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gave him a swallow of the cure-all and the Chief got
up and did a rambunctious war dance and strutted
about like a young buck, yelped and shouted! Martha
wasn t at all convinced the Chief was a real Indian at
all, but Otis bought a few bottles of the elixir to sell
in the store, anyway.
Dakota Lawman: Killing Mr. Sunday 161
A few more cold rain drops fell into the fire caus-
ing it to hiss and pop.
I don t suppose you d have an extra blanket? she
said, wrapping her arms around herself to indicate
what she meant.
Big Belly wondered if she was asking him if he
wanted to get into his blanket with her and fornicate.
He nodded and said, Sure, sure, but let s eat this
puny little prairie dog first, okay?
Every drop of rain that touched her skin was so
cold it felt hot.
She wondered if she would ever get back to Sweet
Sorrow alive.
20
gh
tis Dollar sat up and said, I feel like I been
Obeat with a fry pan. His head hurt something ter-
rible and all night he d fallen in and out of a fitful
sleep, dreaming alternately of Martha and Jesus.
Only in his dreams Martha had glowing eyes like a
rabid wolf and laughed at him as she danced with the
Devil, and Jesus wore a fancy blue shirt with pearl
buttons and said to him, I am going to walk across
that river and pointed to a river that was wider
across than the Missouri in spring time. It looked aw-
ful deep and treacherous and mighty swift.
I don t believe you ought to try it, Otis warned,
for he was afraid that even Jesus would drown in a
river that wild and raging.
Him that believeth shall not fear, Jesus said.
Let him who believeth lay down his worldly goods
and follow me, then stood up and started walking
across the river and Otis felt the greatest desire to fol-
low him, but his own fear of drowning paralyzed him
and the next thing he knew the Lord was on the far
side walking up the embankment by himself in that
Dakota Lawman: Killing Mr. Sunday 163
nice blue shirt. Otis felt ashamed, for he knew he d
been left behind to wallow in his fear and that he d
never be anything but a coward when it came down to
the hard stuff.
What s the matter with you? Karen said shak-
ing him by the foot until he came fully to. You re
yammering in your sleep like there was somebody
chasing you. That s when he said how it felt like
he d been beat with a fry pan and she said, The
marshal said you told him you were beat with a little
gun.
Otis saw that it was sometime in the day, the
windows to the cabin full of white light. He could
smell something frying in the black iron skillet atop
the stove and it smelled good to him but his head
hurt so terribly that he fell back twice trying to
stand.
I guess I was dreaming, he said, but he didn t
care to mention what his dreams were about, for he
was ashamed of his cowardice and knew the dream
that scared him only proved the type of the man he
truly was, for he d let that madman steal his Martha
and hadn t put up that much of a fight to save her.
Looking at Karen standing at the stove, he felt the
love he d always had for her come to the surface.
Maybe he hadn t really wanted to save Martha, he
thought. Maybe if Martha was to be taken off and he
became a single man again, Karen might . . . Oh, it s
such a damn foolish notion!
They ate dinner in silence.
Then Karen said, I ve been watching for that fel-
low who the marshal said bashed in your head. The
marshal is after him, but that crazy old Swede could
164 Bill Brooks
still come around here. I told the marshal if he did, I d
shoot him.
Otis said, Good. He deserves shooting. He stole
my wife. I ll help you shoot him.
She looked at him hard across the table.
How come you and Martha were out there in the
first place? she said.
Otis was reluctant to say why, but Karen waited
for an answer.
We were on a picnic, he said.
Picnic, huh. Sounds like something lovers would
do. You back in love with her, Otis, Martha?
I waited a plum long time for you to come
around, Karen. I waited twenty years and you never
came around, never so much as gave a hint you d
want me . . .
She shook her head as she poured them each a cup
of coffee, then turned the frying meat in the pan with
a fork.
I never wanted you, Otis. I mean you re a decent
fellow, more than decent, and what we had that one
time was just that one time and that s all water under
the bridge now and always has been. Sure, I was
tempted at times to ask you to leave Martha and
marry me. But it wouldn t have been love on my part
if I d done it. I would have done it for Dex s sake; so
he d have a father.
You saying . . . ?
No, Dex wasn t yours. Dex was his daddy s, my
husband Toussaint s child. Only he don t believe it,
but then Toussaint is a dark trouble who has his own
mind about things and far be it from me to try and
convince him otherwise.
Dakota Lawman: Killing Mr. Sunday 165
I wish it weren t so, Karen. I wish Dex had been
mine and that you had asked me to leave Martha I d
done it.
And you d ended up regretting it, Otis.
Maybe so, he said. She filled his plate with
fried slices of ham, and mush from a pot and set a
plate of warm biscuits on the table to go along with
the coffee.
You kept saying her name in your sleep, Martha s,
Karen said.
Did I?
They ate for a time without saying anything more,
then Karen said, He killed his whole family. All but
one: a little towhead boy.
Then she realized that she probably shouldn t have
said anything about the Swede killing his family, that
it would only cause Otis to fret more, but it was too
late to take any of the words back.
I figured he done something bad, Otis said. I
saw blood on his shirt cuffs just before he knocked
me on the head. Then they fell to silence again, the
food and the very world itself seeming glum.
All the rest of that morning, Karen had sat in front of
the cabin watching for strangers while Otis lay in bed
mumbling in his sleep before she went in and woke
him for dinner. It was right after they finished eating
that she saw a strange-looking carriage approaching
from off in the far distance, two people riding atop.
Get ready, we got company, she said.
Karen took the needlegun Toussaint had once
given her and went outside with it and Otis followed
her. He squinted through swollen eyes to see who it
166 Bill Brooks
was, said, If you give me a gun I ll help you kill
him.
Go back inside, Otis. I only got this one gun and
I can shoot pretty damn good with it and if there is
any killing to be done on my property, I ll be the one
doing it. Your head funny the way it is, I wouldn t
trust you to protect me from a chicken thief.
But when the contraption drew within better view,
Karen could see the two people riding atop it: Tall
John, the undertaker, and Will Bird, the lanky and
handsome young itinerant with dark curly hair
spilling from under his hat. It was a glass-sided hearse
they rode atop.
Miss Sunflower, John said as soon as he drew
reins and set the brake. Marshal asked me to come
collect Otis from you. He looked at the shopkeeper,
the bandaged head, the swollen black-and-blue eyes
that gave him the look of a wounded raccoon.
We thought maybe you were that madman, she
said.
I don t suppose you d have any coffee with some
whiskey in it, said Will Bird, his thirst for a drink
hard upon him now that he d helped bury a bunch of
murdered people. The youngest woman s face espe-
cially haunted him; she had probably been pretty
enough in life, but in death she was haunting.
Coffee, no whiskey to go in it, Karen said.
Both he and Tall John were sweaty and dirt
smeared.
Both men got down and John wiped his brow with
a large blue bandanna he pulled from his back
pocket.
Dakota Lawman: Killing Mr. Sunday 167
An onerous task burying those poor folks. Oner-
ous, indeed.
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