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faithful she d be as long as she had a single breath left
in her. She d rather get et by wolves than break her
wedding vows.
And on she stumbled into the long wet night, fear
and cold howling in her every fiber.
The storm swept over them and brought with it rain
and an early darkness.
Toussaint had been thinking about Karen; what he
would feel like if it was her instead of Martha they
were trying to rescue. He figured the first opportunity
he had, he d go and ask Karen to marry him. He d
give her the silver ring he had in his pocket. She d
raise hell of course, refuse and tell him to get off her
land, threaten to shoot him maybe if he didn t. Hell,
he didn t care if she did shoot him just as long as she
agreed to marry him afterward. He missed her like he
never thought he would. He couldn t even say why he
missed her exactly maybe it was because he missed
the bad parts of being married to her as much as he
missed the good parts; she always made him feel alive,
even if at times miserable. She always kept his pot
stirred up real good. Making up with her was always
better than the fighting. Then, too, the rain made him
remember those good parts real well and he knew for
sure he missed those times when it rained him and
her lying abed watching it before and after making
Dakota Lawman: Killing Mr. Sunday 179
love. He reckoned he was somewhere around forty
years old. She was, too. They might just as well get
married again and grow old together rather than
grow old alone he reasoned. He knew Karen s ways,
and she knew his, and he couldn t see learning all that
stuff over again with a new woman.
Jake said, We better find a place and make camp.
I know where there s an old soddy nobody lives
in not too far from here, Toussaint said. Used to be
lived in by these two Irish brothers who thought
they d come west to make their fortune. From Brook-
lyn, New York, I believe they said they were from.
Last time I came across them one had died of some-
thing and the other was nearly starved to death him-
self. I hunted him some dreaming rabbits and it saved
him, eating those dreaming rabbits. Anyway, the last
time I come out this way he was gone, the place about
ruined, the roof half caved in, but funny thing was all
the furniture was still there.
What are we waiting for, point the way, Jake said.
They found the place still standing, what there was
of it. One wall had collapsed and most of the roof as
well, but there was a bit of shelter nonetheless.
I guess we should have come better prepared,
Jake said.
You thought we d find them quick, Toussaint said.
I m new at this.
I know it. Manhunting is something you learn as
you go.
They sat in a pair of the chairs the brothers had left
behind, in under what was left of the roof. The hiss of
rain had to it a hypnotic effect.
Can I ask you something? Toussaint said.
180 Bill Brooks
The question came out of the shadows and was one
Jake hadn t expected.
Sure.
You ever bad in love with a woman?
I was.
I guess it didn t work out or you wouldn t be in
this country alone.
You d guess right.
You mind me asking why it went wrong between
you and her?
There a reason you want to know about my love
life?
Yeah, figure you might know more n me about
what s in a white woman s heart.
Karen, you mean?
Yeah.
It s a long sad story I d have to tell you about the
woman I was in love with, Jake said. One I d just as
soon not remember.
Sure, I understand, Toussaint said. None of
that stuff is easy for a man. Thing is, I m thinking of
taking up with her again.
Good luck.
Some rain, huh?
Yeah.
You think we ll find Martha alive out there
somewhere?
It s hard country, Jake said. You d know that
better than me.
This is hard country on a woman, for sure.
Hard country all the way around, the way I see it.
You think women have it in them to forget past
injustices?
Dakota Lawman: Killing Mr. Sunday 181
Probably more so than most men.
I hope we find her alive.
Yeah, me, too.
The sound of rain sang them to sleep.
22
gh
allon Monroe saw the shadow of a shape that
Flooked like a shack and spurred his stolen horse to-
ward it. The rain had beaten his hat down and filled
his boots. It was a cold evil rain, he thought, like
something God would send to drown an evil man, or
at the very least punish him for his sins. Fallon wasn t
a big believer in God or sins, but he was some because
his old man had been in the God business and some of
it had rubbed off.
He drew in at the ramshackle place, didn t see a
light on inside, figured rightly it was vacant. He tied
off and went in slapping rain from his hat. He found
an old bull s-eye lantern and lit it, looked around. It
was a bigger than usual shack with several cots in two
rooms, rusted cookstove with nickel-plated legs. And,
except for the loose floorboards and the strange smell
of the place, he thought to himself, it s just like a fine
hotel. He found some canned goods and some mealy
flour and a chunk of salt-cured pork and within the
hour he d eaten his fill. He pulled his tobacco from an
inside pocket along with his papers and fashioned
Dakota Lawman: Killing Mr. Sunday 183
himself a shuck and smoked it sitting out of the way
of the leaky roof, then remembered how wet his feet
were and pulled off his boots and poured the water
from them out an open window. He carried the
lantern over to the large bed it had an iron frame
and was about to bunk down when he saw the stains
large as a pair of dinner plates. He held the light
closer. Bloodstains. He pulled back the blankets and
saw the stains had soaked into the tick mattress. It
made him feel a tad uncomfortable to think about ly-
ing down on a bloodstained bed and so he went out
again into the main room and chose one of the small
cots and lay down on it.
He d checked out the first three stops the ticket-
master back in Bismarck had written down for him
Bent Fork, Tulip, and Grand Rock. Just shitholes of
places and no Clara. The next place on his list was a
burg called Sweet Sorrow. The good news was, so far
there hadn t been any law on his trail for the stolen
horse.
The night rain seduced his mind to thinking back
when he was a boy. It seemed like another lifetime.
Like it wasn t him but someone else, a story he d read
about a boy.
One thought led to another and eventually it all led
to his daddy. The old man had been a preacher back
there in Kentucky, would ride the circuit on a mule
back up in the hollows preaching to folks where there
wasn t any church except the sky and the trees. When
he wasn t preaching he was a sawyer and Fallon never
did conclude how the two went together. The old
man would be gone from Saturday night till Monday
morning and come home with chickens, eggs, butter,
184 Bill Brooks
and jams, all in a poke sack to go along with the little
bit of money he earned from his preaching; enough
food and money to keep the Monroe family Fallon,
his ma, and his siblings from starving. The old man
was hard and stern, seemed to be smoldering inside
all the time, hardly ever smiled.
One time he caught Fallon looking at a deck of
playing cards with sultry renderings of women on
them he d gotten from a boy in town for a nickel. The
boy said he stole them off a gambler. The old man
belt-whipped him over it, saying how he was going to
beat the devil out of him and pretty much did.
But then one day a woman from the hollows
showed up with her young daughter a girl not much
older than Fallon, fourteen or fifteen both women
barefoot and looking like scarecrows except for the
daughter s round belly. The older woman came right
up to the house and yelled for him to come out
Preacher Monroe! Y all better get on out here now!
This, on a Good Friday when they d all just sat
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