Blind Tiger by Sandra Brown

“Fuck you, cowboy.”

Thatcher planted the sole of his boot against the youngster’s chest and pushed him onto his back, holding him down with his foot. “You know what happens to horse thieves?”

Still glaring, the boy remained stubbornly silent.

“They’re hanged from the nearest tree.”

The young man’s rebellious, hostile expression wavered. “What I said, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

“Sounded to me like you did.”

The kid peered up through the gathering darkness into Thatcher’s face. “Heard about some cowboy who shot the head off a rattlesnake here in town. You him?”

“Um-huh.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Roger tell you?”

“Don’t know no Roger. Just picked up word of it somewhere.”

Thatcher tipped his head back toward the stable. “Horse thieves are a sorry lot.”

“I was just lookin’ around, is all.”

“Bald-faced liars are just as bad.” Thatcher removed his foot and hauled the kid up. “Before you kicked over that bucket and gave yourself away, you figured on helping yourself to a horse, didn’t you?”

“I kicked over that goddamn bucket on my way out. I’d changed my mind about borrowing a horse.”

“You saw my lantern?”

“Saw the horses. I thought they’d be saddled.”

In spite of himself, Thatcher chuckled. “A sorry, thieving numbskull. What’s your name?”

Thatcher’s insults had put the chip back on his shoulder. “What’s it to you, Billy the Kid?”

Thatcher looked around, his gaze landing on a large live oak. “That lowest branch ought to do.” He started toward it, yanking on the rope, pulling the kid along behind.

He dug his heels in. “Wait! Wait! Hold it! It’s Elray. My name is Elray Johnson.”

Recognizing the name immediately, Thatcher stopped and turned back. The sheriff had told Thatcher about Elray Johnson’s fearfulness following the murder of his cousin, Wally. Elray looked ready to jump out of his skin now. “Why were you trying to steal a horse, Elray?”

With no cockiness left in him, the kid choked up and gave a hard shake of his head. “You can hang me, mister, but I ain’t tellin’.”

* * *



Bill was summoned from home by Scotty. The deputy didn’t share much information over the telephone except to say that the matter had to do with Elray Johnson. That didn’t bode well.

When Bill walked into the department ten minutes later, he wasn’t met with the chaos he’d expected. The wall clock’s pendulum ticked loudly in the otherwise quiet room. Scotty was filing paperwork.

He said, “Sorry to bring you from home.”

“What’s the trouble? Where’s Elray?”

“He’s got him back there in a cell.”

“Who does?”

“Your boy wonder.”

Bill rebuked that remark with a stern look. “I assume you’re referring to Thatcher.”

“Are the rest of us supposed to consider him official?”

“Good question,” Bill muttered as he hung up his hat. He entered the cell block where all the barred doors stood open. In the first cell, Thatcher was leaning with his back to the wall, one foot flat against it, his knee raised. He had a bead on Elray, who was sitting on the cot gnawing at his fingernails and jiggling his knees.

When he saw Bill, he shot to his feet and aimed an accusing finger at Thatcher. “He roped me like a damn calf. He was gonna hang me!”

Bill looked at Thatcher, who said, “He sneaked into Barker’s stable to steal a horse. He bungled it, and I caught him. But that’s not why I put him in here.”

“Okay,” Bill said, “I’m listening.”

“He said he would rather me hang him than tell me why he needed a horse.”

Bill hadn’t seen Thatcher since the morning he’d come to the house. During their conversation on the porch, he’d told Thatcher more than was comfortable about his and Daisy’s personal life, but he knew instinctually that his secrets were safe with this man of few words.

He also knew that Thatcher wouldn’t have hanged the Johnson kid, but had scared him into thinking he would. Apparently Thatcher also had perceived that Elray’s desperation might signify a need to flee. Bill thought Thatcher was probably right.

Elray had dropped back down onto the cot. His knees were bobbing again at a frantic rate. Bill asked, “What’s going on?”

“Nuthin’.”

“Did you intend to steal a horse?”

“Naw.”

Thatcher said, “He admitted he was until he realized they didn’t come already saddled.”

Wanting to laugh, Bill managed a strict tone. “That true, Elray?”

Glowering at Thatcher, he said sullenly, “He didn’t have to rope me and jerk me to the ground. It’s a miracle my butt bone ain’t broke. I’d’ve stopped running if he’d’ve asked me nice.”

Bill said, “Where were you planning to go on horseback?”

“Just ridin’. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

Bill went over to the cot, motioned for Elray to scoot to the other end of it, and sat down where the boy had been. “My supper’s getting cold on your account, and you dare to bullshit me? Now, where were you off to that was so important you’d steal a horse to get there?”