'Like shit, you stupid squaw!'
'P-puh-puhleeze,' begged Kay, fumbling with the belt of her trousers. 'Please spank ass, make everyt'ing hokay again!'
Weeping, her small head bowed, she released the belt clasp, allowed the pants to drop down around her ankles. She raised the short undershift with her hands, completely exposing the curved, tawny-skinned area below her navel.
And stood there crying as though her heart would break. Sobbing helplessly but hopefully, still hoping that Arlie would 'make hokay'. A child in a woman's body. A child environmentally forced into womanhood.
And at last Arlie's arms went around her, and he called her his ol' squaw with gruff tenderness, and ordered her to stop crying before she got her socks wet.
'You want folks t'think you pissed in 'em?' he teased her lovingly. 'Why, God damn, they're liable to think you're still a papoose and I wouldn't get to diddle you no more.'
Kay sniffed; giggled tearfully. She made an innocently profane response to her husband's jest. Arlie kissed her on the head, his lips brushing the snowy 'part' between her tightly plaited braids. He gave her a single swat on her bared buttocks. Then, he bent down, pulled her trousers back up and firmly refastened the belt.
'Now,' he said, 'I hope you learned somethin' from this, Kay. From now on, you keep t'hell out of my business, get me? I want anything done, I'll do it myself. You just keep your hands off and your mouth shut, or I'll have your ass suckin' wind till it sounds like a train whistle.'
His wife murmured a meek, 'Hokay,' then scanned his face anxiously. 'I be good, you bet. But – will be hokay 'bout Critch? You fix everything, ol' husband?'
Arlie said he would do what he could, his actions automatically being governed by Critch's condition. 'If he's hurt bad, or if he's dead – well, I can't do nothin'. A damn fool would know that the cinch had been cut.'
'No, no, please…' Kay's eyes filled with tears again. 'He not be hurt bad, please. Not dead!'
'We'll hope not. I figure on findin' out damn quick.'
He nodded, turned and strode toward his grazing horse. Kay started after him, but he waved her back firmly.
'You stay here an 'wait for me, ol' squaw. Don't want you mixed up in this any more than you already are.'
'But maybe so you need me. Maybe so I tell Critch I cut bellyband, he not be mad at you.'
'Maybe so nobody tells him nothin'.' Arlie said flatly. 'Maybe so I don't even talk to him.'
Kay stared at him, her head cocked puzzledly. 'How come this? We don't apologize, say plenty God damn sorry, ol' Critch he tell ol' Uncle 'n' ol' Grandfather. You 'n' me be in plenty much trouble!'
'You're gonna be in plenty anyways,' Arlie advised her. 'You an' Joshie both. Paw an' Tepaha sees them scratches on your faces an' find out you been fightin', you're really gonna catch hell!'
'Don't mind that. Not too bad that trouble. But when ol' Critch tells 'bout – '
'Suppose he don't tell about it? Suppose he keeps quiet, an' makes Joshie keep quiet?'
'S'pose?' Kay frowned worriedly. 'S'pose dog shit watermelon? Makes no God damn sense.'
Arlie said that maybe it didn't make any sense to a squaw who was all ass and no brains. But it would make plenty to a smart son-of-a-bitch like his brother.
'And don't you never think he ain't smart,' he added, as he straddled his horse.
'He's not's smart as you!' Kay declared loyally. 'My ol' Arlie, he smartest son-of-a-bitch in world!
Arlie shrugged off the compliment, wheeling his horse around. 'Don't make up your mind too fast,' he told her. 'Wait and see what I do if Critch happens to be dead.' *c*
The four men had ridden the morning east-bound train through King's Junction, debarking from it at the third whistle-stop beyond. From there, via handcar, they had ridden westward again, finally stopping at the point where they were now.
One of the men was a section-crew foreman, another a division superintendent of the railroad. The other two were United States Marshal Harry Thompson and his nephew, Deputy Marshal James Sherman Thompson.
The four lifted the handcar from the track, and set it down on the right-of-way. Then they walked down the embankment to a point marked by a heavy staked-down tarpaulin.
'Hope I didn't mess up nothin' by doin' that,' the foreman said anxiously, nodding towards the canvas. 'But one foot was startin' to poke out, an' I figured – '
'You did the right thing,' Marshal Thompson assured him. 'Now, you say you made the discovery about seven last night?'
'Yessir. After the men had put in their hours. I was back-checkin' on a day's work… I always do that, Mr. Hardcastle' – a glance at the division superintendent, who nodded approvingly. 'I was coasting along slow, and there was still a little sunlight, so off in the weeds there I get the glint of something bright. O' course, I figure that one of my damn fool hands has left a tool behind… I always watch out for tools, Mr. Hardcastle. I know tools are expensive, an' – '