The Wild Yazoo by John Myers Myers

Author:John Myers Myers [Myers, John Myers]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4405-6465-9
Publisher: Adams Media
Published: 2012-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XIX

THE TOWN WAS NOT the busy metropolis I had found it the previous fall. Summer was the neutral season when trade was slackest, and there were neither carriages nor carts on the streets. Plantation owners were afield on their holdings, taking their families with them or sending them to cooler latitudes.

I secured refreshment for both Goober and Talisman at a livery stable, washed the dust from my throat down into my stomach with a cool punch and, without further ablutions, made for my employer’s place of business. As a traveler in a hot country must, I had become so used to discomfort as not to consider it important; and I had my own reasons for wanting Pace to see me as I was.

He had an office on the ground floor of a high-ceilinged, two-story brick building. It was, by comparison with the outdoors, blessedly cool. The open door sucked a slight breeze through windows facing toward the river. Even the flies found it a soothing haven and were motionless on the wall.

The only other occupant of the simply furnished chamber was Pace himself. His feet were on the desk, his chin was on his chest, his breathing was easy and regular. After observing him a moment, I leaned my rifle in the corner. Then pulling up a chair and pulling down my hat brim, I put my feet on the desk also. The liquor had soothed me, and the position was comfortable. Shortly I slept.

It was perhaps a quarter of an hour later that a hand on my ankle roused me. I was immediately alert, a faculty I’d acquired in the woods.

“What can I do for you?” I enquired.

“Do for me!” Pace was a little irritated. “Nothin’, damn it!”

Carefully dusting my beard, I closed my eyes again. “Then let me alone, stranger.”

He did so for perhaps a minute. Then he tapped my shin. “Listen, hoss,” he said firmly, “there ain’t no use tryin’ to stake out a pre-emption claim here. I’ve got clear title.”

I reopened my eyes. “You must be Harry Pace then,” I stated, swinging my feet to the floor. “Here, I’ve got a note for you.”

One glance at McConnell’s writing told him the truth. He looked at me searchingly, chuckled, then guffawed. “Sort of took out naturalization papers, ain’t you?”

“Reckon I have,” I nodded with a smile designed to show I was in earnest but not cocksure. I wanted him to feel that way, and the bit of foolery I’d enjoyed was useful for coloring. I wished my words to have weight with him, and all indications that I wasn’t still a greenhorn sight-seer from the East were important.

“Tom says you got some good maps,” he said when he had finished the note. Pulling out a big watch, he flipped open the case. “I’m waitin’ here for somebody due on the upriver packet, but it must be late. Where’re you stayin’?”

I named a hotel other than the one I’d patronized on my former stay at Natchez. It was not to be expected that that outraged house had forgotten what Talisman had accomplished.

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