“I reckon,” Dingus laughed. The doctor was wiping his hands.

“You can hoist your trousers back on, lad. You in the mood for a snort?”

“I’d be obliged. What kin I pay you, Doc?”

“Oh, weren’t complicated. Dollar be adequate.” The doctor lifted a bottle from a desktop, holding it while Dingus adjusted his buckles. “But speaking of gossip, I hear tell you been up to some shenanigans of late yourself.”

“No more’n usual, I reckon. But meantimes you ain’t never gonter manage to retire on jest a lone dollar, Doc—”

“Oh, a man don’t hardly make a living for fifty years, he gives up on it eventually. But no, what I hear, they got you posted all the way back up to nine thousand or more in rewards, now.”

Dingus took the bottle, nodding thoughtfully. “You know, Doc, Pm hanged if n I don’t hear the same thing. But it’s right peculiar, too. Because to speak the Lord’s truth, I’ve been sort of behaving myself most currently. Oh, I done a few harmless little pranks here and there, but they never added up to more’n four thousand and five hundred dollars in bounty on me, and that’s a true fact. But then last month I find there’s a whole five thousand more dollars on top of that, and durned if’n I weren’t all the way down to Old Mex when them last ones happened. Looks like if a feller gets a mite of a reputation they’ll hold him in account fer everything, even if’n he’s tending to his own business somewheres else.”

“Well now, that’s jest one of the penalties of fame, I reckon.” The doctor disappeared into the next room, and when he returned he carried the vest and the sombrero. “Blood’s dried,” he said, “but the bullet hole’s up under the arm this time — won’t show so proudly as these earlier ones.”

“Turkey still sleeping in there?”

“I give him a strong dose, since he turned out the nervous kind. Peed all over my kitchen table when I went to work on him. You got somewheres you’re gonter hole up, Dingus? You won’t be able to ride none, not for a couple of days, and even then you’d best have a pillow in the saddle.”

Dingus was buckling into his guns. “There’s places, I reckon.”

“Beats me why you come back on in here so frequent anyways, what with Hoke all riled up about you the way he’s been.”

“I got me some special plans this time.”

“Well, you better wait on them until you can ride. I’d let you stay here, except there’s a limit to the law-breaking a man can do, even if’n he does happen to be a medical doctor.”

“Don’t fret youself, Doc.” They were at the door. “Lissen, you don’t mind, I’d favor to leave my horse out there in your barn for a spell.”

“You young studs,” the doctor said.

Unhurriedly, Dingus crossed the yard to unsaddle and feed his mount. When he emerged from the barn he was carrying his Winchester in one hand and his shotgun in the other. He was whistling when he retraced his steps along the path he had followed earlier.

So he did not quite have to reach the overturned wagon this time before she materialized out of its shadows. “You want bim-bam? Best damn bim-bam this whole damn town.”

The idea had come to him in the barn, and he chuckled softly. “Howdy,” he said.

“Oh, sure, you come back, hey? Change your mind like smart feller. Twenty-five cent, cash in advance.”

“Ain’t that,” Dingus said, smelling her once more. “Turns out I’m in rotten shape anyhow.”

“How come is that? That old Doc, he no fix you up so good? I told you, stay with Anna Hot Water, she fix you up real damn neat.”

“I hear tell you acquainted with Sheriff C. L. Hoke Bird-sill. That a fact?”

“That a fact, okay. That son-um-beetch. He marry me pretty damn quick, you betcha, or I fix him pretty damn quicker.”

“I hear tell he ain’t gonter marry you a-tall. What I hear, he’s gonter marry that there schoolteacher, Miss Pfeffer.”

“Hey, where you hear that? That son-um-beetch, I fix him quick, he try that.”

“Well, I hear it for a gen-u-ine fact, all right.” Talking, Dingus had set the shotgun against the tilting wagon. Now he shrugged. “Well, I’m gonter be moseying on.”

“That son-um-beetch,” Anna Hot Water said. Dingus had started away. “Hey, you in rotten shape okay, I think. You don’t even remember your shotgun here.”

“I’m right sick,” Dingus said, not taming back. “I don’t reckon I can even carry it no more.”

“Hey?” Anna Hot Water said.

“Be a right fancy wedding, Hoke and that there schoolteacher,” Dingus said. He left it with her, whistling again.

So he was truly amused now, and when the rest of it occurred to him he actually had to stop and press a hand over the wound as he laughed. “Why, surely,” he told himself. “Especially since I got to put off what I come for anyways.”

He had to cross the main street, and lights blazed in several saloons, but no one was about. He did not hurry. Farther down he could see lamps beyond several of Belle’s upper windows also.

He found the house easily enough, still grinning, but then he paused in the brush behind it to stand for a time quite thoughtfully, blowing into a fist. There were no lights here. “But we know you’re in there, Miss Pfeffer, ma’am,” he said aloud. “Jest alaying in your lily bed and dreaming juicy dreams about old Hoke, ain’t you? So now how are we gonter manipulate this in the most guaranteed and surefire way? Why nacherly, we’ll jest take a lesson from Hoke hisself…”

So when the light came into the doorway in answer to his knock, all four of his revolvers and his Winchester were well hidden in the sage, and he himself was huddled against the railing of the narrow plank porch, his arms pressed into his stomach. His hair was disheveled, and his shirt was torn, and there was dirt smeared across his face. “Please!” he cried, and there was a whimper of anguish in his voice, “oh, please, help me, help me—”

“Who’s there? What—”

“Please, ma’am!” Dingus staggered toward the indrawn door, lifting his face plaintively to the light. “Outlaws! I need help bad. I been hurt—”

“Why, you are hurt. And you’re just a boy—”

“Yes’m. If I could only come inside.”

He managed to slip past her in her confusion, stumbling toward a table and bracing himself there with his head hanging again. He commenced to pant.

“But what is it? Do you need a doctor? Should I—”

“They’re after me! The door! Please, oh please, out of Christian charity—”

“But I don’t—”

The door closed, however, perhaps because he had turned to confront her again, once more with his face screwed into a grimace of terror and plaintiveness (although he was seeing the woman herself finally now also, the mouse-colored hair in curl papers, the long blunt equine jaw, the plain dull disturbed expression above the drab nightrobe, so that even as he continued to feign desperation he was already thinking, “Well, Doc dint tell me any lie about her looks, but at least she ain’t built bad a-tall”). “Thank you,” he gasped. “The good Lord will bless you for this kind deed done for a boy in distress.”

“But what is it? What’s—”

He let his breath become regular, straightening himself somewhat. “Badmen,” he declared with gravity then. “They shot my old clipped daddy, kilt him dead, and now they’re after me because I seen their faces and can be a witness. They shot me too, only I can’t tell you where. What I mean, it’s sort of delicate, being my backside—”

“Oh, you tragic boy. But I don’t see any blood. Is it—”

“No,” he said quickly, “that were earlier. I got that patched up, but then I saw them again and now they’re hunting me. Like fiends. In the town here.”

“But the sheriff— shouldn’t you go to Sheriff Birdsill?”

“Oh, no, no—” Dingus lifted a hand imploringly. “That’s jest what they expect me to do, so they’ll be watching over that way, do you see? But I’d be safe from harm’s way here, if’n you’ve got a floor for me to rest on — only ‘til dawn, and then I’d slip away and never intrude upon your goodness again. You’d be saving a wretched orphan’s life, ma’am.”