"I doubt it will take," Mr. Hickok said, smiling at me. He lit his new cigar and tilted his chair back again.
"I believe Sheriff Stone is prepared to offer you fifty dollars for your services, Bill," Uncle Seth said. "He only offered me five dollars, a sum I looked askance at."
Wild Bill Hickok laughed heartily at that piece of information. He seemed so relaxed and so friendly that I couldn't figure out why Uncle Seth had seemed nervous about going to see him. Behind us, the men in the front of the saloon didn't seem relaxed at all. Several of them were still glaring at us, a fact both Mr. Hickok and Uncle Seth continued to ignore.
"I wouldn't expect you to enjoy being offered forty-five dollars less than me, if I've got my subtraction right," Mr. Hickok said.
"You're accurate, both as to the sum and the opinion," Uncle Seth said.
Mr. Hickok blew a smoke ring or two and looked thoughtful.
"If they paid us fifty dollars apiece that would be a hundred dollars,"
he said. "I doubt the town has it. Do you suppose there's a rich citizen they could ask for a loan?"
"Well, Rosie McGee," Uncle Seth said. I perked my ears up at that. Rosie McGee lived over the saloon. Once or twice I caught a glimpse of her, fanning herself in front of her window on sultry days. G.T. must have had 16
a few glimpses, too, because Rosie was the woman he wanted to marry. "I recall that Rosie harbors a grudge against Jake Miller," Uncle Seth said.
"If she's still harboring her grudge she might be willing to make the community a loan.
"That's the best outlook," Uncle Seth went on. "If the town hired you, and Rosie hired me, we wouldn't have to put up with some ignorant posse men who would probably just be in the way."
Mr. Hickok blew another smoke ring.
"I don't know Miss McGee very well," he said. "It's possible that she harbors a grudge against me, too."
"She could even harbor a grudge against the town of Boone's Lick, in which case she might not care
to contribute a cent," Uncle Seth speculated.
"Seth, it's time I tried to scare up a card game," Mr. Hickok said. "I can't just idle the night away discussing grudges--there's such a passel of them. But I'll contribute my services to this Stumptown expedition for fifty dollars--you'll have to scare up your own wages. I'm available anytime but Friday."
"Why not Friday?" Uncle Seth asked, as he got up from the table.
"I don't work Fridays--it's a firm rule," Mr. Hickok said. "Nice to meet you, Sherman."
"You see, he's superstitious," Uncle Seth said, as we were leaving the saloon. "All these fine gun-fighters have their superstitions."
There was a flight of stairs outside the saloon, going up to the room where Rosie McGee lived. Just as we were passing the steps I looked up and saw a little red glow at the top of the stairs--somebody was sitting on the landing, smoking a cigar. A cloud had crossed the moon--all I saw was a little glowing tip.
Uncle Seth saw it too. He took a step or two, and stopped.
"Shay, you go on home," he said. "I believe that's Rosie with the cheroot. I think I'll sound her out about the state of her grudges.
"Look out for Granpa," he added. "He might still be hunting that panther."
Then he turned back, and I soon heard him going up the stairs beside the saloon. The abrupt way he left me on my own gave me a lonely feeling, for some reason. It wasn't the dark--I walked around in the dark all the time, sometimes with G.T. and sometimes without him. I had enjoyed my visit with Wild Bill Hickok, but now I felt lonely. What I wished was that I could be grown-up, like Uncle Seth--grown-up enough to stop and talk with a woman bold enough to sit and smoke a cigar, at the top of the stairs, outside a saloon.
6 WHEN I got home Ma was in the graveyard. I was feeling a little better by then--it was a pretty night and I had walked off the loneliness. There was no sign of Granpa and his pistol but as I was passing the graveyard I 17
saw Ma sitting on a little wooden bench, by the graves. One of Ma's sisters was buried there, and Granma Crackenthorpe, and my four little brothers who hadn't made it through the winters. There were some pretty bad winters in Missouri, and our cabin wasn't chinked too good. G.T.
nearly died himself once, but with the help of an old woman who knew about poultices, he pulled through.
Ma had little Marcy with her--the baby was snoring in the quiet way little babies snore.
Sometimes I would get a knot in my throat when I came upon Ma sitting in the graveyard. I don't think a person would sit in a graveyard unless they were sad, and I didn't want to think about Ma being sad.
But there she was, not saying a thing, just sitting on her little bench, amid the graves. "Hi, Ma," I said. She looked behind me.
"Seth didn't come back with you?" she asked. "I think he wanted to play cards," I said. Ma motioned for me to sit down beside her on the bench, something she rarely did. When Ma went to the graveyard she usually made it clear that she wanted to be left alone.