Get ahold of yourself.”
I hadn’t realized I was screaming. I shook loose. “Okay,” I said, “I’m okay now.”
Johnny looked around, slapping his pockets nervously. “We gotta get outa here. Get somewhere. Run away. The police’ll be here soon.” I was trembling, and it wasn’t all from cold. But Johnny, except for the fact that his hands were twitching, looked as cool as Darry ever had. “We’ll need money. And maybe a gun. And a plan.”
Money. Maybe a gun? A plan. Where in the world would we get these things?
“Dally,” Johnny said with finality. “Dally’ll get us outa here.”
I heaved a sigh. Why hadn’t I thought of that? But I never thought of anything. Dallas Winston could do anything.
“Where can we find him?”
“I think at Buck Merril’s place. There’s a party over there tonight. Dally said somethin’ about it this afternoon.”
Buck Merril was Dally’s rodeo partner. He was the one who’d got Dally the job as a jockey for the Slash J. Buck raised a few quarter horses, and made most of his money on fixed races and a little bootlegging. I was under strict orders from both Darry and Soda not to get caught within ten miles of his place, which was dandy with me. I didn’t like Buck Merril. He was a tall lanky cowboy with blond hair and buckteeth. Or he used to be bucktoothed before he had the front two knocked out in a fight. He was out of it. He dug Hank Williams—how gross can you get?
Buck answered the door when we knocked, and a roar of cheap music came with him. The clinking of glasses, loud, rough laughter and female giggles, and Hank Williams. It scraped on my raw nerves like sandpaper. A can of beer in one hand, Buck glared down at us. “Whatta ya want?”
“Dally!” Johnny gulped, looking back over his shoulder. “We gotta see Dally.”
“He’s busy,” Buck snapped, and someone in his living room yelled “A-ha!” and then “Yee-ha,” and the sound of it almost made my nerves snap.
“Tell him it’s Pony and Johnny,” I commanded. I knewBuck, and the only way you could get anything from him was to bully him. I guess that’s why Dallas could handle him so easily, although Buck was in his mid-twenties and Dally was seventeen. “He’ll come.”
Buck glared at me for a second, then stumbled off. He was pretty well crocked, which made me apprehensive. If Dally was drunk and in a dangerous mood. . . .
He appeared in a few minutes, clad only in a pair of low-cut blue jeans, scratching the hair on his chest. He was sober enough, and that surprised me. Maybe he hadn’t been there long.
“Okay, kids, whatta ya need me for?”
As Johnny told him the story, I studied Dally, trying to figure out what there was about this tough-looking hood that a girl like Cherry Valance could love. Towheaded and shifty-eyed, Dally was anything but handsome. Yet in his hard face there was character, pride, and a savage defiance of the world. He could never love Cherry Valance back. It would be a miracle if Dally loved anything. The fight for self-preservation had hardened him beyond caring.
He didn’t bat an eye when Johnny told him what had happened, only grinned and said “Good for you” when Johnny told how he had knifed the Soc. Finally Johnny finished. “We figured you could get us out if anyone could. I’m sorry we got you away from the party.”
“Oh, shoot, kid”—Dally glanced contemptuously over his shoulder—“I was in the bedroom.”
He suddenly stared at me. “Glory, but your ears can get red, Ponyboy.”
I was remembering what usually went on in the bedrooms at Buck’s parties. Then Dally grinned in amusedrealization. “It wasn’t anything like that, kid. I was asleep, or tryin’ to be, with all this racket. Hank Williams”—he rolled his eyes and added a few adjectives after ‘Hank Williams.’ “Me and Shepard had a run-in and I cracked some ribs. I just needed a place to lay over.” He rubbed his side ruefully. “Ol’ Tim sure can
I hadn’t realized I was screaming. I shook loose. “Okay,” I said, “I’m okay now.”
Johnny looked around, slapping his pockets nervously. “We gotta get outa here. Get somewhere. Run away. The police’ll be here soon.” I was trembling, and it wasn’t all from cold. But Johnny, except for the fact that his hands were twitching, looked as cool as Darry ever had. “We’ll need money. And maybe a gun. And a plan.”
Money. Maybe a gun? A plan. Where in the world would we get these things?
“Dally,” Johnny said with finality. “Dally’ll get us outa here.”
I heaved a sigh. Why hadn’t I thought of that? But I never thought of anything. Dallas Winston could do anything.
“Where can we find him?”
“I think at Buck Merril’s place. There’s a party over there tonight. Dally said somethin’ about it this afternoon.”
Buck Merril was Dally’s rodeo partner. He was the one who’d got Dally the job as a jockey for the Slash J. Buck raised a few quarter horses, and made most of his money on fixed races and a little bootlegging. I was under strict orders from both Darry and Soda not to get caught within ten miles of his place, which was dandy with me. I didn’t like Buck Merril. He was a tall lanky cowboy with blond hair and buckteeth. Or he used to be bucktoothed before he had the front two knocked out in a fight. He was out of it. He dug Hank Williams—how gross can you get?
Buck answered the door when we knocked, and a roar of cheap music came with him. The clinking of glasses, loud, rough laughter and female giggles, and Hank Williams. It scraped on my raw nerves like sandpaper. A can of beer in one hand, Buck glared down at us. “Whatta ya want?”
“Dally!” Johnny gulped, looking back over his shoulder. “We gotta see Dally.”
“He’s busy,” Buck snapped, and someone in his living room yelled “A-ha!” and then “Yee-ha,” and the sound of it almost made my nerves snap.
“Tell him it’s Pony and Johnny,” I commanded. I knewBuck, and the only way you could get anything from him was to bully him. I guess that’s why Dallas could handle him so easily, although Buck was in his mid-twenties and Dally was seventeen. “He’ll come.”
Buck glared at me for a second, then stumbled off. He was pretty well crocked, which made me apprehensive. If Dally was drunk and in a dangerous mood. . . .
He appeared in a few minutes, clad only in a pair of low-cut blue jeans, scratching the hair on his chest. He was sober enough, and that surprised me. Maybe he hadn’t been there long.
“Okay, kids, whatta ya need me for?”
As Johnny told him the story, I studied Dally, trying to figure out what there was about this tough-looking hood that a girl like Cherry Valance could love. Towheaded and shifty-eyed, Dally was anything but handsome. Yet in his hard face there was character, pride, and a savage defiance of the world. He could never love Cherry Valance back. It would be a miracle if Dally loved anything. The fight for self-preservation had hardened him beyond caring.
He didn’t bat an eye when Johnny told him what had happened, only grinned and said “Good for you” when Johnny told how he had knifed the Soc. Finally Johnny finished. “We figured you could get us out if anyone could. I’m sorry we got you away from the party.”
“Oh, shoot, kid”—Dally glanced contemptuously over his shoulder—“I was in the bedroom.”
He suddenly stared at me. “Glory, but your ears can get red, Ponyboy.”
I was remembering what usually went on in the bedrooms at Buck’s parties. Then Dally grinned in amusedrealization. “It wasn’t anything like that, kid. I was asleep, or tryin’ to be, with all this racket. Hank Williams”—he rolled his eyes and added a few adjectives after ‘Hank Williams.’ “Me and Shepard had a run-in and I cracked some ribs. I just needed a place to lay over.” He rubbed his side ruefully. “Ol’ Tim sure can
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