[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
know immediately.
Kind of people they are, I m surprised they were
so cooperative.
Either that or I told them they d spend their time
in jail. These re city slickers we re dealing with. He
smiled. Idea of them spending three, four nights in
a hick-town jail tickles the hell out of me but it sure
don t do much for them. So they cooperated.
Do any of them have the gun or know what hap-
pened to it?
I ll get to that in a minute. When I leave here I m
gonna give you all the things I got from talkin to
them. Spent about an hour each with em. Wrote it
down in pencil and had my office lady print it up on
Cavalry Man: The Killing Machine 53
that noisy damned machine we got in the front office.
You re gonna need another rest here pretty soon. But
when you wake up, I d like you to look these things
over. Maybe it ll help us figurin out who killed him.
I m pretty sure one or a couple of them together
were the ones who killed him.
But I told you Tib and James fired a lot of shots
into the barn.
Wasn t bullets that killed him.
What the hell do you mean?
He sucked on his pipe, but it had gone out. Some-
body cut your brother s throat, Ford, and did a hell
of a bloody job doing it.
B'
I slept the rest of the day. It was an automatic re-
sponse, I suppose, to David being dead. We mourn
those we love; that s sad enough. But to mourn some-
body you loved, yet at times hated that s even sad-
der, because one feeling corrupts the other. But there
wasn t a whole hell of a lot I could do about it. I was
pretty sure he d felt the same about me.
I was awakened by the day s-end rush. Staff people
saying goodbye to each other; trays of food being de-
livered to the sixteen patients in the place; early visi-
tors to see family members. You could smell dinner
coming. Weak as I was in some respects, I sure had a
good appetite. I sipped some water and then made
my first struggling attempt to roll and light a ciga-
rette one-handed. By the time I had a lumpy white
cylinder rolled, I had spilled a third of the Bull
Durham pouch on the nightstand and torn four cig-
arette papers. A wizard I wasn t. I didn t fare much
54 Ed Gorman
better with the matches. I burned the hell out of my
thumb. The flesh around it was now brittle and
brown, and the nail itself gray from the match heads.
The smoke tasted good. I took it down deep and
true, and when I expelled it, it looked gas-jet blue in
the sunlight. A nurse peeked in to say see you to-
morrow, Mr. Ford, and the woman who d cleaned
the room asked if I was done with the magazines I d
told her she could have. I told her sure. She said her
daughter would be very excited.
I had succumbed to the pace of the hospital. You
can fight it, but why bother? Either your wound or
illness or the sheer monotony of the place will get
you eventually, anyway.
I concentrated on the method of David s death
rather than his death itself. I d be working through
my regrets about his passing the rest of my life.
For now, I wanted to know who had cut his throat
and why. The automatic assumption was that one of
the men he had working with him had killed him to
take the gun and sell it. Maybe two or three of them
together had done it.
The next assumption was that one of the four men
who d come to buy the gun had done it, one of the
men the marshal had told to stay in town.
The smell of hot food was welcome, even if it
turned out to be only the usual broth and bland slice
of white bread, served with a small cup of vegetable
soup. What I d been picturing was something more
along the lines of a slab of beef and boiled potatoes
and some kind of vegetable with a slice of cherry pie
and hot black coffee, chicory flavor, if you have it,
ma am, for dessert.
The hefty night nurse must have caught my ex-
Cavalry Man: The Killing Machine 55
pression. You ll be eating regular tomorrow. The
doctor told me to tell you that. Man like you wants
food. Now you lay back there.
She fed me. I dribbled a lot. I supposed it was
undignified, but I didn t give a damn. I d seen too
much in the war to care about dignity. I d seen men
mostly young men who could have been my sons or
nephews puking, shitting, sobbing, begging,
screaming when they died to believe anymore in dig-
nity. Dignity wouldn t have helped those kids, any-
way, and I mean both sides. I m not one of those
braying winners. Both sides suffered far too much to
brag about anything.
When I d sufficiently fouled my chin and the bib
the nurse had wisely slung around my neck, I said,
There was a nurse this afternoon . . .
And that was as far as I got.
Jane Churchill.
How d you know the one I meant?
All the men ask about her.
Ah.
She s a pretty one, isn t she?
Very.
The woman laughed. She had a round, wise,
pleasant face. They re always sending her birthday
cards and things like that. Christmas cards, too.
She took my bib away and then started wiping my
face with a damp, soapy cloth. But I m surprised
she didn t tell you.
Tell me what?
Who she is. She used to spend time with your
brother. He was quite the dancer, you know.
David?
Um-hm. You d see them together out to the barn
56 Ed Gorman
dances. People loved to watch them dance. And they
figured that they were right for each other she keeps
to herself just the way that brother of yours kept to
himself.
Back when we were kids, David would never
dance at any of the local festivities. He always said
that dancing was for girls. I smiled at the picture of
him leading a pretty girl around on the floor. And in
the case of Nurse Jane . . . she was quite the pretty
girl.
You didn t know that, huh?
She was getting everything ready for tonight.
Plumping pillows, straightening sheets, setting a
fresh pitcher of water on my nightstand.
They went out and everything? I said. Had she
known he had a wife?
If you mean courted, I guess you d call it that.
She visited him a lot at the ranch he rented, anyway.
People talked, both of them being unmarried and
everything. But then you know how people do. They
make something dirty out of everything, just so
they ll have something to talk about. Live and let
live, I say.
Well, I m with you, I said in a stout, half-
kidding voice. If people want to defile each other in
the middle of the road, I say, durn well let em.
She poured me a glass of water.
Now you re making fun of me.
No, I m not. Just fooling around a little.
I don t mind admitting that I wish men treated me
the way they treat her.
You mean Jane?
She nodded. Just to go through life one day the
Cavalry Man: The Killing Machine 57
way she does. Having all these men treat her so spe-
cial and everything.
Her voice was genuinely wistful. A middle-aged
woman and a fond daydream. I liked her and felt [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl ocenkijessi.opx.pl
know immediately.
Kind of people they are, I m surprised they were
so cooperative.
Either that or I told them they d spend their time
in jail. These re city slickers we re dealing with. He
smiled. Idea of them spending three, four nights in
a hick-town jail tickles the hell out of me but it sure
don t do much for them. So they cooperated.
Do any of them have the gun or know what hap-
pened to it?
I ll get to that in a minute. When I leave here I m
gonna give you all the things I got from talkin to
them. Spent about an hour each with em. Wrote it
down in pencil and had my office lady print it up on
Cavalry Man: The Killing Machine 53
that noisy damned machine we got in the front office.
You re gonna need another rest here pretty soon. But
when you wake up, I d like you to look these things
over. Maybe it ll help us figurin out who killed him.
I m pretty sure one or a couple of them together
were the ones who killed him.
But I told you Tib and James fired a lot of shots
into the barn.
Wasn t bullets that killed him.
What the hell do you mean?
He sucked on his pipe, but it had gone out. Some-
body cut your brother s throat, Ford, and did a hell
of a bloody job doing it.
B'
I slept the rest of the day. It was an automatic re-
sponse, I suppose, to David being dead. We mourn
those we love; that s sad enough. But to mourn some-
body you loved, yet at times hated that s even sad-
der, because one feeling corrupts the other. But there
wasn t a whole hell of a lot I could do about it. I was
pretty sure he d felt the same about me.
I was awakened by the day s-end rush. Staff people
saying goodbye to each other; trays of food being de-
livered to the sixteen patients in the place; early visi-
tors to see family members. You could smell dinner
coming. Weak as I was in some respects, I sure had a
good appetite. I sipped some water and then made
my first struggling attempt to roll and light a ciga-
rette one-handed. By the time I had a lumpy white
cylinder rolled, I had spilled a third of the Bull
Durham pouch on the nightstand and torn four cig-
arette papers. A wizard I wasn t. I didn t fare much
54 Ed Gorman
better with the matches. I burned the hell out of my
thumb. The flesh around it was now brittle and
brown, and the nail itself gray from the match heads.
The smoke tasted good. I took it down deep and
true, and when I expelled it, it looked gas-jet blue in
the sunlight. A nurse peeked in to say see you to-
morrow, Mr. Ford, and the woman who d cleaned
the room asked if I was done with the magazines I d
told her she could have. I told her sure. She said her
daughter would be very excited.
I had succumbed to the pace of the hospital. You
can fight it, but why bother? Either your wound or
illness or the sheer monotony of the place will get
you eventually, anyway.
I concentrated on the method of David s death
rather than his death itself. I d be working through
my regrets about his passing the rest of my life.
For now, I wanted to know who had cut his throat
and why. The automatic assumption was that one of
the men he had working with him had killed him to
take the gun and sell it. Maybe two or three of them
together had done it.
The next assumption was that one of the four men
who d come to buy the gun had done it, one of the
men the marshal had told to stay in town.
The smell of hot food was welcome, even if it
turned out to be only the usual broth and bland slice
of white bread, served with a small cup of vegetable
soup. What I d been picturing was something more
along the lines of a slab of beef and boiled potatoes
and some kind of vegetable with a slice of cherry pie
and hot black coffee, chicory flavor, if you have it,
ma am, for dessert.
The hefty night nurse must have caught my ex-
Cavalry Man: The Killing Machine 55
pression. You ll be eating regular tomorrow. The
doctor told me to tell you that. Man like you wants
food. Now you lay back there.
She fed me. I dribbled a lot. I supposed it was
undignified, but I didn t give a damn. I d seen too
much in the war to care about dignity. I d seen men
mostly young men who could have been my sons or
nephews puking, shitting, sobbing, begging,
screaming when they died to believe anymore in dig-
nity. Dignity wouldn t have helped those kids, any-
way, and I mean both sides. I m not one of those
braying winners. Both sides suffered far too much to
brag about anything.
When I d sufficiently fouled my chin and the bib
the nurse had wisely slung around my neck, I said,
There was a nurse this afternoon . . .
And that was as far as I got.
Jane Churchill.
How d you know the one I meant?
All the men ask about her.
Ah.
She s a pretty one, isn t she?
Very.
The woman laughed. She had a round, wise,
pleasant face. They re always sending her birthday
cards and things like that. Christmas cards, too.
She took my bib away and then started wiping my
face with a damp, soapy cloth. But I m surprised
she didn t tell you.
Tell me what?
Who she is. She used to spend time with your
brother. He was quite the dancer, you know.
David?
Um-hm. You d see them together out to the barn
56 Ed Gorman
dances. People loved to watch them dance. And they
figured that they were right for each other she keeps
to herself just the way that brother of yours kept to
himself.
Back when we were kids, David would never
dance at any of the local festivities. He always said
that dancing was for girls. I smiled at the picture of
him leading a pretty girl around on the floor. And in
the case of Nurse Jane . . . she was quite the pretty
girl.
You didn t know that, huh?
She was getting everything ready for tonight.
Plumping pillows, straightening sheets, setting a
fresh pitcher of water on my nightstand.
They went out and everything? I said. Had she
known he had a wife?
If you mean courted, I guess you d call it that.
She visited him a lot at the ranch he rented, anyway.
People talked, both of them being unmarried and
everything. But then you know how people do. They
make something dirty out of everything, just so
they ll have something to talk about. Live and let
live, I say.
Well, I m with you, I said in a stout, half-
kidding voice. If people want to defile each other in
the middle of the road, I say, durn well let em.
She poured me a glass of water.
Now you re making fun of me.
No, I m not. Just fooling around a little.
I don t mind admitting that I wish men treated me
the way they treat her.
You mean Jane?
She nodded. Just to go through life one day the
Cavalry Man: The Killing Machine 57
way she does. Having all these men treat her so spe-
cial and everything.
Her voice was genuinely wistful. A middle-aged
woman and a fond daydream. I liked her and felt [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]