Chapter 4

A great snake of lightning crackled to the west, followed by a salvo of thunder like the Federal artillery. The rain that threatened all afternoon burst upon them, beautiful and terrible as an army with banners.

Mattie yelped and reined Opal to a halt, looping the reins around a bar on the dash board. "Help me get the top up," she said. "No, no, pull that hinge there, or you will get such a pinch," she directed, pointing.

"Here?" LaBoeuf asked, tugging that hinge into place. He heard a metallic clicking, felt the metal snap into position, blocking the deluge.

Mattie tugged off her glove by pulling at the fingertips with her teeth, and then reached forward, holding out her hand and smiling with satisfaction as her palm filled. "Oh, we do need it, every drop." A gust of cool air hit them, and Mattie laughed out loud. She turned to beam at him, before looking back at the water she held cupped in her hand.

She was a plain, obstinate girl, but her happiness was infectious. He grinned, too, just because it was raining and he was alone with a young lady, and he could not remember the last time either of those things had happened.

Mattie tipped the water from her hand, wiping her palm on her skirt. She struggled for a few moments to work her still-damp hand back into her driving glove, so LaBoeuf gestured toward the reins. "May I drive?" he asked. "I would offer to help you with your glove, but I think you would just rebuke me for being forward."

She fought for a bit longer, and then sighed, dropping her hand, partially gloved, to her lap. "Please do," she said. "The bakery is ahead in the next block."

Thunder boomed overhead again and Opal startled, but LaBoeuf held firm to the reins. The mare flicked her ears back towards him, as if sensing the change in leadership, but she responded to his direction and walked on.

Mattie pointed out the bakery to him, and he drove them up alongside the shop. She craned her neck, looking in the windows, which had remained largely clear despite the contrast between the cool rain without and the heat within.

"I do not suppose that I could convince you to remain out here with Opal, could I?" she asked, turning to look up at him with such an entreating expression that it put him immediately on his guard.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"Not a thing, aside from every gossip in Yell County being at this moment in Fisher's."

"Hm," LaBoeuf said. "I do not recall you being so troubled by gossip before."

"Gossip does not trouble me, Mr. LaBoeuf, but if I may somehow save all parties some annoyance I will do it."

"Sounds like 'troubled' to me," he said, allowing the ghost of a smile to creep onto his face.

"And that is easy for you to say," she said. "For I live here and you do not. You may well be content to stir up a tempest in a teapot, knowing that you can just ride away tomorrow, but I do not have that luxury."

"It may surprise you to learn that I do not ride from pillar to post compromising the reputations of young ladies."

"Well, it would be one thing if—" she began, and then stopped herself, pressing her lips into a tight, unyielding line.

"If what?" he asked. When she did not immediately answer, he prodded a little. "If what, Miss Ross?"

"If Victoria were safe and sound and everything were as it ought to be, of course," she said, looking so unhappy that he did not have the heart to tease her any longer.

"I will wait for you out here," he said.

Mattie nodded, and swung herself down to the ground, clearly unused to waiting for a man to help her descend. She climbed the steps to the covered walkway with a quick gait and a firmly planted foot. Here was no frivolous, enervated miss, he thought, smiling to himself. He kept his gaze on her as she went into the baker's.

Mattie entered Mr. Fisher's establishment with every intention of purchasing a loaf of bread and departing unnoticed, but it would not go like that.

"Why, Miss Mattie, I have not seen you for an age," Mr. Fisher said.

"Hello, Mr. Fisher. I would like a loaf of brown bread, please."

"Of course. How is everyone at home these days?"

"About as well as can be expected, thank you," she said.

"You should never have driven that light-colored horse out into this storm, Mattie Ross," Mrs. Carroll said in her booming voice, the bane of every Presbyterian choir leader in Dardanelle since time immemorial. "Everyone knows that they draw lightning." She shook her finger in Mattie's direction.

Mattie did not sigh, but it was a near thing. "That is a supersti—" she began, but when Mrs. Carroll gasped as if Mattie stuck her with a pin everyone in the bakery stopped talking.

"Why, whoever is that man out there in your cart?" Mrs. Carroll asked, pointing.

Naturally, every head in the store swiveled to look out the window to where LaBoeuf sat in the gig. At that moment, providentially, he appeared to be gazing off into the distance toward Mount Nebo, only partially visible under a shroud of clouds.

Mattie exhaled slowly. "He is Mr. LaBoeuf, a family friend from Texas."

Mrs. Carroll's eyebrows went up. "Texas. Well."

"Yes, indeed," Mattie said.

"Well," Mrs. Carroll said again, peering at LaBoeuf with an even greater interest. "What is his profession?"

"He is a lawman, Mrs. Carroll," Mattie said. Mr. Fisher handed her the wrapped loaf. "Put it to our account, please, Mr. Fisher."

The baker nodded and made some notes in his ledger.

As Mattie moved toward the door Mrs. Carroll stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Now, miss, you be sweet to that young man. Do not put him off with your headstrong ways, and see if he comes up to scratch."

Years ago, Mattie had scolded Little Frank after church for snickering when Mrs. Carroll boomed out the hymn: "It is finished! Oh, what pleasure/Do these precious words accord!" She had chuckled about it later, privately, though, so this, then, must be the punishment for her misdeed. "Yes, Mrs. Carroll," she said, dull as a mushroom, and strode out of the bakery.

LaBoeuf kept Opal standing even after Mattie seated herself.

"This evening I will walk back to your home and convey you to Daggett's in time for supper," he said. The rain pattered on the cover overhead.

"What if it is still raining?"

"I will not melt; the rain is pleasant to me. So I will see you after five o'clock."

"You will get your nice suit all wet and muddy. I can certainly contrive to get myself to Lawyer Daggett's, to say nothing of collecting you from Mrs. Hayden's house."

He shook his head at her. "No. I would be easier if you did not go out alone tonight."

Mattie could almost feel her hackles rising. "Oh, you would, would you? That is high-handed, even for you."

"There could be some trouble in town, and you should have an escort."

"An escort, in Dardanelle?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "What sort of trouble?"

"There may be a mob to hang a fellow named Dick Wallace when the sheriff brings him to the calaboose."

She shrugged. "It is naught to do with me."

"In my experience mobs are not particular."

"Do you have so much experience with mobs?"

He grinned at her, all superiority and self-satisfaction. "Have you heard the saying, 'one riot, one Ranger'?"

"No."

"No? Oh. Well." He seemed to deflate a little. "I assure you, it is well known in Texas."

"Coming from a lawless place is nothing to boast of, Mr. LaBoeuf."

"Now, I would wager that Texas is no more lawless than Arkansas when figured per capita. At any rate-"

"Wagering, really," Mattie muttered, sniffing.

LaBoeuf continued over her. "As I said, at any rate, I think we can both agree that the Indian Territories are more lawless than Texas and Arkansas combined."

"They would not be, if all of your Texas criminals would remain in Texas; the Choctaw I have met have all been decent sorts."

LaBoeuf sighed. "I can see that you are as set in your opinions as ever and will not be swayed."

"You are correct. Perhaps I could wait at Mrs. Hayden's while you tidy up, and then you can drive me home and be at ease there while I dress. How would that serve?"

"You would enter a boarding house with me, but not the baker's. I find that very strange."

"Oh. Mrs. Hayden keeps a very respectable house, so no one would think ill of it."

"An unmarried girl and a bachelor, going into a boarding house together in the afternoon without a chaperone, and no one would think ill of it?" His voice rose in indignation.

"Do not take that tone with me. You were easy enough with entering the very room of an unmarried girl in Fort Smith."

"You were little more than a child then, and I had been in communication with your mother."

"I was grown enough for you to threaten to kiss me."

LaBoeuf's face flushed to a deep red. "I assure you, if I had known then what I know now—" he began, but then thought better of it and clamped his mouth shut.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake. What if I were to just sit on Mrs. Hayden's porch and wait for you there? That way you do not spend the day walking all over town and I do not offend your sense of propriety."

"If this is Arkansas 'propriety', no wonder Babcock made free with your sister," LaBoeuf muttered, and she glared at him. "All right. If that is what you wish to do, you can wait for me there."

LaBoeuf came downstairs to find Mattie sitting with his landlady and a guest on the porch. It was a cool, pleasant spot, out of the rain. The guest, a drummer with a plaid sack suit and a Yankee accent, kept grinning at Mattie, displaying a rack of tobacco-stained teeth.

"Well, miss, I would be happy to bring a plow out to your place so I can demonstrate all of the benefits to your menfolk," he was saying. "If you would give me your direction—"

"How is your product an improvement over Mr. Wilson's plow?"

"Oh, miss, someone has taken sore advantage of you with that old thing. Why, most of my customers would happily string old Wilson up if he dared set foot on their land. Which he does not, no, indeed, miss, he does not." He grinned again, and LaBoeuf could see dark leaves of tobacco packed into his gums.

She looked down her nose at him. "We have been pleased enough with ours," she said.

"You would be even more pleased with mine. Almost as pleased as I am to pass the time with such a beautiful young lady." He was sure laying it on thick.

"Do your customers appreciate that sort of fresh talk, for I assure you that I do not," she said testily, but it seemed merely to encourage the drummer, who leered at her.

LaBoeuf cleared his throat from the doorway. "I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Ross," he said.

"Not at all; I have been visiting with Mrs. Hayden and Mister …" She paused, and the drummer stood, presenting his hand to LaBoeuf.

"Downey. I am M. K. Downey of the Harrison Plough Manufactory."

LaBoeuf shook the man's hand, squeezing perhaps a little harder than necessary. "I am Sergeant LaBoeuf of the Texas Rangers."

"Pleased ta meetcha," Downey said. "A Texas Ranger, you say."

"Yes, indeed." LaBoeuf turned his attention to Mrs. Hayden. "Miss Ross and I have a supper engagement tonight, ma'am, so do not expect me at your table."

"Oh, how nice. You young people have a lovely evening," Mrs. Hayden said.

"Thank you, ma'am," Mattie said, gathering up her wrapped loaf. "Now is a good time to go; the rain is stopped."

LaBoeuf made a point of taking the package from Mattie and offering his other elbow to her. She blinked but took his arm.

When they were seated in the gig and Mattie had the reins in hand, LaBoeuf said, "That fellow sure seemed taken with you."

Mattie made a dismissive noise. "I have been dealing with drummers and tradesmen for years. The greater fools among them think that I trade greenback dollars for Spanish coin." She clucked to Opal and they drove on.

"Oh." LaBoeuf said. "So you were genuinely interested in his plows."

"Not especially. If he has nothing to offer but slander and flattery his product is not worth the trouble."

"Oh," LaBoeuf said again. "Well, that is very sensible of you."

Mattie chortled, and LaBoeuf clenched his teeth. After tolerating that ridiculous drummer's blandishments she was laughing at him?

"You need not sound so surprised," she said. "It is insulting."

"You can get all the flattery you want back there," he said.

"That is certainly true. That, and much more, I suspect."

Mama had spent an uncommonly busy afternoon, sponging and pressing Mattie's best dress, even tacking on a lace collar and cuff salvaged from one of Mama's old gowns. That only one of those cuffs was still useable made it perfect for Mattie's dress, since her left sleeve would be tacked up and therefore unseen. In the spirit of thrift Mattie had insisted that the gown be made up with the sleeve pieced entire, since her best dress might be passed on to someone else someday, perhaps to Victoria, who would need a left sleeve.

Mama combed corn starch through her hair, followed by some orange blossom water, and then she brushed it out until it shone. She dressed it in a twist that she must have seen in The Delineator, frizzling some of the ends into a little false fringe in the front.

Mattie could not have replicated it even before her adventures in the Winding Stairs. Victoria at her most whimsical never would have attempted it, since Mattie would not have sat still for that long. But this was the first thing Mama had been interested in for some time, and Mattie's fear of looking silly must be secondary.

"You leave everything to me, Mattie," Mama said, around the hairpins in her mouth. Her hands trembled, and Mattie wondered if she had taken her chloral that afternoon. "No one can say I have done poorly by my girls; no, they cannot say that," she added, almost to herself.

"No one says that, Mama," Mattie said, trying to soothe her.

Mama stabbed the last pin into the mass of Mattie's hair, locking it firmly in place. "Victoria should be here—" she said, and broke off with a sob.

"She will be. Frank will bring her home." Mattie patted her mother's arm.

"Oh, Mattie, she is ruined. What would your papa say?"

"He would never blame you."

Mama walked away sniffling and then returned with bright eyes. "You should wear your coral earbobs," Mama said after clearing her throat. "They bring out the pink in your cheeks."

"I will, Mama." The earbobs had been left to her by her grandmother Ross. She kept them in a little box with her father's remaining gold piece. Mattie worked the hooks through her earlobes and tossed her head experimentally, enjoying the light glinting from the pink teardrop beads and the little clicking noises they made.

"Now wash, and you may use my orange blossom talcum powder. Call me when you are ready for your corset and gown. Whatever you do, do not sweat."

LaBoeuf was dozing in the parlor with his chin on his chest and his hands clasped over his belly when Mattie entered the room. "Mr. LaBoeuf," she said, "wake up. It is time to go."

He started, blinking in the gloom, and then looked at her. His gaze swept from her feet to her hair, lingering a bit at her bodice. "You look—" he began before he remembered himself. "I mean, your dress is pretty and it suits you well." It was; the dress was a soft sage green poplin, trimmed with dull bronze ribbons and facings and a bit of lace.

"Oh. Thank you," she said. Her mother bustled into the room, carrying Mattie's shawl and glove. Mama had purloined one of Victoria's more fashionable bonnets for the occasion, which under ordinary circumstances would have resulted in near-endless cries of ill-use followed by sulking. Mattie cared little for Victoria's presumed indignation at the moment, as apparently did Mama.

Once Mattie was properly hatted and shawled and gloved, LaBoeuf stood and turned to Mattie's mother. "Ma'am, I will take good care of her, and will return her home safe at a decent hour."

"Thank you, Mr. LaBoeuf. Enjoy yourself, my dear girl."

"I will, Mama. Good night."

Mr. LaBoeuf assisted her into the gig. "I mean to drive us," he said, "if only to spare your fine glove."

"That is all right," Mattie said. She draped a cloth over her lap to protect her dress from mud and water kicked up by Opal's hooves, and passed the other end so LaBoeuf might cover his trousers as well.

He urged the horse forward, and they were on their way. The sky above the trees and hills was a brilliant orange and intensified the vivid greens and blacks of the freshly-soaked fields. LaBoeuf inhaled deeply and exhaled. "Fine weather for a drive," he said.

"It is. Despite all of the extra work it is my favorite time of year."

LaBoeuf nodded. "Are you at all fond of reading the newspapers?"

"Very much so. We have a fine paper here in town."

"What do you think of our president, 'Grover the Good'?"

"He is a Democrat, and a Presbyterian, so I expect good things."

"Even after that unpleasant business about Mrs. Halpin's son?"

She gave him an indignant look and sniffed. "What a subject to bring up with an unmarried lady. Are there so few ladies in Texas that you are unaccustomed to the rules of polite conversation?"

He appeared to flush, although it could have been a trick of the waning sunlight. He tucked his chin down and cleared his throat. "I do apologize; I was curious to see what a good Presbyterian like yourself might make of our President Cleveland."

"I am nothing like a model of Presbyterian behavior. I have killed a man."

LaBoeuf laughed out loud. "Well, when you put it that way…"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I was disappointed to hear of it, though, and I do pity that poor boy. Can you imagine, everyone in the country now knowing the sordid details of one's birth and infamous mother?"

"I suppose that would be a painful cross to bear," he said.

"As to Mr. Cleveland, perhaps New York Presbyterians conduct themselves differently, although we 'all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God'." She paused. "By all reports he has done rightly by the child, and he did not dissemble when the scandal was revealed, so in that at least his conduct was honorable. What do you think of him?"

LaBoeuf thought a minute. "I shall wait and see. I prefer him to Blaine, which is faint praise."

"Yes, unfortunately," Mattie said. "I had high hopes for President Garfield, but Mr. Blaine, although his friend, seems to be cut from an entirely different sort of cloth, leaving Mr. Cleveland as the only choice." She sighed. "It is a nuisance, sometimes, being a woman. I must wait for Little Frank to be old enough to vote for the interests of our property."

LaBoeuf kept his gaze on the road ahead. "You might marry."

Mattie smirked. "I might also find El Dorado, but I do not care to 'entertain hypotheticals'," she said.

"Is it so unlikely?" he asked.

"Do you enjoy teasing me over my lack of prospects? I do not wish to rebuke you so close on the heels of my last scolding, but I shall if necessary."

He sighed as though she were being excessively tiresome. "It is not outside the bounds of possibility that you should marry if you wish it, and I would not suggest otherwise." He cleared his throat. "We will have a good showing of stars tonight, since the clouds have moved on."

"I suppose we will," Mattie said in a diffident voice, looking intently at something beyond the horse's ears.

LaBoeuf looked over at her. "What is wrong?"

"I am thinking about my sister. Do not mistake me: I am still angry with her. But I picture her cold and hungry and alone and soaked with rain."

"Well. It is possible, but just as likely that she is ensconced somewhere warm with Babcock. Neither possibility can be of much comfort, I know."

Mattie pursed her lips. "I have little doubt that he has gotten what he wanted from her. Her virtue would be worth little to him after the fact, but the horse she took with her was a fine animal." She sighed. "No, I fear that he will abandon her when she grows tiresome, and he will take the horse to sell, leaving her penniless and friendless and prey to whatever should find her next."

LaBoeuf nodded. "In any case, I fear that there is little to do but wait for news." The sun was sinking lower in the sky, making Mount Nebo look as though it were wreathed in fire. "That is a sight to see," LaBoeuf said.

"It is. We have a little summerhouse there and—" Mattie gasped, covering her mouth.

"What is it?"

"We must go to Mount Nebo!"

"We? Tonight?"

"No, no, not tonight. But tomorrow! Please say you will come. I should be so grateful of your company."

"Hold on. How long of a trip would this be?"

"Just an hour or two. They could have gone there, Mr. LaBoeuf. She might be there still."

"Let us speak of it tomorrow. For now, try to enjoy the evening. I know I will."

As fine as the Daggett's house appeared it was but a setting for its jewel-like mistress. Mrs. Daggett was a handsome woman of perhaps thirty years, with elaborately dressed golden hair and lovely, regular features. She wore a frothy reception gown of deep blue silk, and gold earbobs glistened at her ears. She greeted Mattie warmly and bade LaBoeuf a gracious welcome to her home.

LaBoeuf heard a small scuffling upstairs, and looked up to see little Lydia waving at them through the stair rails. "Hello," she called in a loud whisper.

Mrs. Daggett turned to look up at her daughter and Lydia scampered back into the nursery.

"You made quite an impression on my children today, Mr. LaBoeuf. They could speak of nothing but the Texas Ranger." She led them into the parlor. "Mr. Daggett will join us presently, but allow me to introduce you to our other guests."

Judge Stewart, a tall, thin, ascetic man with hawk-like features and whiskey blossoms on his sunken cheeks, greeted them gravely. Mrs. Stewart was equally thin, but the resemblance ended there; her pale face bloomed with paint instead of spirits, and her eyes sparkled with humor behind her pince-nez spectacles.

"Mr. LaBoeuf, this is Lorenzo Perry, Mr. Daggett's law clerk," Mrs. Daggett said, indicating a slight, round-shouldered man with scraggly moustaches and a face like a bowl of clabber, particularly when he bent over Mattie's hand in greeting.

"My dear sister Miss Keel is visiting us from Memphis." Miss Keel dimpled prettily and smiled. Although not quite the vision her older sister was, she was well-dressed and moved with a beguiling feminine grace.

"I do hope you will share with us some stories of Texas, Mr. LaBoeuf. Mr. LaBoeuf is a Texas Ranger," Mrs. Daggett said, and the other guests made the appropriate noises of interest.

State Representative William Barton and his daughter Alice arrived with Mr. Daggett shortly before a servant rang the bell for supper. Barton was smooth and dapper, with oleaginous hair and a smile to match. The girl Alice was a shy fifteen year old, with none of Mattie's presumed gravitas at that tender age.

The men escorted their supper partners to table. LaBoeuf had the honor of giving Miss Keel his arm, and the judge thoughtfully switched sides, offering his left arm so he could escort Mattie with the minimum of awkwardness.

The meal was delicious, beginning with oyster soup, followed by a roast goose. LaBoeuf kept his expression neutral but could not resist stealing a glance at Mattie as Mrs. Daggett carved the bird. She met his gaze and raised her eyebrows, as though asking, "what of it?" before turning back to the judge.

"What brings you from Texas, Mr. LaBoeuf?" Representative Barton asked.

"I apprehended a criminal in the Indian Territory, and was called to testify in Judge Parker's court."

"That was in Fort Smith, though. Dardanelle is somewhat out of the way, I think you will agree," Barton said.

"I met Miss Ross and her family some years ago, and passed through to pay my respects since I was nearby."

"Mr. LaBoeuf was one of the lawmen who joined me in pursuit of my father's murderer five years ago," Mattie added.

The Stewarts, the Daggetts and Perry continued to enjoy their goose and their rice croquettes and Irish potatoes, but the others seemed to both recoil and lean forward simultaneously, forks and knives temporarily forgotten in their hands.

"You pursued the man?" Miss Keel asked. Alice Barton's mouth gaped until she remembered herself, then watched the adults for cues on how to react.

"Yes, indeed," Mattie replied, matter-of-fact. "I hired the Federal Marshal and we went in pursuit of Tom Chaney. We were then joined by Mr. LaBoeuf, who sought Chaney for another crime."

"Despite my initial misgivings and protestations, Miss Ross was most heroic out there," LaBoeuf said.

"No more than yourself," Mattie protested. "Mr. LaBoeuf landed a 400 foot shot with his Sharps Carbine to save the Marshal from a cowardly ambuscade."

"And then Miss Ross dispatched Chaney with my Sharps after he broke my skull."

"And I fell into a pit, where I was bitten by a rattlesnake. I would have died if my companions had not pulled me to safety and then carried me back to Fort Smith."

Alice Barton looked across the table at LaBoeuf with undisguised admiration and starry eyes. "You saved Miss Ross's life, Mr. LaBoeuf? That is very romantic." She blushed and looked down at her plate as her father gave her a stern look.

Mattie choked on a sip of water.

"I am afraid that it was not romantic at all, Miss Barton," LaBoeuf said, but not unkindly. "Miss Ross was very ill and very young, and I was sorely wounded. It was the Federal marshal who did most of the saving, and he was not at all what young ladies might call a romantic figure."

"No, Miss Barton, he was more of a picaresque figure," Daggett said, chuckling.

"Mr. Daggett," Mattie said, protesting.

"A good man, though, certainly," Daggett said, nodding an apology to Mattie. He cleared his throat. "He was tall, as I recollect, but stout, with a patch over one eye and a grizzled beard. He looked a right desperado, and smelled like a distillery." Mattie identified Mr. Daggett's storytelling voice as a close cousin to Mr. LaBoeuf's professorial voice and she clamped her lips together to keep from smiling at the similarity.

"Oh, were you not frightened to be in the company of such a man, Miss Ross?" Miss Keel asked.

"Not at all. He was over fond of whiskey and bluster, but the nobility of his character was plain to see, despite his rough exterior. Only someone with foul intent would have cause to fear Marshal Cogburn."

"Cogburn… he was the fellow who shot all those Wharton boys, was he not?" the judge asked.

"He was," Mattie said. "He lost his position over it."

Judge Stewart harrumphed. "They should have given him a medal and a prize; those Whartons were all mean as snakes, and twice as devious."

"I agree, Judge," Mattie said. "I saw that Odus Wharton in Judge Parker's court, and there was no question as to his bad character."

"What news from Memphis, Miss Keel?" Lorenzo Perry, Daggett's law clerk, asked, jumping on the heels of Mattie's words.

Miss Keel blinked at the abrupt change of subject. "Oh, my, let me see… my friends the Looneys gave the most delightful ball for Mardi Gras."

"Was it not splendid?" Representative Barton chimed in from his seat next to her.

"Were you there, sir?" Miss Keel asked.

"Indeed I was, but I did not realize until now that our mutual friends neglected to present me to the most charming lady in attendance. Please do forgive my negligence, Miss Keel."

"I am sure no forgiveness is necessary, sir. You must have any number of people clamoring for your attention at these events."

"Ah, that is no excuse, miss. I hope you will allow me to atone for my lack of attention."

"It will be my pleasure."

LaBoeuf did not miss the tiny smile shared by Miss Keel and her sister. He looked across the table at Mattie, to see what she thought of the human drama enacted there, but she appeared to be in a serious discussion with the judge.

LaBoeuf turned to Mrs. Stewart, who gave him a crinkly smile. "If the Representative is not careful he may find himself with a leg-shackle," she said, sotto voce.

"I think you may be right, ma'am."

"Of course I am. I also suspect you might be in that market yourself."

LaBoeuf blushed and cleared his throat. "I hope to be in a position to marry before too long."

Mrs. Stewart nodded. "And how does Mrs. Ross fare?"

"I am afraid she is under the weather tonight."

Mrs. Stewart looked knowingly at him. "Mary Ross was my dear friend before her husband died. I remember when Frank brought her here from California. The most beautiful girl I ever saw, with her black hair and dark eyes. She grew up wild out west, with little learning to speak of, and none of us knew quite what to make of her at first. She soon settled down, though, and made for a fine wife and mother."

"Yes, that certainly appears to be—"

"Her elder daughter is worth two of her."

LaBoeuf blinked. "Ma'am?"

"Would you say that you have a dangerous profession?"

"Ah, yes, ma'am, it can be."

She peered at him through the tiny lenses of her pince-nez. "Well, then. A decent man in a dangerous line of work would want to ensure that his widow and children thrive after his death, would he not?"

"I, ah…I suppose he would."

"You must know that the only reason that Mary and the children do not live hand-to-mouth in some wretched hovel is that girl sitting across from us. Despite Mr. Daggett's good advice, without Mattie her mother would have lost everything Frank Ross built. You should think on that."

LaBoeuf's jaw worked for a moment. How had he gotten himself into such a conversation? "Yes, ma'am," he said and turned his attention to his quail on toast.

Oh, man, I so wrote myself into a corner with the supper party. What on earth was I thinking? Now it's x years later, and no one will be reading it. Ah, well. Merry Christmas to you all, if any!

The saying "one riot, one Ranger" actually comes a few years after this time, but I love it, and I think LaBoeuf would, too. LaBoeuf tries to engage Mattie in that age-old game of "Oklahoma Dissing," because, theoretically, if there's anything that a Texan and an Arkansan can agree on, it's that Oklahoma is worse.

"Chloral" refers to chloral hydrate, which was given commonly to those who, in the parlance of our times, are suffering from insomnia and anxiety. It was the Valium of its day, and also the primary ingredient for slipping someone a "Mickey Finn" or one of Jackie Treehorn's White Russians.