By morning, Joe was regretting his generosity in taking the cot. They should have flipped for it. The cot was hard and also creaked unsteadily whenever he moved. He supposed only he and Candy could have flipped for it though. Considering it was already too small for him, Hoss absolutely could not have used it. Still, it was hard to feel reasonable after a bad night of sleep and listening to Hoss' snoring all night. He supposed he should have bunked with Candy if he'd really wanted sleep.
Joe groaned at the soreness of his muscles as he rolled himself off the cot. That, coupled with the creaking, made enough noise to rouse Hoss. The sun wasn't up yet, but they could see the sky turning gray through the uncovered upper half of the window in their room. It wasn't as early as the darkness made it feel. The days were getting shorter, and the nights colder all the time.
"'Morning," Joe mumbled as Hoss blinked sleepily at him.
"Is it?" Hoss inquired, equally groggy, "We shoulda flipped for that cot. I think this bed was tryin' to swallow me up last night."
Joe sort of looked at him, and slowly absorbed that the bed had a distinct sag in the middle, and Hoss was well and truly in it. The sides of the mattress had come up and the blanket tumbled onto him, basically pinning him in a single position all night. Joe figured it was only fair. He'd had a bad night on the cot, and Hoss had a bad night on the bed. Joe supposed that when they saw Candy he would tell them that's what they got for being in too much of a hurry to stop in towns they were familiar with.
"Candy's gonna have fun sayin' us he told us so," Hoss remarked, having the same thought as Joe.
"Well, not if we don't say anything," Joe replied, "If he thinks it's just him that had a bad night, he can't have anything to say about it. If he does, we can just remind him that we said he was free to stop anywhere. That'll stop him alright."
"You have a tricky mind, little brother," Hoss said.
"It's all part of my charm," Joe said, gingerly attempting to stretch, feeling every bruise the cot had left on him as he did so.
Gradually, Hoss pried himself out of the void which seemed to be the center of the bed. The two brothers sleepily got dressed and then went in search of breakfast, wondering if such could be found in a saloon that also served as a hotel. They found Candy downstairs, poking skeptically at a plate with a brown substance on it that they presumed was meant to resemble food.
"'Mornin'," Candy remarked without looking up, his expression one of a man who suspected the thing he was poking might poke back if he wasn't mighty careful with it.
"Is that breakfast?" Joe asked, regarding the plate with a certain wariness.
"Either that or it's somebody's pet," Candy replied, "I think it's still alive."
"You boys hungry?"
Joe jumped at the sound of Lacy behind him; he hadn't heard her slinking up. She was holding two more plates of the mystery food. Though he would rather have chewed trail rations than whatever that stuff was, Joe was too polite to turn down food that had already been prepared and dished out. So too was Hoss. The both of them had been taught to eat what was put before them, even if they didn't like it. Their raising got in the way of their better judgment. Joe wondered what Candy's excuse was.
They joined Candy at the table, and together the three of them poked and prodded the brown gooky substance, checking for any signs of life or other suspicious activity. None of them wanted to be the first to actually taste it, but sooner or later one of them had to. Hoss was the bravest of them in this case, and took a very tiny taste while Joe and Candy watched with no small amount of concern.
Hoss closed his eyes tightly and scrunched up his face, chewing the tiny morsel for a lot longer than seemed strictly necessary, then he swallowed audibly.
"Well," Hoss said faintly, "It ain't so bad really, once you get past the texture."
Candy continued to look wary, but Joe didn't have the luxury of poor table manners allowing him to play with his food instead of eating it, so he was the next one to take the plunge and taste the stuff. The texture reminded him of leather, which in turn reminded him of all the times he'd bitten onto a piece of leather, which usually happened because someone was trying to pull an arrow or bullet out of him. But the flavor was mercifully all but nonexistent. Joe nodded thoughtfully.
Since both brothers had taken a bite, Candy was now virtually obligated to. Once he did, his face acquired an expression that suggested he profoundly regretted the action. For once, he had no smart remark to make, and merely consumed the rest of his breakfast in a kind of strained silence. Not that Hoss or Joe could find much to say, and the energy spent chewing took away any desire to talk.
Candy was the first one through. Once he'd started, he reverted to his typical habit of eating. Hoss and Joe both politely ignored the automatic look of possessive wariness he acquired when eating, pretending not to notice it. In recent days, they'd noticed the look wasn't as pronounced as when they'd first met him, and he didn't eat quite as rapidly either. They knew he'd learned a different set of eating manners from them, one that involved not always getting regular meals and sometimes having to fight for what little there was when supplies didn't get in.
From the outside, Joe and Hoss knew that sometimes army supply wagons got raided, or the delivery man proved unreliable. But Candy knew that from the inside. He had known a desperate kind of hunger growing up that neither of them could really comprehend. It had left its mark on him in the form of wolfing his meals down rapidly and keeping a watchful eye all around him, just in case somebody tried to take it away from him. It didn't seem to be conscious on his part, it was just something he did, and they were used to it now.
"That stuff's harder work than a cattle drive," was Candy's remark when he'd finished.
"Sure is," Hoss agreed, pushing away his empty plate, "Why I almost need to go back to sleep and rest after that," he did not order his customary seconds.
Joe was the last to finish, chewing desperately in an attempt to make it more palatable for his stomach. It was a vain attempt. He supposed it might be just as effective to swallow it whole. Finally he was through, and he let out a weary sigh.
"I don't know what that was," Joe admitted, "But I do know if I have to eat any more of it, I'll die of exhaustion."
"Then let's get checked out and go," Candy suggested, "Before it comes back to haunt us."
"Good idea," Joe said.
They found Lacy polishing the bar. Looking at the badly scored surface of the bar, Joe couldn't imagine that polishing it would do any good. He informed Lacy that they were checking out, and returning their room keys.
"Leaving so soon?" Lacy asked, frowning at them, "Somethin' wrong with the rooms?
"Oh no," Joe said, his sense of etiquette forbidding him from telling her everything was wrong with them, "It's just we've got a long way to go to get home, and we'd like to make it by Christmas."
"I see," Lacy smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes as she took the keys, "Well, sign out then."
She put the registry book on the counter, and the three of them signed their names. They'd paid her up front because that's what she'd insisted on, so there was nothing to do but walk out. The cold air greeted them icily and Joe shivered a bit in spite of himself. He actually liked cold weather, unlike Hoss -who couldn't stand it- but the morning was a little too frigid even for his liking.
In the livery, Joe found that his horse hadn't had a much better night than he had. Joe hadn't noticed it last night, but the stable was pretty drafty. His pinto whinnied a greeting and pressed himself eagerly up to Joe more for warmth than affection. Placing a gloved hand on the horse's withers, Joe felt that the animal was shivering a little. Joe felt a pang of guilt. He should have checked the stable over before leaving his horse here, but it simply hadn't occurred to him last night. He'd been so tired.
"I'm sorry, Cochise," Joe said, stroking the horse's neck, "I'll make sure you get a blanket next time."
The little horse snorted and began to snuffle Joe's hair. Joe pushed his head away and went over to where he'd left his tack. It was the first sign that something was wrong.
"Hey," Joe asked, "Didn't I leave my saddle here?"
Candy, checking over his own horse, looked up at Joe's question. He looked thoughtful as he said, "I dunno. I thought so. Maybe the stable owner did something with it."
"I doubt it," Joe replied, "I didn't get the impression he'd lift a finger to do much of anything, no matter how much we paid him."
"It's a nice saddle," Hoss remarked, "Suppose somebody took it?"
"And the rest of the saddles?" Candy asked.
Hoss and Joe both blinked, looked around and realized he was right; there wasn't a saddle in the place. Nor were their horses' bridles very much in evidence. In fact, the only of their gear they still had was the saddlebags, bedrolls and rifles they'd taken into the hotel with them and carried out this morning.
"I bet it was that livery owner," Joe said, "There was something shifty about him."
Candy frowned, but said nothing.
"What? You don't suspect Lacy, do you?" Joe asked.
Lacy was the only other person in town they'd seen. They'd arrived late, and were leaving early, and the snow was liable to make people close their shops and stay home.
"She seemed awful unhappy about us leavin' so soon," Candy answered.
"Aw," Hoss said, "What would a saloon gal want with three saddles?"
"You said it yourself, Hoss," Candy replied, "Those saddles are worth money. You don't think she makes a decent living with those hotel beds and that stuff she serves as food do ya?"
Hoss and Joe exchanged a quiet look. They'd agreed not to say anything about the beds, but it seemed there was no point in denying it now. Candy was right, nobody in their right mind would stay more than one night in that 'hotel', and less polite sorts than themselves would probably demand a refund.
"I think we should see if there's a sheriff in this town," Joe suggested.
"I guess we'd better," Hoss agreed.
"I'll stay and take care of the horses," Candy said.
Something about the way he said it got Joe's attention. Candy had an instinct for trouble before it hit, and a certain knack for self-preservation. Joe got the impression that Candy's instinct was working overtime and warning him that they shouldn't all go in a group together. Joe thought maybe he was being a little overly paranoid. After all, there was no real sign of danger, just theft. What he wasn't sure of was if Candy was being paranoid, or if he himself was being paranoid for thinking Candy had an ulterior motive for staying behind that had nothing to do with the horses.
"Okay," Joe said, not having any reason to tell Candy to do otherwise, "But you'd better keep an eye out for that livery stable owner."
"Sure," Candy replied, a guarded look in his eyes.
Joe and Hoss exchanged looks with each other, and Joe knew then that it wasn't his imagination, that Hoss saw it too, and knew what it meant. Candy's unease was contagious, primarily because Hoss and Joe knew him to be experienced in the darker sides of life, and never unnecessarily cautious. If he got a sense of danger about this place, then they should be mighty careful.
It took them a bit to find the sheriff's office, which was little more than a tiny building at the end of the town's only street. The office was surprisingly open, and they found the sheriff inside.
"Who are you?" the sheriff inquired, looking them up and down suspiciously.
"I'm Joe Cartwright," Joe answered, "This is my brother Hoss."
"That's yer brother?" the sheriff spoke doubtfully.
"Yes," Joe replied impatiently, in no mood to try and prove their relation, "We just arrived in town late last night. We were going to leave this morning, but it seems somebody took our saddles. That's what we came to see you about."
"You're Cartwrights," the sheriff said, seeming to be looking for confirmation.
"Yes," Joe said, biting his tongue to keep from making a smart remark about the man's apparent slowness, "And we're trying to get home by Christmas. But first we have to find who took our saddles."
"Your saddles," the sheriff repeated, like he'd never heard the term before.
"Yeah," Joe said, losing hold of his temper, "You know the thing you put on a horse's back."
"I know what a saddle is," the sheriff drawled, then slowly shook his head, "But I'm afraid I can't help you."
"What? Why not?" Joe asked, glancing at Hoss and seeing his brother looked as surprised as he felt.
"Because," the sheriff replied, leaning back in his chair, "I know exactly who took the saddles."
"Really?" Joe felt suspicion stirring in him, and an instinct to back away that he ignored, "Who?"
Behind him, the door to the sheriff's office banged open and he turned in time to see two deputies armed with drawn pistols that they were leveling right at both him and his brother. He reached for his gun reflexively, but stifled the impulse before either deputy was triggered into shooting him. At the same time, a cold chill ran down his back when he heard the sheriff's answer to his question.
"Us," the sheriff said, "An' you an' yer brother are not goin' anywhere."