Medicine Bundle

by Patrick E. Andrews

  After the first photos were taken, various other townspeople also posed with the corpse to remember the time when four of the dumbest outlaws who ever came down the pike tried to rob their bank. The final pictures were made of the man who claimed to have shot Tommy from the saddle. He opened the dead kid’s shirt to expose the exit wounds of the two shots that had hit him in the back. The shooter, holding his carbine in a conspicuous manner, pointed to the bullet holes to indicate he had done the deed with the weapon in his hand.

  After those last photos were taken, the body was carried down to the local feed-and-grain store and placed in the front window for display. Scores of spectators trooped by for a view of the dead bank robber.

  After a while the ropes holding the corpse loosened a bit, and Tommy sagged into an undignified, pigeon-toed position with his knees touching each other. A local wag laughed and said, “That is the silliest looking son of a bitch I ever seen.”

  “Yeah!” another agreed. “He looks like he’s been pulled through a creek and hung out to dry.”

  Tommy sagged lifeless as others joined the crowd to jeer the corpse. After another hour, the foiled bank robber was hauled back to the undertaking parlor.

  Poor ol’ cowboy.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Mildred McCracken suffered constantly from headaches and nausea. In addition to that discomfort, she couldn’t sleep and the baby didn’t seem to be sitting right. To make matters even worse, she had now been staying at Ben Shaw’s cabin for the past three weeks with the old man and Belle LaTour. At first she blamed her physical problems on melancholia because of Silsby’s absence, but a nagging instinct deep in the Cherokee part of her psyche kept telling her something was seriously wrong that went far beyond the loneliness.

  The closest thing she had to medicine to relieve her discomfort were drinks from a bottle of raw whiskey. Ben purchased the liquor from a local moonshiner who operated a still on his farm. It helped a bit as a pain reliever, and the old range cook assured her the liquor had great medicinal benefits.

  As the days dragged by, the isolation and loneliness of the cabin added to her distress. Belle had not been good company in the confinement of the small dwelling. The outgoing woman talked too much and too loud. Mildred disliked her coarseness and the foul manner in which she expressed herself.

  Ben had taken the wagon and mule, and gone into the town of Woodward to pick up some supplies a couple of days before. He took the last of the money that Belle had brought with her to pay for the purchases. But even with the old man out of the place, Mildred continued to feel that the walls were closing in on her.

  The two women sat at the table in the dank interior of the crude house and waited. And waited. And waited.

  They had fixed the place up by partitioning off a couple of corners for themselves, using some canvas Ben cut from the chuck wagon covering. They slept on blankets laid on the hard dirt floor. The only furniture was the battered table and stools. Mildred folded up one of her blankets and used it as a cushion when she sat down. The young woman was terribly worried about the way she felt, and had begun to be plagued by a strong sense of hopelessness. She fought the misgivings by fanaticizing about the day when Silsby would return to her and enfold her in his strong arms. Mildred felt everything would be put right when she could talk with her husband again.

  That afternoon dragged by as the two women waited for Ben’s return. Belle sniffed her armpit. “I need a bath bad,” she said.

  Mildred said nothing.

  “One thing you learn in whoring is to keep yourself clean,” Belle expounded. “A gal will last longer if’n she cleans herself up good after a busy night. Don’t know why. But an old floozy name of Miranda taught me that. Whores die young less’n they stay washed up.”

  Mildred remained silent.

  Belle studied her companion for a moment. “You’re looking poorly, honey. How’re you feeling?”

  “Belle, maybe I’d feel a mite better if’n I could get my mind off how things are.”

  “Y’know,” Belle said, “you’re right, honey. We’ll just talk about the more pleasant stuff.”

  Mildred swallowed with some difficulty as a feeling of nausea rippled in her stomach. It subsided, and she wanted to get her mind off her physical condition. She thought for a moment then asked, “Are you French or something?”

  Belle laughed. “Hell, no! My real name ain’t Belle LaTour. I got that off’n a theater poster in Dallas. I thought it was real romantic and would sound fine in a whorehouse. Men like to think they’re with fancy ladies, y’know. Even dumb ol’ cowboys out drunk on a Saturday night.”

  “What’s your real name?” Mildred asked, thinking that Belle herself was far from being either fancy or a lady.

  “Bessie Hayler,” Belle answered. “Now that ain’t real elegant, is it?”

  “Neither is Mildred Duncan. Or Mildred McCracken, I should say.” She hesitated than asked, “How did you get into your . . . well, your work?”

  “I got me a bad sweetheart who dragged me around from here to there,” Belle said. “He made me do it for some money a couple of times when we went bust. After I was shut of him, my luck was still bad and I remembered how I could turn a dollar or two. So, that’s what I did.”

  A sudden wave of fatigue swept over Mildred and she was tired of talking. She grabbed the table and heaved herself up to walk heavily over to the door. She opened it and peered out.

  “I bet you’re wondering what’s taking ’em so long, ain’t you?” Belle asked. “I’m starting to feel skittish about it too. Here you and me sit without no money a’tall between us. Once we eat up what Ben buys on this trip, we’re stone broke ‘til the boys show up.”

  “Maybe they had trouble moving the cattle.”

  Belle looked at her with a frown of puzzlement. “What cattle?”

  Mildred waddled back to her stool. “You know what cattle. The herd they’re driving to Wichita.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the cattle-driving job they went on,” Mildred replied irritated.

  Belle emitted a loud laugh. “Them boys ain’t herding cattle. They went to rob the bank in Clarkville.”

  “They did not!” Mildred insisted. “Silsby said they had a cattle deal with a man in Wichita.”

  “You cain’t make good money being a cowboy, honey,” Belle said, still laughing. “Particular not enough to buy a damn ranch in Mexico. You got to rob a bank or a train or something.”

  “They’ve done fine in the past herding horses and cattle,” Mildred said, beginning to feel very unsure of herself.

  “Ha!” Belle burst out. “You mean rustling horses and cattle. That’s how them four make their money. Didn’t you know that?” She laughed some more. “What in the world has that Silsby been telling you?”

  A sharp pain shot across Mildred’s abdomen and tears came to her eyes. She gasped and tried to get a grip on her feelings as a sense of stark, scary realization swept through her. It hurt her to admit that what Belle said was the truth, but after considering how things had been in the past, Mildred knew her companion was not lying. It had been Silsby who had been deceitful to her all along.

  The noise of a wagon arriving outside interrupted them. Belle stood up. “Well, that old son of a bitch Ben is back. It’s about time. At least he knows good grub. We’ll eat decent for a few days anyway.” She went to the door and opened it. But instead of Ben, four men stood looking at her in surprise.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” one said. “We’re here to see Ben Shaw, if’n you please.”

  “Ben went to Woodward,” Belle said. “I don’t know when he’s coming back.”

  “Oh, well,” the man said with a shrug. “We work cartage between the railroad and Benton Ford. We usually stop by here on our runs and have Ben cook up some grub for us.” He paused, then said, “We bring our own vittles and pay him cash money to do it. Can you cook, ma’am?”

  “No, I sure
cain’t,” Belle said. “At least not good enough to please nobody.” She turned to Mildred. “Are you up to cooking these fellers something to eat?”

  Mildred shook her head.

  Belle shrugged. “Well, I’m afraid you won’t be getting anything to eat. But that ain’t the way I earn my money.” She displayed a whore’s smile. “Would you boys like a good time?”

  “Sure!” the man said with a leer as he realized where the conversation had turned.

  “Come on in then,” Belle invited.

  The four came in and now noted that Mildred was pregnant. They took off their hats and nodded politely to her. “How’re we gonna do this?” the first man asked, looking around.

  “I got a pallet behind that big ol’ piece of canvas,” Belle said.

  “How much?”

  “Two dollars if’n I just lift my skirt,” Belle said. “It’ll cost you another dollar to see my titties. If’n you want me buck naked, that’s five dollars.

  Mildred felt as if she were having a bad dream.

  “I’ll take two dollars worth,” the first man said.

  “Me too,” another announced.

  The other two accepted the three-dollar deal.

  Mildred’s mind whirled and she felt a sickening dizziness. Her awful headache increased and the pain in her stomach grew worse. The first man went behind the canvas with Belle as the others stood waiting their turns. One gave Mildred a shy smile. “How’re you doing, ma’am?”

  Mildred swallowed hard. “Fine. Thank you.”

  He looked closer at her. “Would you like me to fetch you a drink of water from the well or something?”

  Mildred managed a slight smile and said. “No. Thank you kindly.”

  It didn’t take the first fellow long and he reappeared adjusting his trousers. Another quickly took his place. Mildred sat and listened to the crude rutting on the other side of the canvas as the men took their turns with Belle. When it was all done, Belle came out, smoothing her skirt. “I appreciate your business, boys.”

  The first man said, “We hope to see you again.” He turned to Mildred. “Goodbye, ma’am.”

  “Goodbye.”

  After they left, Belle showed her ten dollars. “This’ll come in handy, won’t it?” She put the greenbacks and coins in her skirt pocket. “Too bad you got that big belly. You could’ve made yourself a few dollars.”

  “I couldn’t ever do that.”

  “You might do it someday, so don’t get high and mighty,” Belle said. “If things turn bad on us you could find yourself in a situation where you got to get down on your back for some cash money to get by on.”

  Mildred fought down another wave of nausea. “How can you do that? How can you just let somebody you don’t know —”

  Belle interrupted with one of her sardonic laughs. “Hell, girl, I just close my eyes and let ’em have their way. Sometimes I play like it’s somebody I love or I think of a nice-looking feller I know. Or I just turn my mind to other things. This time I played like they was Charlie. It’s easy as can be.”

  “I’d die first.”

  “I learned early that men need pleasing,” Belle said. “My pa used to have his way with me. I didn’t like it, but he started giving me candy for it. That was the most important thing I learned. I could get rewarded for putting out.”

  Mildred asked, “Where was your ma?”

  “They wasn’t nothing she could do about it,” Belle said. “She tole me not to fret. It’s a man’s world, but God give us women pussies to even things out some. We can use ’em to our advantage when we have to.”

  Mildred endured yet another nauseous feeling. “That’s got nothing to do with men and women falling in love.”

  Belle snickered. “Don’t give me no guff about loving one man. You’re gonna have some real bad surprises before long, honey. You and your man is both following the owlhoot trail now.”

  “Silsby and I ain’t like that.”

  “I ain’t gonna spend a lot of time pointing out certain facts to you, Missy,” Belle said miffed. “You’re a perfect example of how us women can be fools over men. It’s on account of we need some tenderness in our lives.” She sighed and smiled sadly. “That’s why I got a sweetheart to give it to for nothing. It reminds me that I’m still a woman, no matter what. Them others don’t really count ’cept for the money to be made.”

  Mildred didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She turned to the table and sat with her hands folded in front of her. Belle settled down across from her and started to say something else, then thought better of it.

  Ben’s voice sounded outside as he shouted, “Whoa!”

  “Well, here’s the grub,” Belle said.

  Ben came in ashen-faced and trembling. “I saw a copy of the Clarkville newspaper in Woodward. The robbery was busted up and somebody was kilt.”

  “Who?” Mildred cried. “Which one was kilt?”

  “They don’t know,” Ben said. “He ain’t been identified yet.”

  ~*~

  Mildred was aware of disjointed scenes, sounds, and feelings. She tried to reach out and grab something to pull herself up, but it seemed she was in a fog where unidentifiable shapes came and went. A horrible, frightening perception of pain swept over the distressed young girl.

  Confusing sensory episodes between periods of nothingness descended on her. The only strong feeling she experienced was a desire to see Silsby’s face and hear his voice. She wanted his arms around her and to press her face into his chest. Successive waves of heat, cold, pain, and numbness rolled over her. Somehow she sensed a passage of time through all the confusion and tumult that engulfed her so completely.

  Then, suddenly, everything was still.

  A shimmering face appeared above her. She looked at it for a long time before it sharpened into the features of a bearded middle-aged man. He smiled at her in a gentle, friendly manner. “Are we coming out of it?” he asked.

  Mildred tried to speak, but her throat was too dry. A woman now appeared at the man’s side. She, too, appeared amicable and caring. “How are you, dear?” she asked.

  Mildred made herself speak, but a whisper was all she could manage. “Hello.”

  “You’ve been through quite a lot,” the man said. “They tell me your name is Mildred.”

  “Yes, sir. Yes, ma’am,” she answered. Now she was aware she was lying in a bed in a pleasant, clean room. “Where am I? Where’s Silsby? He’s my husband.” Then she remembered the terrible news that Ben had brought back from Woodward. She started to weep. “Oh, my Lord! Please!”

  “There, there,” the man said. “You’ve been through a lot, Mildred. I’m Dr. Sawyer. This is my wife Effie. You’re in our house here in Woodward.”

  “What am I doing here?”

  “The old man Ben brought you in a couple of days ago,” Dr. Sawyer explained.

  “You lost your baby, darling,” Effie Sawyer said. “But you’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

  Mildred’s crying increased, and she sobbed so much that the pain in her lower abdomen and crotch began to spasm.

  “You’ll be able to have more children,” the doctor said. “You were just too upset and nervous to carry this one to term.”

  “Where are your folks, Mildred?” Effie Sawyer asked. “We can send for them if you’d like.”

  Mildred thought of her father. He would want nothing to do with her. She had never felt so isolated and alone in the world in her entire life. She had been cast out of her parents’ home, and Silsby might be dead or hiding from the law. “I have to wait for my husband.”

  “Where can we reach him, Mildred?” the doctor asked. “He’ll want to be with you.”

  Mildred shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  Effie Sawyer laid her hand on the girl’s brow. “Now don’t you worry about a thing. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

  Suddenly Mildred remembered something. “Can you get aholt of Grant Hollings in Medici
ne Bundle?” She had a wild hope. “He’s my brother-in-law. He’s a U.S. marshal there.”

  Effie Sawyer looked at her husband. “You could send a telegram from the station.”

  The doctor nodded his agreement. “I’ll take care of it.”

  The woman looked back at Mildred. “Meanwhile, you rest up, young lady. You’ve been through an awful lot.”

  Dr. Sawyer had a pencil and pad with him. “What was the name of that marshal in Medicine Bundle again?”

  “Grant Hollings,” Mildred said. She closed her eyes and repeated, “Grant Hollings.”

  Chapter Forty

  Silsby McCracken, Charlie Ainsley and Dennis Nettles continued their evasive riding, moving eastward across the Oklahoma Territory in a crisscross pattern. They desperately hoped the tactic would confuse or delay anyone seriously trailing them. All were certain that telegraph messages had flown out in all directions from Clarkville, giving their names and descriptions.

  Halts taken in the flight were no more than rest stops for brief naps and a bite to eat. They didn’t establish a comfortable camp until they reached a point just north of Pawhuska. By then they were exhausted, and their horses were wet and blown. Physical necessity finally won out over emotional uncertainty.

  It was the first time since leaving the scene of the botched bank robbery that the animals were unsaddled and given a chance to graze and regain their strength. The three young men laid out their bedrolls for a much needed full night’s rest.

  “Godamn!” Silsby said. “I’m gonna sleep like I’m dead.”

  “It sounds so good I almost feel like I’m sinning,” Charlie remarked.

  Dennis plopped down on his blankets and stretched. “This is gonna be better’n a poke, I do believe!”

  The talking ceased as they closed their eyes. Within short minutes the fugitives eased into a deep slumber that carried them away from the painful realities of their waking world.

  ~*~