James if he'd heard two shots, like I thought I had. He said, no, but he thought he heard the shot echo, which was strange in town, he said. No one had rode in or out of Two Scalp since the shots, that much was clear to me. Janey's boy Lyle come over, and I got him and his friend Bob to walk down the other side of the street to see if we could find someone moving around, but we couldn't.
"You look kinda peaked, Mr. Goodwin," Lyle said after we had holstered our guns and was walking back up the street. "You all right?"
"Yeah," I answered, but I wasn't. Everything was spinning so and I didn't know what to do next. Why in the hell had I ever let Clete talk me into being his deputy, anyway? I couldn't hit an elk with a shotgun if I was riding it. Never could, drunk or sober. And I sure as the devil didn't know what to do-there was no one at all to shoot at or punch. And I could feel everyone's eyes on me, everyone in town expecting me to go somewheres or do something right away, but damned if I knowed what it was.
After a few minutes of just standing around, I told Lyle and Bob to ask the people I hadn't spoke to if they saw what'd happened. I went over to the office, where I kept a bottle, and flopped down on my ass.
I thought about it being in the drawer, but I didn't have none. I knowed I was already too drunk to walk around anymore, and I didn't have an idea in my head about who might of done this. Maybe I should have went over to Doc Plummer's to see how Clete was doing, but I didn't want to know, if it was as bad as I thought it was. And, besides, I wanted to figure out what to do next, if I could.
After a while, I walked down to the livery to look again at where Clete'd been hit. Blood marked the spot, the blood of my friend, where a foul deed was done against him. I looked and stood and looked some more, but I couldn't see nothing that helped me understand what'd happened there.
I went in the livery and the boy was the only one there. "You want me to saddle your horse for you, Mr. Goodwin?" he ask me. He saw how drunk I was and was only trying to help, I see now.
"He'll, no!" I yelled at him. "The day comes I can't saddle my own horse, you can bet that'll be the day I'm dead!" That's another bet I would of lost.
I was trying to throw up a saddle-and it wasn't even mine-on my gelding and it went over the other side. Last thing I remember, I was sliding down that horse's flank and heading for the floor.
A hammer was smacking the back of my brain when I woke up the next morning. The livery boy or someone had throwed an overripe horse blanket on me and put my horse in another stall. Rolled me onto some fresher straw too, I discovered. I stood up as best I could and got outside before I threw up the first time. Fresh air cleared my head some and after a while my legs would work nearly right.
By the time I got to Doc Plummer's I was feeling as good as I was going to that day. Plummer was by himself in his office, a square little room with whitewashed boards at the back sectioning off the room where he had a couple of beds.
"You look sick," that lanky old man growled as soon as I was in the door. "Are you sick?"
"Never mind me," I told him. "How's Clete?"
He shook his head and then scratched it good where it was bald in the middle. "I can't tell. He's still out and that's bad. Quite a concussion, I should think, but I could tell a lot more if he was to come around. He caught whatever hit him about seven last evening." Standing up slow, he stretched and then pulled out his egg-shaped pocket watch. "And it's almost eleven now-nearly, oh, fifteen hours. He don't come out of it soon, chances are he isn't going to."
I pushed the door to the other room open a little and saw Clete lying there with his head all wrapped up in a bandage. "What hit him, anyway?"
Plummer had a sneaky little smile that settled over his face once in a while. "Why, I thought you were the law after Clete. Suppose you tell me!"
"Well, it wasn't my
"You look kinda peaked, Mr. Goodwin," Lyle said after we had holstered our guns and was walking back up the street. "You all right?"
"Yeah," I answered, but I wasn't. Everything was spinning so and I didn't know what to do next. Why in the hell had I ever let Clete talk me into being his deputy, anyway? I couldn't hit an elk with a shotgun if I was riding it. Never could, drunk or sober. And I sure as the devil didn't know what to do-there was no one at all to shoot at or punch. And I could feel everyone's eyes on me, everyone in town expecting me to go somewheres or do something right away, but damned if I knowed what it was.
After a few minutes of just standing around, I told Lyle and Bob to ask the people I hadn't spoke to if they saw what'd happened. I went over to the office, where I kept a bottle, and flopped down on my ass.
I thought about it being in the drawer, but I didn't have none. I knowed I was already too drunk to walk around anymore, and I didn't have an idea in my head about who might of done this. Maybe I should have went over to Doc Plummer's to see how Clete was doing, but I didn't want to know, if it was as bad as I thought it was. And, besides, I wanted to figure out what to do next, if I could.
After a while, I walked down to the livery to look again at where Clete'd been hit. Blood marked the spot, the blood of my friend, where a foul deed was done against him. I looked and stood and looked some more, but I couldn't see nothing that helped me understand what'd happened there.
I went in the livery and the boy was the only one there. "You want me to saddle your horse for you, Mr. Goodwin?" he ask me. He saw how drunk I was and was only trying to help, I see now.
"He'll, no!" I yelled at him. "The day comes I can't saddle my own horse, you can bet that'll be the day I'm dead!" That's another bet I would of lost.
I was trying to throw up a saddle-and it wasn't even mine-on my gelding and it went over the other side. Last thing I remember, I was sliding down that horse's flank and heading for the floor.
A hammer was smacking the back of my brain when I woke up the next morning. The livery boy or someone had throwed an overripe horse blanket on me and put my horse in another stall. Rolled me onto some fresher straw too, I discovered. I stood up as best I could and got outside before I threw up the first time. Fresh air cleared my head some and after a while my legs would work nearly right.
By the time I got to Doc Plummer's I was feeling as good as I was going to that day. Plummer was by himself in his office, a square little room with whitewashed boards at the back sectioning off the room where he had a couple of beds.
"You look sick," that lanky old man growled as soon as I was in the door. "Are you sick?"
"Never mind me," I told him. "How's Clete?"
He shook his head and then scratched it good where it was bald in the middle. "I can't tell. He's still out and that's bad. Quite a concussion, I should think, but I could tell a lot more if he was to come around. He caught whatever hit him about seven last evening." Standing up slow, he stretched and then pulled out his egg-shaped pocket watch. "And it's almost eleven now-nearly, oh, fifteen hours. He don't come out of it soon, chances are he isn't going to."
I pushed the door to the other room open a little and saw Clete lying there with his head all wrapped up in a bandage. "What hit him, anyway?"
Plummer had a sneaky little smile that settled over his face once in a while. "Why, I thought you were the law after Clete. Suppose you tell me!"
"Well, it wasn't my
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