The Comanche Kid, page 17
I felt sick because I couldn’t imagine how I was going to get out of it.
When I circled the herd that night I felt all panicky inside and had a hard time even singing, so I just talked to them in some kind of low mumble. Then coming the other way was Tommy Deuce himself. As he came near me he said, “Hey, one day away, Kid! You are going to have the best time of your life, and if you need any instructions you just ask me and I’ll be happy to help you out!”
He laughed real big and sure enough the next time around he started in again, saying, “Hey, do you like redheads, Kid? I can guarantee you, you’ll never go wrong with a redhead. Now, that might be too much woman for you the first time out, but on the other hand, if you can handle a redhead your first time, then you can handle anything after that!”
I was surprised his laughter didn’t stampede the cattle. Then I wished they would stampede so that looking for them would get me out of this fix, and I even caught myself considering stampeding them myself.
The next time Tommy Deuce passed, he stopped right next to me and he leaned in as if he had a great secret, talking real low and whispery as if there was someone else around, which there wasn’t, or as if he didn’t want the herd to overhear because of how personal this conversation was, as if they could understand. He said, “Now listen, Kid, it’s OK to be a little scared your first time but don’t you worry about that. These doves are experienced and they’ll know just how to help you along. And another thing—” And he leaned in a little closer, and he said, even more whispery, “Now, don’t you go fooling around with yourself while you’re out here tonight or when you’re in your bedroll because you want to save it for when it’s needed.”
I didn’t have any idea what he was talking about but he clapped me on the shoulder real big as if we were best friends and we had a great secret in common. As he rode on he said, “You’re going to remember this day, Kid, and you’re going to remember Tommy Deuce and thank him for leading you to the promised land!”
Then he thought of something else and he rode back to me and he said, real businesslike, as if we were maybe partners in some big enterprise or maybe plotting to rob a bank together, “Now, we want to tell them you’re the Comanche Kid and tell them what you done and how many you killed and by God, I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t knock the price back.”
He winked at me and he turned around and rode on, and I swear to God I was afraid I’d throw up right there in my saddle I was so scared and sick.
The next morning I had worried myself so that I figured I might as well get used to the fact that I was going to get found out and shamed in some awful way. That made me feel almost peaceful, like some people said they felt when they thought they were going to die and there was nothing to be done about it.
Big Mike told us there was a herd of about three thousand beeves several miles ahead of us and another herd of more than two thousand behind us, so there would be a lot of hands in town over the next couple of nights and we were to watch out for ourselves and not get into any fights.
Preacher then said, “Dear Lord, we pray there be no stampede or we will be separating them all out for days and days,” and someone else called out, “Dear Lord, Preacher is right about that, let there be no stampede,” and a couple of boys murmured amen to that. I’d noted before that when they weren’t being foul-mouthed they all could be real religious speaking.
We bedded the herd down at noon and Monty and the hands going into town gathered around Big Mike and he doled out a small portion of the pay they’d earned, telling them not to lose it all if they wanted to end the drive in Dodge and have enough to start their own herd someday. They all agreed to that, Jack Straw saying he was going to send money back to his sister, and they all had big dreams beyond just painting the town red and they sure weren’t planning on spending it all, maybe just some new clothes and a shave and a bath and a game of chance or two and a few drinks. Big Mike reminded them we’d already lost two hands and he couldn’t keep the herd hanging around while they went to court for fighting. They all swore up and down that getting the herd to Dodge came first, no matter what.
Monty drove the wagon to town to resupply and Shakespeare rode with him. I wondered if Shakespeare would come back drunk and if he’d be visiting any of the soiled doves, and that made me mad at him and he hadn’t even hit the town yet. I had to admit to myself that I was jealous. I told myself I needed to get over it because there wasn’t any hope for anything with him in the first place.
Big Mike went in with Monty and the others while Abraham stayed behind to oversee things, along with Preacher and me and Tommy Deuce, Jack Straw and Hard Luck Luke Bronson, and we all traded off riding nightguard on the herd and nighthawking the remuda.
When I had a chance to turn into my bedroll, I didn’t sleep much, wondering what Shakespeare was doing and imagining the worst, then wondering if we were being trailed by Comanches, then fearing what the next day would bring me. I prayed for a stampede or hoped the herd behind us would stampede straight into ours, and then I wouldn’t have to go into town. It was just my luck that didn’t happen, and to make it worse, every time Tommy Deuce walked by my bedroll he’d kick me in the foot and say, “Tomorrow, Kid, I’m excited for you!”
The dawn came all red and hot like some inferno. I got up early and made coffee and biscuits and salt pork and it felt good to yell, “Roll out!” Then I went to the remuda and helped the hands get their mounts as they took turns on guard. It was all just waiting, waiting for the others to come back by noon, but I waited with dread in the pit of my stomach, like a prisoner going to be taken out and shot.
Monty came back first, late morning, driving the wagon with Shakespeare’s horse tied to the rear. As I unhooked the mules, I asked, “Where’s Shakespeare?”
At first Monty didn’t answer me. He got down from the wagon real slow, then stood there for a while with his forehead leaning against the wagon.
“You OK?” I said, and he still didn’t answer. He just stood there real quiet, taking his time. Then he went down onto all fours and crawled into the shade under the wagon and lay down on his back, his hands across his chest like he was being laid out for his funeral.
I leaned in to him. “You need some water or something to eat?”
He shook his head no and mumbled, “Take the mules to the remuda.”
“Where’s Shakespeare?”
He pointed at the floor of the wagon above him, then folded his hands across his chest again and shut his eyes.
I climbed up on the wagon and looked in. There Shakespeare was, sound asleep, spread out across sacks of onions and potatoes and flour and cornmeal and beans and Arbuckles’ Coffee and crates of airtight cans of peaches and corn and peas and tomatoes and everything else Monty had purchased to continue the drive.
I climbed back down and I thought I saw a ray of hope.
The other boys came dragging in, all of them looking the worse for wear. Shady was in new clothes but looking disheveled, like he’d slept in them. Bill was muttering to himself, singing a song, but you couldn’t understand a word he said. Skinny was walking his horse rather than riding it and walking none too steady, his face bloody, as if he’d maybe fallen out of the saddle a time or two and had resorted to walking to protect himself. Big Mike came in looking halfway decent and he said to Abraham, “Your turn.”
Preacher, Hard Luck Luke Bronson, Jack Straw, and Tommy Deuce gathered around the boys and asked, “How was the town?” “How were the girls?” “How was the liquor?” but they were so eager they didn’t even wait for an answer and they saddled up their own mounts, yelling, “This is it boys” and “Hoo-rah!” and even Preacher was hell-bent.
I took the mules back to the remuda and Tommy Deuce called out, “This is our time, Kid, mount up!”
I said, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it, Tommy Deuce.”
“Why not?”
“Shakespeare is in pretty bad shape. He’s passed out in the back of the wagon and I think I’m going to need to stay here and watch the remuda.”
“To hell with that!” he said. “Mount up, goddamnit!”
He headed back to the wagon and climbed into it and as I turned out the mules I heard him yell, “Get the fuck up, Shakespeare, you got a job to do!”
When I looked back, sure enough he had Shakespeare by the collar and had him on his feet and was hauling him out of the wagon.
Shakespeare stumbled and struggled to stay upright and Tommy Deuce yelled, “The Kid’s got a date with a long-legged dove, Shakespeare, you need to do your job so he can become a man!”
I could see I wasn’t going to get out of going into town, so I walked Ghost back to the wagon as slow as I could go. Shakespeare saw me and he come tripping over, weaving and trying to stay upright, and it made me mad to see him like that.
“Hey, Kid,” he said, “did Big Mike give you your pay?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Good. Give me two bucks.”
“Why?”
“Good God, you owe me sixty, just be glad I’m only asking you for two.”
So I reached into my pocket and pulled out two silver coins and gave them to him. He stumbled over to Skinny, who was now sitting by the fire with a cup of coffee. He said, “Here, Skinny, here’s the … ” and then he looked at the coins as if he couldn’t remember what amount it was, and then he continued, “Here’s the two bucks I owe you.”
Skinny took them and stuffed them into a shirt pocket without saying anything.
Shakespeare turned back to me and said, “Thanks, Kid.”
“You lost everything you had?”
He ignored me and he said, “When we get to Dodge you owe me fifty-eight instead of sixty.”
I said again, “You lost everything?”
I realized I sounded like an angry wife. He looked at me hard and he said, “So wise, so young, they say, do never live long.” And at that he grabbed a cup and went to the fire and poured himself some coffee, then sat and leaned back against the wheel of the wagon.
Tommy Deuce clapped me on the back and shouted, “This is it, Kid!” and he almost knocked me into the fire. I climbed slowly into the saddle and he turned to Big Mike and said, “Boss, we are off!”
Big Mike told us to be back by noon tomorrow. Tommy Deuce mounted up and said, “Hell, boss, I’m coming back with so much money I’m going to buy the herd from you and you’re going to work for me!” He did that big laugh of his and he wheeled around and slapped Ghost on the rump with his hat and the two of us took off so fast it almost jerked me out of the saddle.
The other boys followed, all of them filled with bluster and hoo-rah, yelling, “We’re off!” and “Let’s go!” and “Hi-yah, hi-yah!”
How long have I got, I thought, before I have to face another hell?
NINETEEN
We hit the town, the boys racing at a fast and reckless clip, calling out, “Here we are, the boys of the Rafter R! The toughest set of drovers to trail north from Texas! Lock up your daughters because we are here to raise some hell! Whoo-eee!”
We raced the length of the town, past dusty tents with signs out front, a plank across two barrels with someone selling kill-me-quick whiskey, a livery stable and corral, a hole-in the-wall newspaper office, a dry goods store, several whiskey mills, broken-down wagons in an empty lot, and in one alley a go-as-you-please fistfight. There were horses tied to hitching posts, broken crates and staved-in barrels on the boardwalks, dogs barking and chasing after wagons and buckboards. A woman or two in sunbonnets ignored us, the boys calling out to them, “Is that your daughter, ma’am? My, my, don’t let her come to the Full Glass tonight, but if you want to come we’d be happy to buy you a drink!” “Hey, girl, are you married?” “Hey, woman in the pink dress, can you sew?”
They all laughed and bragged about how dangerous they were and challenged each other to drinking contests or feats of strength or games of chance, and asked where was the richest pot, and Preacher was the noisiest of the lot. Hands from other outfits shouted back they’d be glad to take them on at arm wrestling or faro and be at this place or that place and they’d soon see they weren’t the toughest or luckiest rawhiders from Texas like they thought they were, that they’d met their match in the boys from the Slash Diamond or the Circle C.
I didn’t do any shouting but lay low and kept looking for an opportunity to get away. I leaned over to Tommy Deuce and told him I was going to take Ghost to the livery stable, hoping I could get lost in the melee and tell him later I had accomplished what he was hoping for me, but he immediately yelled out, “Boys, let’s get these ponies off our hands!”
They all agreed and everyone headed back down the street, yelling and hoo-rahing folks, their horses rearing and kicking up dust. I had a feeling these folks had seen it all before and weren’t paying it much mind, but the boys acted like they had the biggest audience in the world, parading along and making fools of themselves.
Everyone dismounted at the stable and the hostler asked for money up front to feed and water and stable the horses. All the boys grumbled at that but pulled out their wages and forked the money over, then pulled off their saddles and bridles and stacked them inside the stable.
With the horses gone, Tommy Deuce reminded everyone this was my big day. They all whooped at that and started guessing what kind of a dove I was going to pick, but Tommy Deuce announced, “There ain’t going to be any visits to the doves until we get cleaned up! No dove is going to want to be with a hand that smells like a horse!”
Then he said to me, “We need to get you some new clothes and a bath and a haircut. You go into some dove’s crib covered in blood like that and she’ll think you’re there to kill her.” He laughed at his own joke, then took a look around and said, “Over here,” and we headed for a dry goods store.
Hard Luck Luke Bronson said, “To hell with that, I’m getting a drink first,” and he took off, Preacher and Jack Straw and Abraham agreeing with him and following after.
When we entered the dry goods store, it felt good to have some shade even if it wasn’t much cooler. It was a new experience, being inside and looking out through storefront windows into the sunlit streets with horses and wagons and people passing by, and seeing merchandise on counters and shelves, and candy in jars, and kegs of nails and a black cast-iron stove over in a corner. The wide wood plank floors creaked as we looked around.
I couldn’t believe I was in some place where goods were bought and sold and women made dresses out of bolts of calico and men bought tools and nobody got shot or stabbed or scalped or burned alive. What kind of a world was this, where people were safe and no one was looking for water or hoping lightning didn’t strike you, or trying to hide from hail so big it could knock you out of the saddle. I wanted to sit down in that wooden chair in the corner and put my feet up on a keg and eat some crackers or pickles, and just watch the people come and go.
Then Tommy Deuce said, “Over here.” I came out of my dream and he pointed at some ready-made shirts on a shelf and there were trousers next to them. He said, “Pick out something here, get you out of those god-awful bloody clothes.” He pointed and said, “How about this blue one?
“No, I’ll take the red,” I said, but I didn’t tell him it was because I was used to being covered in blood and decided I’d just keep it that way.
“Cow brutes don’t like red,” he said, “and only miners
wear red.”
I shrugged that off, figuring they’d just have to get used to it.
I picked a pair of trousers that looked like they would fit and I bought a vest so I’d look like all the other hands who used theirs to hold a pencil and a tally book or to store their makings. I wished I could get a new piece of material to bind my chest but I couldn’t tell Tommy Deuce I needed a yard of calico or gingham, so I figured I’d just wash mine when I got a bath and hope it didn’t disintegrate from all the sweat. That brought up a whole new fear, hoping I could take a bath alone and not be sitting naked in some tub next to Tommy Deuce.
Tommy Deuce bought the blue shirt he had recommended to me and we paid for our goods each and the clerk wrapped them in brown paper and tied them with a string. I hated to leave the store because they also had ribbons and lockets and rings and bangles. I wanted to look at them and touch them all and buy something pretty for myself, but Tommy Deuce announced real loud that a shave and a haircut and a bath were next.
As we walked out, I said, “I don’t shave yet.”
“I know that, Kid, but I do, and we both need a haircut and a bath if we are going to be presentable to the ladies, so we need to look for a tonsorial parlor.” He added, “You can tell a tonsorial parlor because they’ll have a red-and-white-striped pole out front.”
Even I knew that but I acted like it was new information.
We strode down the boardwalk, which was washed away in some places and broken up in others. In front of some of the stores the lumber was all fresh and yellow but starting to buckle because the wood hadn’t been dried properly. Tommy Deuce looked across the street and there was a small shop with an upright plank that had been painted with red and white stripes and he said, “Right there!”
We crossed over and went into the tonsorial parlor, and I’d never been in one before. Ma always cut our hair and I’d let mine grow until it was at my waist, and she’d tell me I looked like an angel in a picture book. I’d wear it up high when we were cooking or working so it didn’t catch fire or get in the way, and we’d brush each other’s hair at night, and it hurt me to remember that.
A plump, bald, but kindly gentleman put down his newspaper and got out of his chair when we came in and he said, “How can I help you fellow Texans?”
