"Hell," Butch said. "He cant win races standing still in a halter. Go on. Trot him across the lot."
"We just sent for his jockey," Ned said. "Then you can see him work." Then he said, "Unlessen you in a hurry to get back to yourn."
"My what?" Butch said.
"Your law work," Ned said. "Back in Possum or wherever it is."
"After coming all the way out here to see a race horse?" Butch said. "All I see so far is a plug standing half asleep in a lot."
"I'm sho glad you told me that," Ned said. "I thought maybe you wasn't interested." He turned to Boon. "So maybe what you and Miss Corrie better do is go on back to town now and be ready to meet the others when the train comes. You can send the surrey back for Mr Butch and Lucius and that other boy after we breezes Lightning."
"Ha ha ha," Butch said, without mirth, without anything. "How's that for a idea? Huh, Sugar Boy? You and Sweet Thing bobbasheely on back to the hotel now, and me and Uncle Remus and Lord Fauntleroy will mosey along any time up to midnight, providing of course we are through here." He moved easily along the fence to where Boon stood, watching Boon though addressing Ned: "I cant let Sugar Boy leave without me. I got to stay right with him, or he might get everybody in trouble. They got a law now, about taking good-looking gals across state lines for what they call immortal purposes. Sugar Boy's a stranger here; he dont know exactly where that state line's at, and his foot might slip across it while his mind's on something else— something that aint a foot. At least we dont call it a foot around here. Huh, Sugar Boy?" He slapped Boon on the back, still grinning, watching Boon—one of those slaps which jovial men give one another, but harder, a little too hard but not quite too hard. Boon didn't move, his hands on the top rail of the gate. They were too sunburned or maybe too ingrained with dirt to turn white. But I could see the muscles. "Yes sir," Butch said, watching Boon, grinning, "all friends together for a while yet anyhow. Come one, come all, or come none—for a while longer anyhow. At least until something happens that might put a man not watching what he was doing out of circulation— say a stranger that wouldn't be missed nohow. Huh, Sugar Boy?" and slapped Boon again on the back, still harder this time, watching him, grinning. And Everbe saw Boon's hand this time too; she said, quick, not loud:
"Boon." Like that: "Boon." So had Uncle Parsham. "Here come the other boy," he said. Otis was just coming around the corner of the house, Lycurgus looming almost twice as tall right behind him. Even knowing what was wrong about him didn't help Otis much. But Ned was the one who was looking at him hard. He came up gently; Strolling, in fact. "Somebody want me?" he said.
"It was me," Ned said. "But I aint seed you in daylight before and maybe my mind gonter change." He said to Lycurgus: "Get the tack." So we—they—tacked up and Lycurgus and Ned led the way back along the lane to the creek pasture, we following, even Butch giving his attention to the matter in hand now; unless, as the angler does, he was deliberately giving Everbe a little rest to build up her strength to rush and thrash once more against the hook of that tin star on his sweaty shirt. When we reached the pasture, Ned and Otis were already facing each other about eight feet apart; behind them, Lycurgus stood with the horse. Ned looked strained and tired. As far as I knew, he had had no sleep at all unless he actually had slept for an hour or so on the hay in the boxcar. But that's all he was: not exhausted by sleeplessness, just annoyed by it. Otis was picking his nose, still gently. "A know-boy," Ned was saying. "As knowing a boy as I ever seed. I just hopes that when you're twice your age, you will still know half as much."
"Much obliged," Otis said.
"Can you ride a horse?" Ned said.
"I been living on a Arkansas farm for a right smart number of years," Otis said.
"Can you ride a horse?" Ned said. "Nemmine where you used to live or still does."
"Now, that depends, as the fellow says," Otis said. "I figgered I was going back home this morning. That I would a long been in Kiblett, Arkansas, right this minute. But since my plans got changed without nobody asking me, I aint decided quite yet just what I'm going to do next. How much you paying to get that horse rode?"
"Otis!" Everbe said.
"We aint come to that yet," Ned said, as gentle as Otis. 'The first thing is to get them three heats run and to be in front when at least two of them is finished. Then we'll git around to how much."
"Heh heh heh," Otis said, not laughing either. "That is, there aint going to be nothing to pay nobody with until you win it—that's you. And you cant even run at it without somebody setting on the horse—that's me. Is that right?"
"Otis!" Everbe said.
"That's right," Ned said. "We all of us working on shares so we'll have something to divide afterward. Your share will have to wait too, like ourn."
"Yeah," Otis said. "I seen that kind of share dividing in the Arkansas cotton business. The trouble is, the share of the fellow that does the sharing is always a little different from the share of the fellow that done the dividing. The fellow that done the sharing is still waiting for his share because he aint yet located where it's at. So from now on, I'll just take the cash-in-advance share and let you folks keep all the dividing."
"How much do that come to?" Ned said.
"You cant be interested, because you aint even run the first heat yet, let alone won it. But I dont mind telling you, in confidence, you might say. It'll be ten dollars."
"Otis!" Everbe said. She moved now; she cried, "Aint you ashamed?"
"Hold up, Miss," Ned said. "I'll handle it." He looked tired, but that was all. Without haste he drew a folded flour sack from his hip pocket and unfolded it and took out his worn snap purse and opened it. "Hold out your hand," he told Lycurgus, who did so while Ned counted slowly onto the palm six frayed dollar bills and then about a cupful of coins of various denominations. "It's gonter be fifteen cents short, but Mr Hogganbeck will make it up."
"Make it up to what?" Otis said. "To what you said. Ten dollars," Ned said. "You cant seem to hear neither," Otis said. "What I said was twenty dollars." Now Boon moved. "God damn it," he said.
"Just hold up," Ned told him. His hand didn't even stop, now returning the coins one by one from Lycurgus's hand, and then the frayed bills, back into the purse, and closed it and folded it back into the flour sack and put the sack back into his pocket. "So you aint gonter ride the horse," he said to Otis.
"I aint seen my price—" Otis said.
"Mr Boon Hogganbeck there is fixing to hand it to you right now," Ned said. "Whyn't you just come right out like a man and say you aint gonter ride that horse? It dont matter why you aint." They looked at each other. "Come on. Say it out."