“That forty, and twenty more from me,” Belle went on. “All right, it’s only money — leave it at the original sixty from the house. That’s a hundred altogether and you can live in the back room of the jail, and if you spend your nights here it’ll look legitimate because we get all the action anyway—” She was standing. Hoke arose also, holding his derby. “So it’s all set. I’ll talk to the mayor tomorrow. We—”

“Lissen,” Hoke said then. “That bed. Could I—?”

“Bed? Well naturally it’s a bed. What else did you think it would be, a—”

“No. I meant some night. Or some afternoon when you’re not here. Kin I jest try it out once, to see what it—”

“Some afternoon what? When I’m not where?” Belle Nops was scowling at him. “What are you talking about? Or rather what do you think I’m talking about? Come on now, and get shed of them duds. If they’re too fancy to throw over a chair you can use the closet there. It’s—”

“What?” Hoke said. “Use the—”

Belle Nops had already bent to disengage her skirts. “First man in the territory in half a year who looks like he’s had a bath since the war ended. Well, come on, come on, you figure on doing it from where you’re standing, maybe?”

“Oh,” Hoke said. “Oh. No. I were jest—” He set down the derby. “So that’s how a feller gets to be sheriff,” he said, watching her emerge.

So if he had lost his eight hundred dollars he at least had the job he wanted now, not to mention use of that remarkable bed, among other unanticipated developments. The jail itself contained three cells and an office, and as it turned out he enjoyed this aspect of his work too. Days, he spent most of his time contemplating the warrants and the reward circulars that crossed his desk, including several for Dingus Billy Magee who it developed was worth some three thousand dollars, if not yet quite important enough to be wanted both dead and/or alive. At times Hoke apprehended an occasional drunk. “But don’t let it get your johnny up,” Belle Nops told him. “Anything that smells like it might start to involve gun-shooting, you send a telegram to the federal marshal.”

“I aim to,” Hoke said.

Probably he did, since he was satisfied with the arrangement precisely as it stood, and with Belle Nops herself for that matter, even if she did continue to intimidate him. Her attitude toward him was hardly less brusque, nor would Hoke ever know when to expect a demand for his more personal services. Some nights he would find her staring at him from across a room almost dubiously, or certainly with nothing like interest in her expression, let alone heat, but then a nod, a gesture, even a ticlike curl of the mouth would indicate that he was wanted; or again he might feel a tap on his shoulder at a poker or monte table and glance up to see her already marching off, not looking back as she informed him curdy, “Business matter in the office, Sheriff.” Their actual conjunction would be equally grim also, still with no more than a nod of greeting at his appearance, although this would change at once; Hoke would begin to hear immediately the slow inexorable steady mouthing of the curses, the mounting vituperation and blasphemy which startled even him, ex-cowhand, in tones flat and vicious yet somehow finally perversely impassioned too, finally lost among the enormous calving sounds and the heaving breath, the culmination. Then before he himself could recover or think to remember what she had been calling him she would be dressed and gone again, once more indifferent and contemptuous and sour. It was a little like wrestling a bear, and to no decision. Thereafter Hoke would shrug and usually remain in the bed for a time before wandering off to wait bleakly for his next unforseeable summons. At other times he would go three or even four days without so much as a word or sign from her at all, often with no indication as they passed one another in the parlors or corridors that she even knew him by sight. Hoke was also somewhat chagrined by the second door in her room, which opened onto a narrow outside stairway at the rear of the house, although he had never actually seen anyone make use of it. “But it seems a feller ought to know he’s got it exclusive for a spell, especially since she don’t appear to admire it none,” he told himself.

Yet at moments like these he could not truly have said if it were jealousy he felt or whether he simply missed the bed itself. So then one night he lost bed and Belle both.

Then again by virtue of the same fateful occurrence he was to find himself no longer merely an anonymous territorial sheriff but a man of parts and of fame, and with a newspaper cutting to prove it that he would carry in his billfold for years:

Hanging of Desperado

Dingus Billy Magee, that notorious desperado who has been terrorizing folks throughout the New Mex. Territory, has been sentenced to hang, and good riddance say God-fearing people. As has been stated by reliable persons, said Magee was captured after a deadly gun battle in the Territory by a stalwart law officer, Mr. C. L. Hoke Birdbottom, and more power to the likes of him. It needed a brave man indeed to face up to that cowardly and murderous outlaw and Sheriff Birdbottom was just that man. He deserves his various reward money and then some.

It happened after Hoke had worn the star about eight weeks, on a quiet Wednesday (most of Belle’s trade came on weekends). Belle herself was holding court in one of the smaller parlors, dealing faro for Texas cattlemen in what experience had already taught Hoke would be an all-night session. He had himself dealt out of his own game, climbed the stairs, stripped to his woolens, and curled self-indulgendy among the luxurious silk sheets.

He had no idea how long he had been asleep when he sensed the sagging of the mattress as it took the extra weight, and then almost instantly the two impatient arms fetched him close.

Still drowsy, yet puzzled vaguely by the coarse, familiarly tacky garment his own groping hands now touched, he muttered, “Well say, now, what kind of night duds you took to wearing there, Belle?”

“Great gawd almighty!” said a voice that was decidedly not his employer’s. Nor was it even a woman’s. “Hoke Bird-sill? Is that Hoke? Well, I’ll be a mule-sniffing son of a—”

They got to their guns simultaneously, vaulting to opposite sides of the sprawling, improbable field.

“What the thunderation?”

“Why, howdy do, Hoke!”

Hoke ducked, trembling. He could see the gleam of the revolver facing him. He presumed Dingus could see his own equally well.

“Least you could do is wake a man up afore you crawl betwixt his blankets, durn it,” Hoke protested.

“Tell the truth, I weren’t rightly expecting you in there—”

“I oughter blast you where you’re squatting—”

“Don’t reckon you could hit much in this dark, not any better’n I would.”

Hoke thought about that. “I’ll stand up and back off if you will,” he suggested.

“We could hold a truce until we git some trousers on, I reckon.”

“That’s near to what I had in mind.”

“Except I don’t know as I could rightly trust you, Hoke. You still bearing a grudge about that money from your derby hat, are you?”

“I reckon I got the privilege.”

“Sure enough. But I reckon I ain’t gonter put aside this here Colt to climb into my pants then, neither.”

So they squatted some more. “We’ll just sort of hold tight ‘til daylight then,” Hoke said.

“Or ‘til Belle comes in and heaves us both out.”

“I never took you for a beau of Belle’s, Dingus.”

“Ain’t nothing. Older women always do sort of cotton to me, seems. It’s that boyish face I got, maybe. I never figured you for one, neither.”

“Well—” Hoke paused, the seed of a solution in his mind now. “Tell you the truth, Dingus, I ain’t no beau at that. I were jest sort of borrowing the bed fer a spell, is the truth of it.”