You don’t want to strike a whore, because some are ill-tempered, and all are tougher than they look.”

Phoebe seemed amused. “Anything else?”

“They fight dirty.”

She laughed again. “I’ll keep that in mind in case I ever find myself in a boxing match with a prostitute.”

I nodded. “In general, it ain’t wise to mess with whores.”

“I can assure you I won’t ‘mess’ with them, as you put it. My interest is strictly peaceful coexistence for the duration of the trip.”

I stared at her blankly.

She said, “I want us all to get along.”

“We’ll get along when we have to,” I said.

“Well, why wouldn’t we?”

“They can be a sharp-tongued lot.”

“Meaning?”

“You don’t cotton to cussin’.”

“I make no secret of my stance on profanity.”

“Well ma’am, whores can cuss to make me blush.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. And you’ll be wise to pretend you can’t hear ’em.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“If they know it bothers you, they’ll do it twice as much.”

Phoebe frowned. “They sound like an antagonistic lot.”

“Don’t know what that means,” I said. “But it ain’t always good to mix whores with proper women.”

“Why not?”

I struggled to put my thoughts into words. “There are certain types of behavior you consider improper and unladylike.”

“Of course. What of it?”

“Well, them things don’t affect whores the same way.”

Phoebe looked uneasy, but spoke no more on the subject.

 


 

 

 

11.

 

I had to produce my gun in a quick fashion to the livery man for sellin’ Gentry a lame horse.

“That were a legal transaction,” he said. “You can’t just come in here and threaten to shoot me!”

Gentry stood slightly behind me, holdin’ her new horse by the lead attached to its halter. I cocked the hammer on my Colt.

“You wouldn’t!” he said.

“I never pull my weapon,” I said. “Less I intend to use it.”

“What about the Sheriff?”

“Hollis’ll shoot you too, if I happen to miss.”

“What?”

“You don’t sell a lame horse to a lady,” I said. “Specially one that’s travelin’ the Ozarks.”

“A lady?” He relaxed a bit, pointed at Gentry. “She ain’t no lady, Mr. Love. Why, that’s little Gentry from Shingles. She’s a whore.”

I’d had enough. “Defend yourself or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

He tensed up again. “There’s witnesses,” he said.

He meant his wife and the kid who stacks his hay. They were standin’ frozen where they’d stood when I first entered the livery. Neither had spoken. I figured the boy hoped I wouldn’t shoot his boss and the wife hoped I would.

“Your choice,” I said, evenly.

He looked at his wife and hay stacker. “I’ll give her a different horse.”

“And five dollars extra.”

His face turned red.

“It’s all right, Emmett,” Gentry said. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“She’s a whore!” he said, spittin’ the word at me.

I cuffed him with the back of my gloved hand, and the rawhide ridges on it sliced his cheek. A line of blood formed.