“Yes, sir. And I’ve got to get on back.”
“You might go up the street and turn her over to Anse. He’ll be up at the livery stable. The marshall.”
“I reckon that’s what I’ll have to do,” I said. “I’ve got to do something with her. Much obliged. Come on, sister.”
We went up the street, on the shady side, where the shadow of the broken façade blotted slowly across the road. We came to the livery stable. The marshall wasnt there. A man sitting in a chair tilted in the broad low door, where a dark cool breeze smelling of ammonia blew among the ranked stalls, said to look at the postoffice. He didn’t know her either.
“Them furriners. I cant tell one from another. You might take her across the tracks where they live, and maybe somebody’ll claim her.”
We went to the postoffice. It was back down the street. The man in the frock coat was opening a newspaper.
“Anse just drove out of town,” he