“What I mean, ma’am,” said Paul, “is that you need your wheels regreased or you won’t make it much farther before your car falls apart. We’s only trying to help.”

The woman looked at Paul and Vern with a pained face. Vern could see her thinking. Here was a woman who was all alone in this world. She had to think longer and harder than other women.

“And you’re going to help us?” she said.

“Be glad to, just as long as this kid don’t shoot me dead first.”

A long silence passed between them. She was too afraid to open the door.

“Look!” said the little girl. “Doggie!”

The woman said, “How do we know we can trust you?”

“Because,” said Paul, “you can trust a man who’s been boiling bottles and teats all morning.”

The woman stared at the baby in Vern’s arms, then at Paul. She let her eyes sit on Paul a little longer than normal. “I’m Eulah, and this is Reese.” She nodded to the boy. “And this is Pete.”

Paul held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Tex.”

Vern shot his hand to the kid next. “My name’s Vern, and this baby here is Verna Sue.”

Eighteen
Cowboys and Banditos

The handgun made Pete feel safe. It was all that made him feel safe. And feelings of safety were hard to come by. Every morning, before they covered miles in their old automobile, Pete would think to himself about the pitfalls that awaited them. The world was dangerous and cruel, and nobody was worth trusting during these hard times. That’s what he’d learned since his father passed. Trust nobody. Fear everybody. And never set your cowboy hat on your bed because it’s bad luck. He read that in a western dime novel once.

Pete thought about how he’d use the gun if he had to. How would he hold it? Double-handed, or single-handed with one hand resting on his belt buckle for poise? It was important to plan these kinds of things. You didn’t want to go shooting people looking like you didn’t know what you were doing.

Pete used the hours in the car imagining exactly how he’d use his gun if duty called. He thought about what he’d say when he drew his pistol. It was crucial to have something deathly clever to say. That’s how all cowboys did things. They said things that were witty just before they pulled the trigger.

He considered the phrase, “You ain’t gotta leg to stand on, bandito.” He’d read that once, and he liked the way that foreign word rolled off the tongue. But this phrase had been said to a one-legged Mexican bandito before he got shot in the heart. Such words wouldn’t make sense if they were used on regular old bloodthirsty roadside murderers.