weren’t of no mind to hurt Baldy’s feelin’s, though, now we was finally startin’ to get along. So I just nodded and allowed as how I reckoned he had a point.
We come into the little settlement of Arredonda along about dark, and I’d the idea maybe Perfessor Monk would be wantin’ to stop there and make camp for the night.
Me, I’d already decided what I was goin’ to do if that happened. Which was bid him a thankful farewell and start right on in to hoofin’ it again. I’d no plans a-tall to let Lila an’ them other two scoundrels get any further ahead of me than they already was, and I’d a idea I might manage to come up on their camp somewheres durin’ the night. Then we’d have us a little settlin’ of accounts.
But as it turned out my new-found travelin’ compadre weren’t of a mind to call it a day his ownself just yet. He told me he’d done a fair piece of gettin’ around during the dark hours hereabouts, and he reckoned he knew the trails an’ roads through these Florida woods ’bout good as anybody ’cept maybe a Injun or a moonshiner. Figured the more distance he could put behind hisself now, the less he’d have to cover in the mornin’ before settin’ up shop in Micanopy.
Leastways that’s what he told me. I was startin’ to get the idea Monk Drucker had begun to take more’n just a passin’ interest in this outlaw chase of mine, though I couldn’t imagine why he’d want to do it.
But when he come back from knockin’ at the door of a cabin near the railroad tracks to ask after Lila and her friends one more time, he sort of grinned an’ winked at me. Then he went to rummagin’ through one of them cabinets behind the seat of his wagon, and handed me out a brand-new Smith an’ Wesson pistol in a shiny leather holster.
I glanced at him mighty curious when he done that, but I didn’t ask no questions. I just took it and begun checkin’ her over in the light from this coal-oil lantern Monk had hangin’ up front above the driver’s seat.
She was a beauty, all right: .45 caliber with polished walnut handles, nice feel an’ balance. And a whole heap lighter than my ole Colt Dragoon. It was all I could do to keep from tryin’ her out right there on the spot. But I didn’t figure it’d be a good idea to go alarmin’ the populace that-away, callin’ special attention to myself an’ all. So I just hefted her a couple times, tried the action, and then climbed down from the wagon to strap her on.
Monk couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Well,” he asked, leanin’ forward on his toes, still grinnin’. “What d’ya think?”
I kept my peace whilst I tied the rawhide thongs about my leg. Then I spun on my heel and tried a couple, three fast draws from the hip before lookin’ back over my shoulder at him.
“If she shoots as pretty as she handles,” I answered, “I reckon she’ll do the job just fine.”
When I started to climb back up in the wagon I noticed Monk didn’t move to join me right away. And when he finally did, he was lookin’ at me awful peculiar.
“Y’know, Tate,” he said. We’d both been usin’ first names for awhile now. “I’ve run across a gunfighter or two in my travels, out in Texas and elsewhere. Most of them weren’t especially quick, just a little more ready to shoot than your average man. But among those few who did manage to get their guns into play in a hurry, I’ve never seen anybody do it faster than you did just now.”
He paused to take up the reins and cluck to his mules. After we’d started rollin’, he went on more thoughtful-like: “I hadn’t realized until now that I was in the company of a professional.”
I looked at him from underneath my hat-brim.
“Well,” I replied, “that there ‘professional’ is a interesting word. Most folks would take it to mean the way a gent chooses to earn his livin’. But if it’s your idea I’m some kind of a warrior for hire, I got to inform you you’re flat dead wrong.” I fell silent, keepin’ my eyes on the swaying rumps of the mules out in front of us.
“I’ve drawed fightin’ wages a time or two,” I admitted finally, “whenever the cause seemed right and I needed the work. But mostly I just ride for the brand. If a man hires Tate Barkley he hires all of me, and that means anything I’m able to do middlin’ good. Happens usin’ a gun is one of those. Along with breakin’ horses, whippin’ steers out’n the brush, followin’ a trail, ridin’ night herd, or you name it.”
Monk Drucker nodded and didn’t reply for a couple seconds. Then he glanced at me out of the corners of his eyes and observed, “You’d better douse that lantern. It can be seen for several miles out here in the woods. If that trio’s made camp somewhere up ahead I’d rather we saw their light first, instead of the other way around.”
5
WE WAS HEADIN’ SOUTH now along this narrow sand road, with big old live oaks an’ hickories on both sides, hung over by wild grape and Spanish moss. The frogs an’ other night critters was singin’ so loud the creak an’ rattle of Monk’s wagon was just one more noise amongst the rest. Still loud enough that a listenin’ man could pick it out, but not near so noticeable as earlier in the day.
It was real dark all around us, what with them thick woods and the moon not yet high enough to where we could see it. The sky overhead was clear an’ full of stars, though. So that white sand showed up pretty good for keepin’ us pointed right. And the mules seemed to have a idea of where we was besides. Like as not they’d traveled this way a time or two before.
A hour or so after leavin’ Arredonda we begun comin’ acrost some open country in amongst the stands of hardwood an’ low hammock land. Monk allowed as how we’d ought to be skirtin’ the west edge of Alachua Lake about then. And after the road curved to the left a mite, he told me we was startin’ to pass through a narrow stretch of ground with that piece of water on our left and Levy Lake to our right.
There was mostly low, sandy hills hereabouts, with open patches where cattle grazed in between the groves of live oak an’ thick growed-up woods. Ever now an’ again we seen a pole corral or a dark cabin, but without no way to tell from a distance whether folks was livin’ there or the place had been abandoned long years before.
It was maybe nine or ten o’clock by then, and the moon was climbin’ higher. Once in a while we’d come out from the trees or top a little rise, and be able to see almost a mile of open country before us.
The second or third time we done that, Monk Drucker whispered to his mules and all of a sudden drawed back on the reins. I followed his pointin’ finger to a little stand of live oaks away off on our right, where the ground rose up before slopin’ off towards what I figured must be the lake, although we couldn’t see it from where we was. If you squinted up your eyes and looked real close, you could just make out this faint orange an’ yellow glow next to the trunk of one of the furthest trees.
Neither one of us said nothin’ for a minute. Then Monk turned his head towards me and whispered, “Well? What do you think?” When I didn’t answer right away, he went on. “There’s no cabin up there. And it appears to be a man-made light of some kind. Maybe it’s the camp of those three we’ve been following.”
“Maybe.” I kept my voice low whilst I studied them trees in the distance. “Or maybe not. Could be just some local feller doin’ a little night fishin’.”
I hesitated before addin’, “Or cookin’ shine.
