Episode Tag for "A Man Without a Gun"—There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart. (Jane Austen)
"Oh, no. Not you again."
Johnny grinned and shoved the toe of his boot in the door before Val could slam it shut. "Hell yes it's me. What did you expect? You're laid up here—again—with a bunch of wild kids swarming all over you, and no woman to cook or clean or do any other domestic-type stuff…"
Val's eyebrows shot an exaggerated warning over the heads of the kids. Johnny grinned bigger, then whistled through his teeth and clapped his hands together. "C'mon now! Time to head outta here. Me and Val's got some talking to do." Two or three of them skedaddled out the door right away, but Johnny stuck his arm out and caught the oldest around the middle. The boy shrieked and wiggled to get away, but Johnny held him tight.
"Hey, what's-your-name. See that you bring somethin' to eat for this stove-up ol' man the next time you come, okay?"
The kid nodded as Johnny snuck a coin into his hand and let him go; the rest of the wild Indians left with him. Johnny heard Val collapse back into his easy chair and say, "I saw that."
"Saw what?" Johnny closed the door. He'd have locked it, if Val had a lock.
"I saw you give the kid money."
"Yeah? So?" Hands on hips, Johnny turned back to the sheriff. Val's face was pale. His mouth was set tight against the pain.
"So nuthin'. I just wanted you to know I saw you bein' all sneaky there. Don't think I don't notice stuff like that."
"Hurtin', huh?"
Val flicked his words away, but Johnny saw the bottle of laudanum on the table beside him, next to a glass half filled with water. "You want that laudanum, or can I buy you some whiskey?"
Val glared at Johnny. "You can leave me alone. A man can't get any rest for all the racket around here. If it ain't Indians it's Lancers. I never heard a family make more commotion."
Johnny studied his hands while Val grumped. "I'm gonna talk to you about that, but first you need to tell me. Which is it? Laudanum or whiskey?"
Val waved a hand in the air. Well, Johnny could use a drink. He found another glass in the kitchen and a bottle of cheap rye; he poured them each a measure of the rotgut, and dragged a kitchen chair into the front room.
They drank in silence for a few minutes. Finally Val squinted at Johnny. "Okay, okay. What is it you're gonna talk my ear off about now?"
Johnny sighed and looked over Val's head to the Indian blanket hanging on the wall. A nail had come out of one corner, and it hung at an angle.
"You said some words when you came out to the ranch, when you were gonna quit sheriffin'. You were mad at something and it had to do with me and Scott."
Val squirmed in his seat. "What are you talking about?"
"You said something about me and Scott laughing at you. What I want to know is, where the hell did that come from?"
Val stared at his foot for a while. He wrinkled his nose and turned his gaze to the crooked Indian blanket. He drew in a breath a couple of times, but words didn't come.
Johnny sat tight.
Finally Val grimaced at him. "Well, I guess I was misled about a couple of things."
"By Criswell?"
"Who else?"
It wasn't much of an apology, but it was all he would get from the likes of Val. To Johnny, it was enough. "Yeah, well, he didn't fool me."
"Oh, pshaw. Tell me how you got that conk on the head if he didn't fool you."
"Now, Val, anybody could have made that same mistake."
"Only if that anybody was already spoilin' for a fight, like someone I know who should remain nameless but who is right in this room."
Val fixed him with a glare that was meant to be fearsome; it made Johnny grin. He sat back in his chair and chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you're right, Val. I guess you're right."