____________________
*Interlude*
_Arlie went to I.K.'s sleazy hotel around midnight. The Indian youth had a half-breed whore with him, but he had remained dressed in anticipation of young King's visit; and he promptly handed over a sheaf of thousand-dollar bills as soon as he had dismissed the naked girl. Arlie counted the money; emitted an awed whistle of appreciation. 'God damn! A whole ten thousand dollars, huh?'_
_'I steal good, yes?' I.K. beamed modestly. 'Do plenty all right for my ol' frien', Arlie?'_
_'Uh-hah, plenty,' Arlie drawled. 'Kinda puzzlin', though. I coulda sworn that Critch had maybe a dozen packets of dough stashed in that coat of his instead of just one.'_
_'Did have,' I.K. nodded promptly. 'I get bank to cash into t'ousand-dollar bills. Make easier to carry, you know.'_
_Arlie said that that had been real smart of him. And kinda dumb of the bank, when you come to think of it. 'They didn't ask you no questions, huh? Didn't want to know how come a God damned greasy-assed Injun kid like you got himself so much money?'_
_I.K. made a sudden dive for the door. Arlie caught him, and twisted an arm behind his back. Not until the Apache youth was on the verge of having his shoulder dislocated, did he at last gasp out a confession. 'Up there! Behin' chimney hole!'_
_Arlie pried loose the flowered-tin cover of the chimney outlet, and scooped the money out onto the bed. Counting it methodically he discovered the amount to be a hundred dollars short of seventy-two thousand. I.K. sulkily explained the shortage. 'Cash bill with dirty 'ief bartender. Give me thirty dollars for hundred.'_
'Thirty dollars, huh?' Arlie said, taking out his wallet. 'Well, here's thirty more for you. You be real careful with your spendin', an' you can live on it for quite a while.'
_I.K. cursed him vilely. 'God damn you, ol' Arlie! You promise me half!'_
Arlie said, well, that made them both pretty sneaky, didn't it? Anyway, he continued, it would do the youth no good if he was given all the money. It would go into the pockets of smarter thieves, and he would go into jail in less than a week.
I.K. cursed him at length. He pleaded. Abruptly, he attempted an attack. The cursing and begging accomplished nothing, of course. Anticipating the attack, Arlie fended it off with a suddenly outthrust boot, the spur of which ripped the Apache's pantsleg from top to bottom.
Arlie whooped with laughter at sight of the ruined trousers. I.K. continued to scowl and curse for a time, then joined in the laughter. Arlie took a pint bottle from his hip pocket, and they drank together. Friends, to all appearances.
_To all appearances_…
_For it was not the Apache way – it was not I.K.'s way – to betray one's intentions with a display of enmity._
____________________
*Chapter One*
In her room at the King's Junction ranchhouse-hotel – the room which she had formerly shared with her late husband, Boz – Joshie King drew the window shade tight, stealthily lit the coal-oil lamp and stood facing the mirror. Naked, she shivered a little with the early morning chill; shivered also with the tantalizing, demanding urge which had seethed through her plump little body since the day, three weeks before, when she had seen Critch for the first time. _God damn, she thought,_ thinking the words with the complete innocence with which she would have spoken them, without reference to their meaning. _God damn, he pound my stuff plenty soon, I betcha! That Critch, he screw me good!_