Reacher glanced at him. Carmen turned abruptly and walked back into the house. Rusty and Hack Walker drifted after her. The sheriff and Bobby stayed on the porch, each taking a half-step toward the other, to put a subliminal human barrier between Reacher and the door.
“So why did they quit?” Bobby asked.
Reacher glanced at them both and shrugged.
Well, they didn’t exactly quit,” he said. “I was trying to sugar the pill, for the family, was all. Truth is we were in a bar, and they picked a fight with some guy- You saw us in the bar, right, Sheriff?”
The sheriff nodded, cautiously.
“It was after you left,” Reacher said. “They picked a fight and lost.”
“Who with?” Bobby asked. “What guy?”
“The wrong guy.”
“But who was he?”
“Some big guy,” Reacher said. “He smacked them around for a minute or two. I think somebody called the ambulance for them. They’re probably in the hospital now. Maybe they’re dead, for all I know. They lost, and they lost real bad.”
Bobby stared. “Who was the guy?”
“Just some guy, minding his own business.”
“Who?”
“Some stranger, I guess.”
Bobby paused. “Was it you?”
“Me?” Reacher said. “Why would they pick a fight with me?”
Bobby said nothing.
“Why would they pick a fight with me, Bobby?” Reacher asked again. “What possible kind of a reason would they have for that?”
Bobby made no reply. Just stared and then turned and stalked into the house. Slammed the door loudly behind him. The sheriff stayed where he was. “So they got hurt bad,” he said.
Reacher nodded. “Seems that way. You should make some calls, check it out. Then start spreading the news. Tell people that’s what happens, if they start picking fights with the wrong strangers.” The sheriff nodded again, still cautious.
“Maybe it’s something you should bear in mind, too,” Reacher said. “Bobby told me down here folks sort out their own differences. He told me they’re reluctant to involve law enforcement people. He implied cops stay out of private disputes. He said it’s some kind of a big old West Texas tradition.” The sheriff was quiet for a moment. “I guess it might be,” he said. “Bobby said it definitely was. A definite tradition.” The sheriff turned away. “Well, you could put it that way,” he said. “And I’m a very traditional guy.
Reacher nodded.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” he said.
The sheriff paused on the porch steps, and then moved on again without looking back. He slid into his car and killed the flashing lights and started the engine. Maneuvered carefully past the lime green Lincoln and headed out down the driveway and under the gate. His engine was running rich. Reacher could smell unburned gasoline in the air, and he could hear the muffler popping with tiny explosions. Then the car accelerated into the distance and he could hear nothing at all except the grasshoppers clicking and chattering.
He came down off the porch and walked around to the kitchen door. It was standing open, either for ventilation or so the maid could eavesdrop on the excitement. She was standing just inside the room, close to an insect screen made of plastic strips hanging down in the doorway.
“Hey,” Reacher said. He had learned long ago to be friendly with the cookhouse detail. That way, you eat better. But she didn’t answer him. She just stood there, warily.
“Let me guess,” he said. “You only made two suppers for the bunkhouse.”
She said nothing, which was as good as a yes.
“You were misinformed,” he said. “Was it Bobby?”
She nodded. “He told me you weren’t coming back.”
“He was mistaken,” he said. “It was Josh and Billy who didn’t come back. So I guess I’ll eat their dinners. Both of them. I’m hungry.”
She paused. Then she shrugged.
“I’ll bring them down,” she said. “In a minute.”
He shook his head.
“I’ll eat them here,” he said. “Save you the walk.”
He parted the plastic strips with the backs of his hands and stepped inside the kitchen. It smelled of chili, left over from lunchtime.
“What did you make?” he asked.