The Money on the Table

At first light, Mrs. Noll put a folded paper into the Man’s coat pocket and told him not to sit on it.

“Pell’s mark is at the bottom,” she said. “I wrote what he said. He watched Rusk leave Hobb chained in the ditch, and Rusk owes him six dollars.”

Pell, still tied to a chair in the washhouse, called through the open door. “You wrote that I saw it. You didn’t write that I liked Hobb.”

“I didn’t ask you to like him,” Mrs. Noll replied. “You can add that if it troubles you.”

The Man tucked the statement away carefully. His right hand had stiffened overnight, and the pocket was easier to reach with his left. Hobb waited by the stable with his coat buttoned wrong and his face the color of old flour. The payroll was wrapped in canvas and tied behind the saddle.

Mrs. Noll looked them over as if she could still order them to stay. “You reach camp, you settle the wages, and you don’t bring armed men back here.”

“That’s the idea,” said the Man.

“An idea with two sick-looking fellows and a horse that talks.”

“Three sick-looking fellows,” Bob put in. “I’ve heard what passes for breakfast in this town.”

The Man mounted without using his injured hand. Bob shifted when he settled in, which was not a helpful opinion but was at least a clear one. Hobb rode beside him. Mrs. Noll stood in the doorway until they had turned east. Pell watched from the washhouse window, one cheek pressed against the bars.

The camp lay several miles beyond a shallow creek and a stretch of open ground. Hobb knew the route, though he had to stop twice to catch his breath. The Man did not ask if he was fit to continue. Hobb would have treated the question as an insult, and it would not have improved his lungs.

On the trail, the Man drew out Pell’s statement once to check it had not worked loose. Mrs. Noll’s handwriting was compact and sharp. At the bottom, Pell had pressed a muddy thumb into the ink. A witness mark with the look of something dragged from a boot.

“He gave you that?” Hobb asked.

“He gave Mrs. Noll the account. She wrote it down.”

“Good.” Hobb watched the trail ahead. “Rusk can call me a liar. He can’t call Pell one without explaining why Pell stayed quiet until he was tied to a chair.”

Bob flicked an ear. “I’ve been tied to worse chairs. Usually they had a feed bag attached.”

The camp came into view after noon: a low bunkhouse, a cook shack, and a corral that needed mending. Smoke lifted from the cook shack chimney. Three horses stood saddled outside. Rusk was at the corral gate with two armed riders. His bandaged ear showed beneath his hat, and his good ear was turned toward the men gathered by the bunkhouse.