He touched it with his palm and stared at it.

“You got no right,” he said.

“Five dollars,” I repeated. “And a true horse. And an apology.”

He was mad as a hornet, but he replaced her horse and gave Gentry the five dollars. I didn’t move, nor holster my gun. It took him a minute to realize what I was waitin’ for.

Through clenched teeth, he said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Love.”

“The apology ain’t for me,” I said. “It’s for Gentry.”

“I ain’t apologizin’ to no whore,” he said. “Go ahead and shoot me, and fuck you both!”

“You will apologize, or Gentry and your missus’ll have a little chat about you right here and now.”

He glared at Gentry like his eyes were deadly weapons.

“I apologize, Miss,” he said.

Gentry walked over to him. The look on her face said she was sorry for what she’d put him through. But then she kicked his nuts with her steel-toed boot, and he crumpled to his knees in agony. I thought she might kick him again, but he vomited, and she backed off. Gentry looked at his wife, and said, “If that’ll keep him off you a week, I reckon’ I done you a favor.”

The wife spit the ground in Gentry’s direction, and we left with the new horse.

 


 

 

 

12.

 

We slipped out of town at four a.m., after remindin’ everyone we’d be leavin’ six hours later. That way the livery man and his friends—and Billy Shingles and his friends—wouldn’t be waitin’ outside of town to ambush us.

We rode single file with me in front, Phoebe second. Six of the whores shared the next three horses, followed by Scarlett, who rode a mule. Bringin’ up the rear was Ira Glass, the tall, lanky kid who tried to keep me from enterin’ Shingles Dance Hall a few nights earlier.

The women wore buckskin breeches, and cotton shirts with leather jackets in different shades of brown. Scarlett wore a vest under her coat to help flatten her chest. We all had on cowboy hats, except Ira, who sported a bowler with a dome crown, leather sweatband, and ribbon trim. To Phoebe I muttered, “That type a’hat would look good on a chief’s lodge pole.”

The six mile point of our journey put us a short distance from a bend of the Gasconade, where I expected to find five stones by the side of the trail. But there were only four, which gave me pause until I figured what was up.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll stop here and rest the horses a mite.”

“Can we eat now?” Emma said.

“Sit tight. I’ll fetch somethin’.”

“What should I do?” Ira said.

“Build us a fire and keep an eye on the ladies. I’ll be back directly.”

As the women dismounted, I steered Major through a thicket toward the place Shrug and I like to fish. This part of the river has so many twists and turns, it takes fourteen miles by water to cover three miles by land. When I got there, I found ten perch hangin’ from a tree branch.

I stopped and waited.

When the rock exploded against a tree three feet from my head I didn’t even flinch.

“Hey, Shrug,” I said.

He popped out from behind a tree, scamperin’ low and crablike, pointin’ and grinnin’ at me. Then he pointed at Major.

“We’re both used to the rocks,” I said.

Shrug nodded.

I dismounted, and tied Major’s rein to a low bush so he could graze. Shrug moved toward Major, lifted one of his back legs, and removed a pebble from his hoof.