“Where is he?” asked Cole. “I don’t see anyone.”
“Well, he sure as hell isn’t waiting for us on that sad excuse of a porch. C’mon, we need to keep going.”
“What about the other brother? You said he’s not around either.”
“That’s right. Randy left about the same time Rusty did. Now, he had a way with the ladies. Always did, though I think they called him Randy ‘cause his Christian name was Randall. Still, I remember people speculatin’ on whether he just grew into his name, like the egg maybe came before the chicken.”
Cole had been to Longabach’s restaurant with his sister several times since their arrival. Estella Longabach’s meaty stew was served with a side of speculation, giving her customers a double order of something to chew on. Cole could easily imagine the chicken and egg debate occupying the diners for an evening.
“Randy seemed the kind that would embrace his brother’s new religion,” Will said, “but he stayed a couple of months after that and took up with a half-breed Cherokee girl. Bought her from the trappers she was traveling with and moved on up to Leadville. Could be they have children now.”
“So Runt cares for the place.”
“His pa makes sure he does. He’ll be the one in the house.”
Cole tried to recall his conversation with the sheriff.
“Judah?”
“That’s right. But call him Mr. Abbot until he tells you otherwise. He’s particular about that.”
“Of course.”
“You should know that Runt’s ornery, and that he comes by it because he can’t help himself. Judah’s a hotheaded cuss and Rusty and Randy were just plain bad-tempered when I knew them. Both of them bullies, and with me being a few years younger, I felt the meanness in them more than once. That wasn’t anything compared to how they carried on after Runt. My ma says that Runt had to come into this world with his fists up and flailing, just to make sure he survived. It didn’t help that Delia Abbot died right off. I suppose there was a wet nurse for a while, but that was probably as much of a leg up as Runt ever got.”
“Could I have seen him around town?”
“No. He comes in maybe twice, three times a year for supplies. He hates leaving his rifle with the sheriff, but that’s the law. Still, he’s pretty good with his fists and doesn’t back away from a fight. I’ve never seen him not get his licks in.”
“So he’s a brawler.”
“No, not really. His brothers were brawlers. He did his share to keep up so they wouldn’t turn on him, but mostly it takes some provocation to get him goin’. Someone, usually someone who doesn’t know squat about him, gives him a reason to take a poke. He’s never done any time in jail, and he’s never been drunk. Wyatt just sends him off with his supplies and points out the doctor’s office to the one that tangled with him.” He gave Coleridge Monroe another glance and grinned this time. “Guess that’ll be your problem now.”
“Scrapes and bruises. The occasional black eye. It shouldn’t be so bad.”
“Dislocated collarbone or jaw is more like it. Cracked ribs. A broken arm.”
Cole’s dark copper eyebrows climbed his forehead. “He’s the runt? Are you sure?”
Will chuckled. “He’s that. Barely comes to my chin, and I know because he’s given me a few pokes in the chest. His size, or the lack of it, is usually what starts the fighting. Except for the ten-pound chip on his shoulder, he doesn’t carry much weight on him. Used to be when the Abbots were still performing, Runt’d have to play all the girl parts. Lord, but he hated that. He cleaned up kind of pretty, especially for Juliet and that other one–the wife of the Moor.”
“Desdemona,” Cole said. “Othello’s wife.”
Will snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Desdemona. Runt told me once that the only role he really liked was Portia.”
“From The Merchant of Venice.”
“That’s the one.”
Cole considered that. “Understandable.”
“How’s that?”
“A man playing a woman who disguises herself as a man. In Shakespeare’s day, men always played the women’s roles.”
“Could be so, maybe it was, but around here, we like the parts that are all woman. You take my meaning?”
“I do.”
Will thrust out a hand sideways to halt Cole’s forward progress. “We’ll hold up here. Wait for an invitation.”
Cole flexed his fingers around the reins, relieving some of the stiffness that had crept into them. “Sheriff Cooper didn’t mention that the Abbots were actors.”
“It’s been a while. I don’t suppose folks think of it much. When Judah and Delia came to town they just had the two boys and called themselves the Abbot Family Players. They sang, danced, and performed recitations. I barely remember that. I was pretty young myself. After Mrs. Abbot died they didn’t do a theatrical until Runt was probably six or seven. He did magic tricks then. Started playing parts when he was around eleven, I’d say. Quit everything … let me see, maybe six years back. He was probably seventeen or thereabouts. Couldn’t take the teasing any longer, I guess. Better for everyone, most likely. He was bound to kill someone for tryin’ to catch and kiss him. Don’t know that anyone would have done it, but it never came to that since he couldn’t be caught.”
“So that was the sort of teasing you did. You were hard on him.”
Will nodded. “Seemed harmless back then, just boys wanting to prove something we couldn’t even understand about ourselves, but I feel proper shame thinking about it now.”
“He’s come to trust you, though, so that speaks well of you.”
Will struck a thoughtful pose, rubbing the underside of his chin with his knuckles. “I wouldn’t say that he trusts me exactly. Tolerates, is more like it. He likes the sheriff well enough, so Wyatt doesn’t have to be as cautious. Of course, Wyatt always carries some of his wife’s biscuits when he travels. Makes him kind of popular with the outliers.” Will pointed to the cabin. “You might as well introduce yourself, Doc. Runt doesn’t seem to be of a mind to show himself without you giving him your credentials.”
Will tapped himself on the chest where his star was pinned to his vest. “I have mine right here.” He gave Cole an encouraging nod. “Go on. Tell Judah about yourself. He’s probably sitting on the other side of one of those dirty windows waiting to hear what you have to say. It’s a sure thing that Runt is somewhere close by.”
“Just talk?” he said, frowning. “About what?”
“Tell them who you are for starters. They know me, so it’s you that’s rousing their suspicions.”
Feeling perhaps as foolish as he ever had, Cole raised his head slightly and called out. “Hel-lo! Mr. Abbot! Ahoy, there!”
One of Will’s eyebrows kicked up. “Ahoy? We’re not exactly at sea, Doc.”
Cole very much felt as if he was. “It’s a perfectly acceptable greeting at a distance, one I heard employed at a demonstration of the telephone.” When Will simply stared at him blankly, Cole decided that explanation could wait. He tried again, shouting out so his voice would be heard clearly. “I am Coleridge Braxton Monroe.”
Will