CHAPTER 1

The Trusty

They had been moving up the road a week withoutseeing another farmhouse, and the nearest well,at least the nearest the owner would let Sinkleruse, was half a mile back. What had been a trusty sluff jobwas now as onerous as swinging a Kaiser blade or shovelingout ditches. As soon as he'd hauled the buckets back tothe cage truck it was time to go again. He asked Vickeryif someone could spell him and the bull guard smiled andsaid that Sinkler could always strap on a pair of leg ironsand grab a handle. "Bolick just killed a rattlesnake in themweeds yonder," the bull guard said. "I bet he'd square atrade with you." When Sinkler asked if come morning hecould walk ahead to search for another well, Vickery's lipstightened, but he nodded.

The next day, Sinkler took the metal buckets and walkeduntil he found a farmhouse. It was no closer than the other,even a bit farther, but worth padding the hoof a few extrasteps. The well he'd been using belonged to a hunchbackedwidow. The woman who appeared in this doorway wore herhair in a similar tight bun and draped herself in the samesort of flour-cloth dress, but she looked to be in hermid-twenties, like Sinkler. Two weeks would pass before theygot beyond this farmhouse, perhaps another two weeksbefore the next well. Plenty of time to quench a different kindof thirst. As he entered the yard, the woman looked past thebarn to a field where a man and his draft horse were plowing.The woman gave a brisk whistle and the farmer pausedand looked their way. Sinkler stopped beside the well butdid not set the buckets down.

"What you want," the woman said, not so much a questionas a demand.

"Water," Sinkler answered. "We've got a chain gangworking on the road."

"I'd have reckoned you to bring water with you.""Not enough for ten men all day."

The woman looked out at the field again. Her husbandwatched but did not unloop the rein from around his neck.The woman stepped onto the six nailed together planks thatlooked more like a raft than a porch. Firewood was stackedon one side, and closer to the door an axe leaned betweena shovel and a hoe. She let her eyes settle on the axe longenough to make sure he noticed it. Sinkler saw now thatshe was younger than he'd thought, maybe eighteen, at mosttwenty, more girl than woman.

"How come you not to have chains on you?"

"I'm a trusty," Sinkler said, smiling. "A prisoner, but onethat can be trusted."

"And all you want is water?"

Sinkler thought of several possible answers.

"That's what they sent me for."

"I don't reckon there to be any money in it for us?" thegirl asked.

"No, just gratitude from a bunch of thirsty men, andespecially me for not having to haul it so far."

"I'll have to ask my man," she said. "Stay here in theyard."

For a moment he thought she might take the axe withher. As she walked into the field, Sinkler studied the house,which was no bigger than a fishing shack. The dwellingappeared to have been built in the previous century. The dooropened with a latch, not a knob, and no glass filled the windowframes. Sinkler stepped closer to the entrance and sawtwo ladder back chairs and a small table set on a puncheonfloor. Sinkler wondered if these apple-knockers had heardthey were supposed to be getting a new deal.

"You can use the well," the girl said when she returned,"but he said you need to forget one of them pails here nexttime you come asking for water."

Worth it, he figured, even if Vickery took the money outof Sinkler's own pocket, especially with no sign up aheadof another farmhouse. It would be a half-dollar at most,easily made up with one slick deal in a poker game. Henodded and went to the well, sent the rusty bucket downinto the dark. The girl went up on the porch but didn't goinside.

"What you in prison for?"

"Thinking a bank manager wouldn't notice his tellerslipping a few bills in his pocket."

"Whereabouts?"

"Raleigh."

"I ain't never been past Asheville," the girl said. "Howlong you in for?"

"Five years. I've done sixteen months."

Sinkler raised the bucket, water leaking from the bottomas he transferred its contents. The girl stayed on theporch, making sure that all he took was water.

"You lived here long?"

"Me and Chet been here a year," the girl said. "I grew upacross the ridge yonder."

"You two live alone, do you?"

"We do," the girl said, "but there's a rifle just inside thedoor and I know how to bead it."

"I'm sure you do," Sinkler said. "You mind telling meyour name, just so I'll know what to call you?"

"Lucy Sorrels."

He waited to see if she'd ask his.

"Mine's Sinkler," he said when she didn't.

He filled the second bucket but made no move to leave,instead looking around at the trees and mountains as if justnoticing them. Then he smiled and gave a slight nod."Must get lonely being out so far from everything,"

Sinkler said. "At least, I would think so."

"And I'd think them men to be getting thirsty," LucySorrels said.

"Probably," he agreed, surprised at her smarts in turninghis words back on him. "But I'll return soon to brighten yourday."

"When you planning to leave one of them pails?" sheasked.

"Last trip before quitting time."

She nodded and went into the shack.

"The rope broke," he told Vickery as the prisoners piled intothe truck at quitting time.

The guard looked not so much skeptical as aggrievedthat Sinkler thought him fool enough to believe it. Vickeryanswered that if Sinkler thought he'd lightened his load hewas mistaken. It'd be easy enough to find another bucket,maybe one that could hold an extra gallon. Sinkler shruggedand lifted himself into the cage truck, found a place on themetal bench among the sweating convicts. He'd won overthe other guards with cigarettes and small loans, that andhis mush talk, but not Vickery, who'd argued that makingSinkler a trusty would only give him a head start when hetried to escape.

The bull guard was right about that. Sinkler had morethan fifty dollars in poker winnings now, plenty enoughcash to get him across the Mississippi and finally shedhimself of the whole damn region. He'd grown up inMontgomery, but when the law got too interested in hiscomings and goings he'd gone north to Knoxville and thenwest to Memphis before recrossing Tennessee on his wayto Raleigh. Sinkler's talents had led him to establishmentswhere his sleight of hand needed no deck of cards. With adecent suit, clean fingernails, and buffed shoes, he'd walkinto a business and be greeted as a solid citizen. Tell a storyabout being in town because of an ailing mother and youwere the cat's pajamas. They'd take the Help Wanted signout of the window and pretty much replace it with HelpYourself. Sinkler remembered the afternoon in Memphiswhen he had stood by the river after grifting a clothingstore of forty dollars in two months. Keep heading west orturn back east— that was the choice. He'd flipped a silverdollar to decide, a rare moment when he'd trusted his lifepurely to luck.

This time he'd cross the river, start in Kansas City orSt. Louis. He'd work the stores and cafés and newsstandsand anywhere else with a till or a cash register. Except for abank. Crooked as bankers were, Sinkler should have realizedhow quickly they'd recognize him as one of their own.No, he'd not make that mistake again.

That night, when the stockade lights were snuffed, helay in his bunk and thought about Lucy...