"Son, they don't want to talk. They're itching to build their
reputations, and the only way they can do that is if one of them shoots
you in a draw. Just don't let them aggravate you into doing anything
foolish, " Norton said.
Josey nodded her agreement, then turned to her husband again. "Where
do you want me to lay out the plates? " "It's too stuffy to eat in
here, " Norton said. "Why don't you put it all out on my desk? " Cole
waited until Josey had gone into the outer room before speaking to the
sheriff again. "Where's Ryan? " "He'll be along soon. He was headed
here, but then he got called over to the telegraph office to pick up a
wire. I expect you're anxious to have a word with him." Cole
nodded.
He kept his temper under control by reminding himself that the sheriff
had only done Ryan's bidding. It was the marshal who'd ordered Norton
to keep Cole in town, and it was also the marshal who'd pinned the star
on his vest. Cole had in mind another place for the badge. He thought
he might like to pin it to the center of Ryan's forehead. The thought
so amused him, he smiled.
Josey had removed the papers from the desk and covered it with a
red-and-white tablecloth. There were two chipped china dinner plates,
white with blue butterflies painted on the rims, and two matching
coffee cups. In the center of the desk was a platter of fried chicken
sitting in a thick puddle of grease, along with bowls of boiled turnips
with their hairy roots, like gauze, still wrapped around them,
congealed gravy that resembled day-old biscuit dough, pickled beets,
and black-bottomed rolls.
It was the most unappealing meal Cole had ever seen. His stomach,
still tender from the influenza, lurched in reaction to the smell.
Since Josey had already left, Cole didn't have to be concerned that his
lack of appetite would offend her.
The sheriff took his seat behind the desk and motioned for Cole to pull
up another chair. After pouring coffee for both of them, he leaned
back and pointed to the spread. "I might as well warn you before you
get started. My wife means well, but she never quite got the knack for
cooking. She seems to think she's got to fry everything up in a kettle
of lard. I wouldn't touch that gravy if I were you. It's a killer. "
"I'm really not hungry, " Cole said.
The sheriff laughed. "You're gonna be a mighty fine marshal'cause
you're so diplomatic." Patting his distended belly, he added, "I've
gotten used to my Josey's cooking, but it's taken me close to thirty
years to do it. There was a time or two I thought she was trying to do
me in." Cole drank his coffee while Norton ate two large helpings of
food. When the older man was finished, he restacked the dishes inside
the basket, covered it with his soiled napkin, and stood up.
"I believe I'll mosey on down to Frieda's restaurant and get me a piece
of her pecan pie. You want to come along? " "No, thank you. I'll
wait here for Ryan." One thought led to another.
"What did you do with my guns? " "They're in the bottom drawer of my
desk. That's a right nice gunbelt you've got. It makes it easy to get