He tipped his hat and walked out. Jason watched through the window as he looked up the street, toward Abigail’s, then down it toward the saloon. Finally, he set off for the saloon, walking at a casual clip.
Beside Jason, Ward said, “He’s sure somethin’.”
Warily nodding, Jason said, “Yeah. He surely is.”
Finally satisfied with the content and phrasing of his letter to the U.S. Marshal (which included the fact that Fury had not one, but two gunslingers in town), Jason sealed the envelope. “I’m leavin’!” he called to Ward, and exited using the front door.
Up the street he went toward Solomon’s store, after checking to make sure the end of the street with the saloon was quiet. Everything was calm, aside from the burble of trading coming from outside the gates. He momentarily wondered if Jenny had been out to buy anything edible, and if there’d be a treat for supper. It didn’t last long, though. He put his hand on the latch to Solomon’s mercantile and went in, accompanied by the jingling little bells attached to the door.
“Solomon?” he called when he saw no one. “Hey, Sol, are you around? It’s Jason!”
He heard some rustling from upstairs, then Solomon’s voice. “Hold on to your skivvies. I’m coming, already!” Then footsteps on the staircase.
Solomon himself came around the corner with a wide smile on his face. “Jason!” he said. “What can I do for you on this fine day?”
Jason grinned back at him. At least he wasn’t holding a grudge about the earlier lockup. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter, then into another and pulled out some change. “Got a letter to go out,” he said, sliding the envelope across the counter.
Solomon looked at it. “To Prescott?” he said. “Be thirty-five cents. Sorry it’s so much, but there’s hardly anything else goin’ out, and Grady won’t take his confounded horse out of the stable for less than a dollar.”
Grady was the young man who ferried the mail to Prescott and back.
“Well, you tell Grady that there’s another dollar in it for him if he gets that letter to Prescott in less than two days, all right?” Jason counted out the money.
“You’re paying?”
Jason laughed. “I’m paying.”
Solomon nodded. “I’ll tell him. And by the way, did I tell you? Rachael and I, we have a houseguest!”
“I’d hardly call your new daughter a house guest, Sol!”
“No, no.” Solomon laughed. “A real houseguest and a Jew to boot. He turned up this afternoon looking for something kosher to eat, and we asked him to stay. Rachael, she’s not up to cooking yet, but I made him the best and biggest kosher meal he’d had in a long time. We’re celebrating Sarah’s birth, you know,” he added, as if to excuse the excess.
Jason grinned at him. He knew that Solomon had been longing for some Jewish company, and he hoped this fellow would stay. He’d certainly perked Sol up, that was for sure!
He said, “Congratulations again, Solomon! Glad you finally have somebody Jewish to talk to. Well, you know what I mean. And you’ve already named the baby?”
“Yes, we have and I certainly do! And thank you, Jason, my friend.”
Jason nodded and grinned.
“She is quiet and calm, and he is a little on the quiet side at first, too. But I think he’ll eventually open up and be hearty company!”
“I’m sure he will.” Jason pushed the change for the letter across the counter, tipped his hat, and said, “We’ll be seeing you, Solomon! I’d best get home and see if Jenny remembered to fix me some supper.”
As he turned, Solomon called after him, “If she didn’t, you come back here. We have some fine kosher brisket left over, if I say so myself!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jason replied, turning slightly back to face him, then opening the door. “See you!”
He had walked halfway home before he realized he’d forgotten to ask Solomon what his guest’s name was.
Oh, well.
It’d wait till tomorrow.
When he walked in the front door, the first thing Jenny asked about was the Cohens’ baby, and Jason dutifully reported. He also reported that they had a houseguest, but couldn’t give any more information on the subject.
Jenny had been up to the wagon train, as had Megan, judging by Jenny’s pretty new hair bow and Megan’s new shoes. He said, “They let out school early today?”
Jenny grinned. “Yeah. Miss Electa Morton let everybody go at two-thirty—”
“—and I closed up the bank at three—”
“—so we went together!” Jenny finished.
“There’s still a lot we didn’t see,” Megan began.
“So we’re going back in the morning!” Jenny finished.
Jason clapped his hands over his ears. “You two don’t stop doin’ that, you’re gonna drive me to the asylum!”
Jenny just laughed and slid a plate of beefsteak in front of him. Megan sat across from him, chin planted primly on the backs of her hands, while she grinned.
“Very funny, the both of you,” Jason said before he sliced into his steak. It was cooked perfectly: pink and juicy on the inside, slightly charred on the outside. It seemed like everybody else in town liked their beef cooked to the consistency of shoe leather, but not him.
Home was the only place where he could get a steak cooked right!
Ezra had camped early again that night, satisfied that nobody was trailing him.
He’d already settled in his horse, and cooked and eaten his own supper—roasted jackrabbit, fresh biscuits, and canned peaches—and was presently engaged in nothing but watching the stars. He’d once ridden for a while with a man who said the old-time Greeks or Romans or somebody had made up pictures by drawing imaginary lines from star to star, but Ezra never saw the sense of it. How the hell did a bunch of dots of light in the sky look like a horse with wings or a dragon or a pretty woman, anyway?
Still, he liked looking at them. Sometimes, they seemed like the only constant thing in his life.
5
The next morning found Jason and Jenny and Megan all up bright and early, and outside the stockade, taking in the sights of the wagon train. Most of its members were just plain folks, trying to get back to Kansas City, but a few had fancy goods and the like.
One of them, Mrs. Judith Strong, had a wagon packed nearly to the canopy with all kinds of yard goods and an assortment of notions, and she sold both the girls the material to make one new dress each.
While they were jabbering with her, Jason busied himself talking to Riley, the wagon master, and strolling down the line. “Where’s Sampson Davis this mornin’?” Jason asked. He hadn’t seen the man.
Riley shook his head. “I dunno. Lost him last night. Figured he was stayin’ at your hotel or somethin’.”
Jason shook his head. “Already been there. And it’s a boardinghouse, actually.”
“Whatever.”
They kept walking.
Riley began, “About that axle and wheel man . . . I wondered if—”
“Ward rode out first thing,” Jason said with a smile when he cut Riley off. “Ought to be back early this afternoon. Give him time. It’s a ways.”
Riley nodded. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Jason said, and grinned at him. Riley grinned back. “All your folks make it through the storm all right? Except the ones that lost their lids, I mean.”
“Two of us didn’t make it,” Riley said gravely. “Wind took their wagon and rolled it a couple times. They got crushed under the weight of their own belongings.”
Jason shook his head. “Shame. They linger?”
“Nope,” Riley replied. “Died instantaneous.”
Jason nodded. Some things were best when they were over quickly.
Riley didn’t speak. He just nodded alongside Jason.
A boy came walking toward them, a boy whose heels were tagged by the goofiest-looking hound dog that Jason had ever seen. Well, he thought it was a hound, anyway, or maybe part hound. He nudged Riley and tipped his head toward it. “What the hell is that?” he asked.