Valdez Is Coming Read Online Free PDF

wanted to sue everybody that was out there, or this city?”
    “Bob,” Mr. Beaudry said, “that woman doesn’t know what a lawyer is.”
    “But if she did and they went to court, wouldn’t she get some money?”
    The houseman said, “I thought we were playing cards.”
    “Since she’s never heard of a lawyer or a county seat,” Mr. Beaudry said, “you’re talking straight into the wind, aren’t you?”
    “I mean if she did. Like if you drive cattle over a man’s property and damage something,” Bob Valdez went on, holding on, “and the man goes to court, then the cattle company has to pay him for the damage. Isn’t that right?”
    Mr. Malson smiled. He said, “That doesn’t sound like much of a cattle company to me,” and the others laughed. “I was to get involved in court suits, a man would be out from Chicago and I’d be out of a job.”
    “But it’s happened,” Valdez said, staying with it. “The person or persons responsible have had to pay.”
    Mr. Beaudry said, “I wouldn’t worry about it, Bob.”
    “The person has to stand up and prove damage,” Mr. Malson said. “You don’t go to court, even if you know where it is, without a case. And by that I mean evidence.”
    “All right,” Valdez said. “That’s what I mean. The woman doesn’t know anything about court, but we know about the evidence, uh? Because we were there. If we weren’t there her husband would be alive.”
    “Or if he hadn’t opened the door,” Mr. Beaudry said. “Or if you hadn’t pulled the trigger.”
    “Or,” Mr. Malson said, “if he hadn’t come to town this morning and if Frank Tanner hadn’t seen him.”
    “Goddam, I was there,” R. L. Davis said. “We was on the steps of the Republic.”
    “There you are,” Mr. Beaudry said. “If Frank Tanner hadn’t been here this morning it never would have happened. So maybe it’s his fault. Tanner’s.”
    Somebody in the group behind Mr. Beaudry said, “Go tell him that,” and some of the men laughed, picturing it.
    “Now that’s not so funny,” Mr. Beaudry said. “If this happened because of Frank Tanner, then maybe he’s to blame. What do you think, Bob?” he asked him seriously, patiently, as he would ask a stupid, thick-headed person.
    “I guess so,” Bob Valdez said.
    “Well, if you think he’s to blame,” Mr. Beaudry said, “why don’t you ask him for the money? And I’ll tell you what. If he agrees to the five hundred dollars, we will too. How’s that?”
    Valdez kept his eyes on Mr. Beaudry. “I don’t know where he is.”
    “He’s south of town,” Mr. Beaudry said. “Probably at the relay station for the night if his cattle got that far. Or he might have gone on.”
    “He mentioned stopping there,” Mr. Malson said.
    “All right,” Valdez said because there was nothing else he could say. “I’ll go talk to him.”
    “Do that,” Mr. Beaudry said.
    Mr. Malson waited until Bob Valdez was turning and the men who had crowded in were stepping aside. “Bob,” he said, “that Apache woman — somebody said she was over to the hotel trying to get a room.”
    “No.” Valdez shook his head. “The manager said they were full up.”
    “Uh-huh,” Mr. Malson said. “Well, where is she now?”
    “I took her to Inez’s place,” Valdez said. “She’s staying there tonight.”
    Nobody said anything until he was gone. Then R. L. Davis, as drunk as he was, said, “Je-sus H. Christ. Now he’s turned that Indin creature into a whore.”
     
     
    He went unarmed, riding south through the darkness, feeling the chill of night settling on the land. He didn’t want to go; he was tired. He had come up this road this morning from St. David on the bouncing, bucking, creaking boot of the Hatch and Hodges stage, throwing gravel at the wheelers and yelling, urging the horses on as the driver held the heavy reins and snapped them over the teams. Sun and dust this morning, and sweat soaking his body under the dark suit; now cold