I’m waiting by the steps for Zastee and the boy to come out of the colored car. Nodding to people as they file off. They don’t act like they see me. They’re busy staring at the ground, staying in their place. Catching a white woman’s eye could bring on a lynching.
A straggler comes out the door. A good looking little Chinese man, bulky baggage askew, trundling down and striding off.
I wait. No one else shows up.
I climb up the steps and look in. No one. I cross to the other side and look up and down the side of the train. Nope.
I walk into the car. How could I have missed them?
There’s a porter in the aisle, sweeping up.
“I’m lookin’ fer my, um, servant gal,” I say.
“They’s all done left, miss,” he says.
“A dark Injin gal, tall as me, and a six-year-old boy?”
“I jest come on to clean, miss. Ever’one done gone.”
“I’ll check out the back,” I say. “If you don’t mind.”
“Yes’m.” He moves out of the way.
“Maybe they in the station, miss?” he asks my back.
“Maybe. Thank you,” I toss over my shoulder, heart racing.
I step out the open door onto the back platform. It’s empty. I close the door behind me and look out each side, seeing no one.
And, I’m suddenly hit by the realization.
She could have got off at one of the stations since I last saw them. I feel caved in, checking again off both sides, hoping to spot them, not wanting anyone to see me.
“Shit.” The tears start flowing like a geyser erupting. And the sobs.
She seemed sincere. Why did I ever start to trust her? Damn me for being a sucker. I should have figured out a way. We all could have ridden in the boxcar with Tenner at least. That would have worked. Could have kept a weather eye on her. Fuck this segregated world.
Where should I start looking? Where would she go? Why take my son? I’m bawling so hard, I’m hiccupping now. So much for the world’s toughest cowgirl.
“Ma? Mommy? Are you okay?”
“Góshé?” I look up, seeing nothing through the tears.
“Up here, mommy,” he says.
I turn around. He’s on the roof of what they call the nigger car.
I swipe a sleeve across my eyes. And sniffle. Fuck me.
“Damn it Góshé, I thought you was lost.”
“Me? No way. You were,” he says, pointing at his chest. “I was up in the white car lookin’ fer you.”
I put my arms up and he jumps down. Nerves of steel.
“What happened?”
“Some men came in. ‘Bloody fuckers,’ Zastee called them. She told me to go back here and hide. I did.”
I hug him tight. “Shit, Góshé.”
“We’re okay, Ma. Relax.”
“You relax, too, yore stranglin’ me,” I say.
He loosens his grip and leans back to smile at me. Then, leans in to kiss me square on the mouth.
“I love you, Ma.”
“Where did you ever learn all them big words?”
“My ‘dopted father was a perfessor sometimes,” he says. “He taught English to folks. Used all the big words. He was learnin’, no teachin’, me a word game with tiles. Scrabapple is the name of it. He told me I should say teachin’ me, not learnin’ me.”
I chuckle. “Aha, then you better challenge Ma’cho and Bigan to a game. They play that ‘Scrabapple’ spelling game sometimes, too.”
“Where are they?” he asks. “I miss them.”
“Right around one of the next corners,” I say. “I hope. In any case, you and I are together, we’ll be okay.”
“Of course,” he chirps. “Cause I know how to take care of you.”
“Good thing one of us does,” I say, hugging him hard and kicking my world’s greatest cowgirl self in the ass for wussing out about a minute early.
Something touches my leg. I look down to see Hoss, wagging.
“Where were you, guardian dog?” I ask.
“She went out to go potty,” says Góshé. “She’s a good dog. Stayed where I could see her the whole darn time.”
We head back, unload Ten Spot at the chutes, and head into the town.
We need to find our missing teenager. I guess I owe her an apology.
Maybe. Damn me. Damn her, too. Damn it fucking all.
68 Táági: Blood
Mouths full, Táági and Ma’cho nod.
Billy Red Bone nods, too, sagely. “You both are, eh? Me, too. Anyone who wants to can join the Comanche, accordin’ to Quanah.”
“Blood and belief,” says Ma’cho, then he says a few words in what must be Comanche, and Billy answers back in kind.
They converse for a while. Billy, of course, doing most of the talking.
Eventually, Ma’cho asks something, nodding toward Táági.
“Yore right,” says Billy. “We’ll talk English so yore pore undereducated British friend here can foller along.”
“Bloody kind of you,” says Táági, raising his mug in salute.
“Yes, sir,” says Billy. “I seen plenty squaws in mah time. And I am a observant man. How I kept my hair all these years, eh?”
He lifts a long braid with a beautiful beaded, buffalo tail hair drop. His grey hair is thin and worn, but still attached to his head.
Ma’cho and Táági nod encouragingly.
“Yep. Two extry tall fellas and a boy child come in here last night, sat right there at the same table as you, they did.”
Ma’cho nods.
Billy stops, takes a deep breath, and chugs the entire schooner of beer. Táági pours refills all around.
“Anyhow, them two was the biggest hipped, loosest jointed men I ever done seen. I got to watchin’ theah habits. Sure ‘nough. I tole mah self, ‘Billy,’ I said. ‘Them there is squaws. They got the moves.’ Yep, I did.”
He pauses, raising an admonitory finger. “Not white gals, mind you. Good old fashioned Injin gals. Rough, tough and hardy,” says Billy. “Hell, if was a young whippersnapper like the two a you boys, I’d be after that fine squaw pussy. Dead quick, mind you, afore someone else snaps ‘em up. Yes, siree, I would. I watched them gals, admired their gumption, all the while they was here.”
Ma’cho grunts. Táági wiggles an errant eyebrow.
Billy nods his head at them, waving his pipe toward the door.
“Now, see heah, they’s a story behind them two squaws. And, I’m gonna get to it right quick heah,” he continues. “Anyhow. Back where I was at.”
He raises a finger. “They was smart, them two. After they et, they got them some blankets over to the mercantile and took out down the road.
“I jest happened to mosey our theah mah self. A goodly ways behind ‘cause they was watchful. Careful about tails, right?”
The men nod.
“And, by golly, if they didn’t have a fire camp all set up out theah. I stayed in earshot, not to watch them, but to watch the surrounds. Because of what them thievin’ lawmen at Raton did.”
“Raton, you say?” asks Táági.
“Yep. The next little pueblo thataway,” says Billy. He points his pipe stem west. “I was stayin’ close to them gals camp just in case they might need he’p, you see?”
“Reason why is that them lawdogs done sent a telegram about two women and a child who killed another gal. Uh huh.
“I know ‘cause the sheriff here, he had stopped me on the street and asked me about if I seen them gals. So, I was alert fer their presence. A white gal and a darky gal. With a little Injin kid. No offense.”
Ma’cho nods.
“How I know their story. And why I watched them two and the kid so hard. Not so’s they’d notice. I was circumspect about mah self. Judgin’, you see? Feelin’ ‘em out.”
He pulls out his pouch, tamps a fresh load into his pipe and lights it up. Taking his time to get it going right.
The men are cleaning up their plates. Ma’cho wipes th
e last of the beef juice with a piece of biscuit.
Billy offers the pipe to him, who out of plains politeness, takes a puff and passes it on to Táági, who knows the protocol and does the same. Nodding with satisfaction as he passes it back to Billy.
“Very kind,” he says.
Billy nods. “Yep,” he says, knocking the ash out of the bowl against the ashtray. “I seen the tough in them gals, and that chile, too. He was some, that young’un, minded me of you a bit.” He points the pipe stem at Ma’cho. “No offense.”
Ma’cho nods and says, “My son.”
“Aha. The plot thickens,” Billy nods to himself, thinking it over.
“Anyways, I watched them three fer a couple of hours in the saloon here. The back, you know. Hell, they ask me to sit in back, too, even though I’se white under all this heah dirt. But, who could tell?” He grins, showing off his half toothless gums. “Might smell of that skunk I trapped last week, too. He was breakin’ into my cache. Sucker sure did spray me. Right in the kisser. Oh, boy. Like to blinded me, he did.”
He stops to finish off his beer. Táági heads for the bar to snag more.
“So, I watched ‘em,” says Billy, pointing the pipe stem at Ma’cho, who nods in encouragement. “Them two might be dead on killers, I’m thinkin’. They got a hard and knowin’ look. Know their way around death, don’t they?”
Ma’cho grunts.
“Yep, I knew it.” Billy pulls a bottle out of his kit and offers it. The two sip whiskey in silence a while.
Táági returns with another pitcher of beer. And takes a tug of whiskey, too. It’s rough, but does the trick.
“But, I can see right through them two. I can see that they didn’t kill that gal out west. Didn’t show the signals. No covert looks. No frayed nerves. Them two is dead on innocent. Plus, I know them thieves in that Raton town. Call theirselves sheriffs. Y’awl understand that raton means rat?”
“Quite,” says Táági.
“And, I figured it out, too. The why of it. Them two so called lawmen probably kilt that little gal theirselves. Fucked her to death, even, bein’ of a lecherous turn. Arrested them pore gals as a cover. Yep. You kin mark my words on that’n. I’m a dead-on predictor of things, you know. A pure on prognosticator. Why Quanah favors me. Uh huh.”
“Did you see where they went?” asks Táági, refilling Billy’s mug out of the fresh pitcher.
“Thank ye.” He takes a sip, sets the mug down and looks at them both. “Yes, siree, I did. They put out the blaze at their fire camp this mornin’, flagged down the train, loaded that spotted horse on board, and headed west. By golly. And gods speed, I say. May the spirits protect ‘em.”
They exchange a few more pleasantries. And another smoke. Hoping to tease out more info. To no avail. It’s all the mountain man knows.
“You know,” he says in parting. “I kinda wondered ‘bout that feller that snuck on the tail end of the train there, loaded his hoss and all after the gals boarded. Tall fella like yoreselves, he was. He was fair, blonde haired. I purely didn’t care fer the looks of him.
“Mah horse done hit a prairie dog hole ‘bout then, pulled up lame. I missed the train. Good thing they’s handy gals, is all I could think. I couldn’t he’p no more. Hell, mebbe it was nobody, just a coincidence that he got on there, too.”
Buying Billy a second bottle of whiskey to savor for the rest of the evening, they thank him. Ready to head out to find a way to catch up.
“Hey,” says Billy, as they stand to leave. “Mark my words. There’ll be a westbound train in just about three hour. Good luck.”
They head for the station. There are no trains until morning according the sign beside the locked door.
They find benches on the platform, snooze a bit, and wait.
Three hours later, just like Billy Red Bone predicted, a freight rumbles slowly through. They jimmy open a boxcar door and hop aboard.
69 Angus: Second Thoughts
When the two cowboys get up to leave, Angus watches their retreating backs. Sure ‘nough. Cause for introspection, fellas like that. Toughest pair in this sorry place.
He smokes another stogie, over a beer, to sober up. And thinks on it. Squaws, gunhands. Hell. The folks in the standoff oughta meet pretty much the same description as them. A type, alright.
He needs to find that bunch.
Six of them, they was, so Harley said. Plus, the nigrah gal.
The only way he can see to get justice is to kill the whole damn bunch. Every last son of a bitch.
“We’ll have to work careful, Harley,” he yammers quietly, looking at his brother’s boots. “You said they was gunsels, led by a tall man with straight yeller hair, just like mine. And, brother, you never tole me nothin’ but the truth. Mostly. Yep. We’d best get to lookin’.”
He stands up carefully and staggers toward the door. Remembering the last words he caught. “Train, headed west.”
Where hard men go, others follow. Might be a sign from his maker.
70 Zastee: Blast
“You was right, her height done give it away. They said she had her hair all knotted up and beaded before. Looked more like a black nigger. Now she looks like a red ‘un. Still skinny and extry tall, though. Bound ta be her,” says the deputy. “They’ll be down soon, make the identification and pack her outta here, they said.”
The sheriff is leaning back in his chair, boots on the desk blotter. He nods.
“I done tole ‘em we was shorthanded, boss. They want her, come get ‘er. Don’t see why they bother. A red nigger hung here is just as dead as a red nigger hung out ta Raton. Right?”
“Sure,” says his boss. A fancy dressed man. Suit, string tie and all. Boots and badge all shined up. “Up to them to spend the time and money. We got plenty a rope here, like you say.”
“Yep,” says the seated man. “Only good red nigger’s a dead ‘un.”
He turns toward Zastee. “You hungry squaw?”
She says, “Yes, sir, I am.”
“You like you some white meat?” He grabs his crotch and laughs like a maniac.
Zastee ignores this and turns away. She sits on the bunk. The cell is in the same room as the office. She’ll just have to wait out the bloody insults.
Then, she thinks of Cha’a.
She lays back on the cot and pulls her new cowboy hat down over her face. Shutting out the world. It does feel wonderful.
71 Angus: Move
Angus raises his head and looks around. The scattered garbage gives it away. Along with a couple of stray dogs, pawing their way through it.
He spent the night passed out in a freaking alley. His pockets are empty; his new boots gone.
A holey old pair has been left in exchange.
He drags them on, straightens his dirty, wrinkled clothes, and dusts off as best he can.
He retrieves some more gold from the hotel safe, heads out to the main street and finds a place that serves a hot cup of coffee.
Manna from heaven. He orders a plate of bacon and eggs with biscuits and gravy to start his day.
Even the smallest nugget seems to be worth a fortune in food. He has a few morning beers, to stiffen his constitution, buys a satchel, gets the gold out of the hotel safe and boards the train at Trinidad Station, headed west.
A newly rich man, he treats himself to a morning cigar and a brandy, ready to shine.
72 Cha’a: Balls
Góshé and I are sitting in a little cafe eating eggs and bacon. His continual hunger has me hopping.
Once he slows down, I ask, “Those fuckers that came. That took Zastee?”
He nods through a mouthful of biscuit.
“Tell me everything you saw and heard.”
He opens his mouth. Yikes.
“Chew all that up and swallow first, please.”
He does. And washes it down with milk.
“They walked in, looking at everyone in the car,” he says. “One man told all the women to stand up, they did. They said hold
it right there stretch, pulled their guns and walked right back to us.
“Zastee whispered to me to go to the back and hide.”
“Okay.”
“I ducked down and crawled under the seats all the way to the back. I snuck out the door and peeked back in through the window until they left.”
“Okay. How many?”
“Two.”
“Men or women?”
“Two white eyes men.”
“Okay, good observation. What next?”
“They said, ‘Hands up, in the name of the law.’ She put her hands up.”
“Lawdogs. They have stars on their chests?”
“Yep. Shiny yellow stars, like Güero carries in his vest pocket. Guns, too, and everything. She got up and left with them.”
“Okay, that’s easy,” I say. “She’ll be in the hoosegow.”
“Hoosegow?”
“Jail, like we were before.”
He’s nodding. “And I rescued you.” He points a little finger at his chest.
“Yep. Guess you get to do it again. Maybe I can help.”
He looks me over. “Maybe I don’t need help.”
“Probably not,” I say. “We’ll reconnoiter and see. We’ll have to think of a plan. Our biggest problem is that if they knew her, they’ll have a description of me, too.”
“But not me.”
There’s no stopping this kid.
73 Cha’a: Click
Góshé and I rent a box stall in the livery and the four of us nap until evening. When Góshé and I get up to leave, Tenner stretches out and heaves a big horse sigh. Hoss rolls over, licks her chops and resumes her nap, too.
We humans eat a meal, then sit on a bench on the boardwalk with beer. Góshé has the root variety. We wait.
After dark, we relocate and wait more. He’s on alley watch. I’m lounging on some steps along the boardwalk, with the front door of the Sheriff’s Office in sight and another beer in hand. Purely for the purpose of alleviating my thirst.
Hell of a Horse Page 18
