“But that don’t make sense. If they took his hat, then that means that boy really did see—”
Without another word, Fleming pulled his pistol out and jammed it under Cloyd’s chin. “You shut up about it right now or I’ll blow your goddamn head off and toss you over the side, too. Understand?”
The tobacco farmer tried to nod his head in agreement, but it was impossible with the gun barrel pressed against his throat. He cast a desperate look toward the man gripping the lantern and swallowed. “Sure, Tom, sure.”
“Ain’t no one going to ruin my chances of getting back my property, you hear me?”
“Yeah, Tom. Whatever you say.”
“You’re goddamn right,” Fleming said. “I’ll get her back if it’s the last thing I do.”
43
CHIMNEY WENT AT the corn cutting like a maniac, the promise of good times and women propelling him to get the job over and done with so they could leave. “That cousin of yours might not be the friendliest man in the world,” Ellsworth said to Cane, “but damn, he ain’t afraid of work, is he?” They were standing under a locust tree at the edge of the field, taking a break and watching him attack another row. Chimney wasn’t any bigger than Eddie, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Hell, Ellsworth thought, he didn’t even think Tuck Taylor could keep up with this one.
“No, sir, he ain’t,” Cane said. He looked down at the raw place the handle of the machete had rubbed into the meaty part of his right hand between the thumb and fingers, and grinned a little to himself. One thing for sure, there wouldn’t be a lawman or reporter in the country expecting to find the Jewett Gang harvesting a cornfield in southern Ohio. He wished he knew what the papers were saying about them. It had been a week since he’d seen a new one.
“No wonder he’s so skinny. How old is he anyway?”
“Hollis? Oh, he’s around eighteen,” Cane said a little warily. He took another drink of water from the jug and set it down on the ground, figured it best to change the subject. “Yeah,” he went on, “won’t be long and we’ll have this field whipped.”
“And a couple days ago I was ready to give up,” Ellsworth said. “If it hadn’t been for lettin’ Eula down, I probably would have. Makes a difference, havin’ a wife.”
“I expect so,” Cane said, recalling the way Pearl had gone off the rails after Lucille died. “What do ye think you’d have done if you hadn’t married?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess if I hadn’t met her, I’d have probably drunk myself to death. Had an uncle do that. But she keeps me in line. What about you? You got a woman?”
“Uh, no, sir,” Cane said. “Not yet anyway.” Christ, he hadn’t even kissed a girl, let alone done anything else with one. He thought about the newspaper article he had read about the ones who had been coming forth in little towns all over the South, extolling his romantic charms, the gentlemanly way he treated them, each claiming to be his one and only sweetheart. “A twentieth-century Lothario,” the reporter had called him.
“Well, you’re still young, but take my advice and don’t wait as long as I did to get hitched. I was thirty-four, and I wish to Christ I’d done it sooner.”