Between the Rivers

CHAPTER 4

  Unemployed

  THE hostler felt sorry for him. He did not believe in charity, but a few coins in the pocket did give the spirit a lift. Everyone likes a little jingle in their day. And so he had given the drifter— not quite a job— but a few necessary chores around the place that would merit pay and lighten his own load.

  Lynch moved around the horses as though resentful. Perhaps resentful of the work they caused, which really was never ending, or perhaps he felt caring for them reduced him to being a servant. Either way, in a country where a man left afoot was best employed digging his own grave, the hostler distrusted anyone who did not respect horses. One need not be openly affectionate with equines, but grudging their existence made no sense. Especially when you had shown up at a livery— a business entirely concerned with the care and housing of horses— asking for a little traveling money.

  By the end of the day the hostler was quite content to see the back of Lynch. He had never met a grown man so loath to do an honest day’s work. When the stage rolled up and Lynch climbed aboard, the fleeting thought dashed across the hostler’s mind to send a warning ahead to whoever might encounter the useless fellow next.

  He shook his head, sighed, and went back to looking for his pocket watch. Mostly he kept time by the comings and goings of the merchant across the street, who kept a by-the-minute schedule that would put a timepiece, and an army drill sergeant, to shame. Still, he did like to have a little something of his own, a bit of swag to justify his labors. He must have set it down somewhere. . .