King Blood(57)

'Then who – you mean Kay did it?'

Arlie nodded with a mixture of disgust and pride. 'The poor damn' nervy little squaw! She was sore, an' she thought she was helpin' me, protection' me, y'know, an' – well, Jesus! A blind idjit would know the cinch had been cut, and figger me for the fella that cut it!'

Critch studied his brother suspiciously; at last moved his head in a slow nod.

'All right,' he said. 'You didn't cut it. Now what about the money, and don't ask me what money!'

'What mon – All right, all right!' Arlie said hastily. 'I.K. stole the money from you, and I took it away from him. I admit it, if it makes you feel any better.'

'You don't have it now. What did you do with it?'

'Well, uh, what makes you think I don't have it now? Anyway,' Arlie said, defensively belligerent, 'that money wasn't yours to begin with. You stole it off'n them Anderson sisters!'

'Where's the money, Arlie? If I have to guess about it…'

'Dang it, Critch, I was gonna tell you later on! After you sort of got settled down.'

'Tell me now.' Critch waited. 'I know you brought it back here from El Reno. What did you do with it after that?'

'I didn't bring it back here. That steel box in my satchel was just to fool you. Wasn't nothin' in it but some cut-up newspaper.'

'All right,' Critch said. 'Same question. What did you do with that money.'

Arlie mumbled that he had spent it. Critch laughed angrily. 'Spent it? What the hell could you have spent seventy thousand dollars on?'

Arlie told him, repeating the information as Critch stared at him dumbfounded.

'What else could I spend it on, with us about to be debted out of the ranch? I spent it on what you're sittin' on. And I don't mean your lousy ass!'

He glared at his brother defiantly. Critch silently stared back at him, his mind in a turmoil. Trying to think. Perhaps trying not to think what the future now held for him. His hand went to his pocket, fumbled fruitlessly for a cheroot. He looked down at himself, frowning, seemingly noticing his tattered clothes for the first time. At last he sighed and shook himself; a man coming into reality from a dream.

'What do you think, Arlie? Do you suppose we could borrow some horses around here, anywhere?'

'Ain't likely,' Arlie said. 'These folks work any horses they got, and they'd lose most of a day before we could return 'em. Anyways, you come up on a place out here after dark, you'll likely get shot a-fore you can say howdy-do.'

'I imagine we'd better make ourselves comfortable here then, don't you? Paw will send for us as soon as that run-away team hits town.'

'If it hits town,' Arlie said. 'It wasn't headin' in that direction, an' I don't see it as bein' in any hurry to get there. There's too many fields of green corn along the way.'

'Well, then…?'

'It's your left ankle that's twisted, right? An' me, I'm crippled in the right knee. So I reckon if we just kind of lean on each other, favorin' our bad legs, an' puttin' our weight on t'other ones…'

They got to their feet, loosely speaking. They started to hobble-hop together, and Critch suspiciously drew back.

'Hold up, Arlie! You've got a cut hand!'

'Huh? Well, damned if I ain't!' Arlie said, and he clenched his fist, stanching the flow of blood. 'What's it to you, anyways, little brother?'

'I'd say it was a fresh cut. A knife cut. Which means a hell of a lot to me.'

Arlie said truthfully that it wasn't a fresh cut. He'd gotten it earlier in the day… somehow… and it had doubtless broken open during the recent hectic events.

'Now, looky, Critch. Just where the hell would I hide a knife in these rags?'

'All right,' Critch nodded grudgingly. 'Let's get organized.'

But now Arlie held back, pointing out that a man who could hide a stove poker in his clothes was far sneakier than he.

'Shake your arms, little brother. Shake 'em good! An' maybe you better drop your pants, too.'

'Like hell I will! There's hardly enough left of 'em to drop, anyway.'

Arlie shrugged; said he guessed he'd just have to risk it.

Critch snorted; declared that he was risking much himself.

'So don't start anything. If you do, I'll finish it.'

'Same to you, brother Critch. The same to you.'

So at last, they came together, watchfully juxtaposing themselves so that their crippled legs were on the inside. Then, each laid an arm across the other's shoulder; and they began the long walk to the Junction.

The morning was well advanced by the time they reached it, and they had hardly crossed the tracks when the train from El Reno arrived. The brothers ignored it, too weary to look around. Marshal Harry Thompson descended to the station platform, flicking specks of soot from his snowy white shirt. As the train departed, he glanced toward the railroad right-of-way, nodded toward the dark head which poked up from the weeds. The head disappeared, and Thompson strode swiftly down the walk toward Arlie and Critch.