Still, it seemed too small for his head. Maybe that was because he wore the brim high on his forehead, ’stead of low over his eyes, like most. He had on denim pants, which you don’t see that often this side of the Rockies. He also had on purple boots, which you don’t see anywhere.

“I’m Emmett Love,” I said.

He smiled a big smile. “I’m Joe Simpson,” he said. He pointed at the lady on the wagon seat and said, “And that there’s my wife, Clara.”

I tipped my hat without offerin’ her a friendly expression.

“Ma’am,” I said.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Love,” she said.

He pointed at the girl. “And this little bundle of happiness is Hannah.”

She didn’t appear to be filled with happiness, or even the least bit happy. But I nodded at her anyway, and she stared back at me with empty eyes in the way I’ve seen old men stare at a window without lookin’ through it.

“Hannah would love to visit your womenfolk,” Joe said, “if that suits you.”

Hannah didn’t look like she cared either way about visitin’ with the women, but I didn’t see no harm in it, other than the size of her pa. If he decided to turn surly, it could take several bullets to put him down.

I looked at Rose.

“What do you think?” I said.

Rose pulled her shotgun from the wagon and covered the distance to Joe Simpson so quick no one had time to react. She leveled her shotgun at the center of his face, pulled back the hammer on one of the chambers and said, “Hannah seems a bit solemn.”

Joe laughed, not seemin’ to realize the degree of danger his life was in.

“Hands in the air,” Rose said.

He looked at me.

“I’d do it,” I said.

Joe put his huge arms in the air.

“Hannah’s just tired,” he said. “Anyway, her bein’ solemn don’t seem enough reason to shoot a man.”

“She’s also got blond hair,” Rose said.

He looked at his daughter.

“Can’t deny it,” he said.

“And you folks don’t,” Rose said.

“She come by her hair color honestly,” he said. “Clara’s family was all blonds.”

They looked at each other a minute. Joe said, “Still ain’t reason enough to shoot me over.” Then he said, “Can I put my hands down now?”

Rose said, “You can put them down after I shoot you.”

Joe shook his head. “You don’t seem a neighborly bunch,” he said. “But that’s fine, we’ll ask nothin’ of you. If you’d see fit to lower your shotgun, Clara and I will be pleased to keep movin’ along without troublin’ you further.”

Rose said nothin’.

“’Less you got more questions for me,” Joe Simpson said.

“I do have one,” Rose said.

“Please ask it, then.”

Rose cocked the hammer on the second chamber of her shotgun. Then she said, “How did Hannah come by that necklace?”

 


 

 

 

25.

 

I hadn’t noticed Hannah’s necklace bein’ familiar ’til Rose asked the question.

Then it started to look real familiar. In fact, it looked a lot like the one my favorite whore from Springfield used to wear.

Clara spoke up. “Please don’t shoot my husband!”

Rose inched the shotgun closer.

Joe said, “Whoa, Miss! Be careful with that thing!”

“The necklace,” Rose said.

Clara’s fingers raced to her daughter’s throat. She pulled the necklace over Hannah’s head and threw it on the ground in front of Rose. “Please! You can have it. It’s just a cheap dry goods necklace,” she said. “It’s not valuable, and certainly not worth dying for.”

Joe relaxed a bit. “I can explain the necklace,” he said.

“Then do so,” Rose said.

“It was a gift from a lady we met two days west of here,” Joe said. “We found ’em ten miles off the main trail, five women and a man, travelin’ together.