Dutch Uncle

by Marilyn Durham

  *

  The next day a rider came in with news of a promising strike in the southeast, where the short-tailed Hassayampas declined into furrowed ridges and solitary mesas.

  The nonminers reacted as if it were the first strike. There was a run on supplies at Dugan’s store as the newly declared prospectors girded themselves for the hunt and started trailing out to the hills. The news had a deleterious effect on the merchants, Jake discovered.

  ‘Damned amateurs,’ Bert Kelly grumbled. ‘Some of them pull up stakes if somebody flips a dime under their noses. Silver! Silver! Shit, that’s the only kind of silver they know by sight, and yet there they go looking for ore. They’d all see a damn sight more silver if they stayed here and tended to their jobs. A good carpenter or a blacksmith is worth five times more here than another damned miner, unless he’s one man in a thousand. But they’ve all got to be prospectors or they can’t rest! One of them goes out there and sees piss stains on a rock and yells, “I found color!” Then the rest of them think, “Oh, hell, he’s gonna get rich while I’m stuck here building chicken coops,” and off they go until you can’t get a nail drove or a shoe soled. I wish I was back home in Chicago and had never seen a mining town!’

  *

  Sánchez explained it further. ‘The town people want the silver to run, but they don’t want it to run too far away. If it does, the mineros don’t come into town so much. And then one day somebody takes a wagon full of whiskey, lamp oil, and frijoles out to them, and they don’t come back at all. Instead, there is another town. It is very bad for the town people, but what can one do?’

  ‘What will you do if the town runs dry?’ Jake asked him.

  ‘Me? Nothing. I do not worry. Sánchez was here first. He will be here last. There has been a Sánchez here since who can remember.’

  ‘I thought you told me your old man’s family was very big down in Mexico?’

  ‘Eh? Oh, that. Of course. The Arredondos had many holdings, very many. This place was my uncle’s. It was once a holy place — a monastery he let the fathers build on our land. But they did not stay. The Apaches drove them out.’

  ‘I’ve wondered sometimes if you don’t have some Apache blood in you, Sánchez.’ He watched the little man bridle at such a notion and added smoothly, ‘I hear they have a lot of respect for your wagon trains. That’s something they don’t give to many who aren’t their own kind. Muy machos, those Apaches.’ He studied his beer while Sánchez considered this.

  ‘Patrón, you have very sharp eyes,’ he said in a grave tone. ‘I have not said this to the others, because there are Anglos and there are Anglos, no? But I tell you, en confianza — for your own ears — that what you say is true. My mother, my little queen, is one of that people. A chief’s daughter. Yes. She never speaks of it because, you see, they drove her out of the tribe because of her love for my father.’

  ‘Yeah. You told me the Arredondos threw him out because of her, too. Seems like they had a rough time all around.’

  ‘True. Very true. Very hard for them, and for me. Who knows what I might be today instead of a poor cantinero? Except I would not want to be in my red cousins’ skins now. Their time is past, patrón.’ He sighed. ‘Such a brave people.’

  While he was still considering this newly discovered branch of the family, Jake unfolded the wanted poster on Frank Becker and showed it to him.

  ‘Have you seen him in the last few days? He’s got a long scar, here; dressed in Mexican clothes.’

  Sánchez shook his head.

  ‘Are you sure? Think back about three days. The night you put the tent up.’

  ‘No, patrón. I have never seen this one. Faces of men stick in my eyes, always. I never forget them. But I have not seen this one.’

  *

  For a time that afternoon Jake occupied himself with a casual-seeming search of the rubble for the missing carpetbag, turning over boxes, looking into barrels; finding nothing.

  He was going to have to rely on Mrs Cuddeback’s regular trips into town to bring Urraca back to find the bag for him. If she had any treasures hidden in it, or any game left unfinished to play with it, she’d make a beeline for its hiding place, and he’d just have to wait. Magpie that she was, she might enjoy a new treasure to hide away with the old.

  The idea seemed like a good one, so he went down to French’s before they closed to see what he could find for her.

  He bought a jackknife for Paco so his offering wouldn’t be lopsided, but finding something for a small girl was more difficult than he had supposed. French’s didn’t keep a stock of toys. There was no market for them. Another jackknife didn’t seem suitable, and food would just go directly into her mouth.

  He fingered buttons, thimbles, sewing boxes, and put them aside. He examined sunbonnets, net purses, and a heap of Spanish shawls, embroidered and fringed. One of them, less garish than the rest, was of a cream-colored silk with fringe of the same hue, and pale pink flowers scattered on the field. He touched it a second time, then lifted it to see how the fringe swung almost like a woman’s hair.

  He had been giving tentative thought to how he could appease Delia, even before Clement Hand’s revelations the night before. The shawl seemed a bit tame for Delia’s taste.

  He was on the point of giving up when he noticed a pile of oddly shaped lumps, like pillows, in a box on the floor. They were made of bright calico and they were hard as bales of hay, but there was an aroma about them that was familiar and pleasant. He picked one up and saw that it was meant to represent a cat. The face was embroidered on, with a button for a nose and two tiny peaks for ears.

  ‘What are these?’ he asked Ezra French.

  ‘Cedar cats. The ladies like them, to put in their trunks or closets to keep out the moths. Emmy makes them in her spare time. Smell good, don’t they?’

  Jake bought a blue one for Urraca. Some obscure impulse made him buy the cream silk shawl, too, although when he got it back to the jail he wondered why he’d wasted .the money. To interest Delia it needed to have a red-and-green dragon on it spouting money from its mouth. And nobody at the cantina would need bribing, provided he should sink to such desperation.

  He rolled it back up in the newspaper and threw it under his bed.

  *

  Neither Clem nor Carrie came near him all day. He occupied his evening with a card game.

  When he left the game to take his patrol, the cousin of Sánchez who kept the livery stable was making lonely music for himself on a homemade pipe. Jake started to pass him with no more than the usual upheld hand for a greeting, but turned back on second thought and sat down on a bench near the tall, open doors of the stable to hear the rest of the song and inhale the not unpleasant smell of hay, mash, and horse manure that wafted out of the stalls.

  When the music was finished they exchanged grave greetings and opinions about the weather, which never changed, and the new strike, which might change everything.

  Ramón inquired about the children and was glad to hear they were well taken care of. He had a trio of jet-eyed sons himself, old enough to drive Sánchez’s supply wagons over the border and back every week.

  He accepted a cigar from Jake with much pleasure and paid for it with a measure of puique that set Jake’s hairline a half inch farther back on his head. When the formalities had been observed, Jake took the poster out of his vest and unfolded it on his knee. Ramón looked at it by the light of a match and nodded.

  ‘Si, jefe. This one was here for a time, but only to feed and rest his animal. He would not go to the cantina for himself. He ate food with me that Maria brought to us and paid me well for it, very well. I said nothing to my cousin about it because, you know, he thinks he is like the church here. Everything a man makes, he wants a part of it. Why is that? If God made the gold and silver, as He made everything else, surely He can have all of it He needs without the priests squeezing little coins through the fingers of the poor like soft mud? My cousin is the same way, the chinche! He swallows money,
but he only shits out centavos!’ He wheezed a rusty laugh and took another swallow of the puique.

  ‘Did this man spend the night with you?’

  ‘No. He was only waiting to see a friend, the man called Ramey. He said they were treasure hunters, but they did not look like mineros. They had no tools, no pack animal. Yet every man thinks he is a minero today.’

  ‘Ramey came over here to meet him, then?’

  ‘Si. He was very much surprised. He did not expect his friend to be here so soon, I think. But they took their animals and rode away together laughing.’

  ‘Laughing?’

  ‘Si. First, very much surprise, then a little smile, then the laughing. It made me think of how those paid bandidos, the rurales, laugh while they are making up their minds whether to take your bribe, or just shoot you in the back and take all you have.’

  ‘Which way did they ride?’

  ‘South, away from the other mines. Maybe they heard of the new silver, too. If so they won’t get much, I think. All that country is full of holes already. They say the gachupines, the Spaniards, made the poor Indians dig it all up hundreds of years ago.’

  Jake thanked him for the puique and finished his patrol. The lights went out one by one along the street as the hard-laboring Anglos turned to their beds. He sat in his office toying absently with the cedar cat. A light tap at the door brought him out of a bleak concentration on nothing. Carrie opened the door.

  ‘I brought you a bucket of water for the morning.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She put it down beside the bench. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, looking at the thing in his hands.

  ‘A cat for Urraca. She likes cats.’ He held it up, then handed it over to her. She looked at him in sober wonder.

  ‘They didn’t have anything else for a girl kid. I got Paco a knife to whittle with.’

  ‘Why, that’s very nice of you, Jacob, although I’m not sure Paco’s old enough for a knife. Still, I know he’ll be thrilled to have it. Especially since it comes from you. You do miss them a little, don’t you?’

  Jake shifted in his chair. ‘I miss them. About like I’d miss being in the army. I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that. The stuff didn’t cost anything, and it doesn’t mean anything. I won’t be around much longer, and I thought I’d buy them some kind of thing before I left. Call it a farewell present.’

  ‘I see.’ She put the cat to her face and inhaled. ‘I used to have one of these. The fragrance lasts for years.’ She put it down again; still lingered. Jake was growing tense without knowing why. He thought it was the longest time she’d ever been in his company without taking into him for something.

  ‘Jacob,’ she said at last, ‘have you seen Clem this evening?’

  ‘Now and then. Why?’

  ‘He’s been so strange all day. He’s hardly spoken a word to me. He was out all evening at the cantina, I think. Now I don’t know whether he’s in his room or not. He doesn’t answer. But then, sometimes he won’t if he’s in one of his moods, or if he’s been drinking.’

  ‘Didn’t you open the door and look in?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that! Besides’ — she looked at the cat again — ‘he has a lock on the door. I’m worried about him.’

  ‘Let him alone.’

  ‘But he might be sick, or worse!’

  ‘If he’s sick from drinking whiskey, he’s old enough to know the cure. Let him be, Carrie. He’s a middle-aged man, not a boy. I saw him this evening, and he looked all right to me.’ That wasn’t entirely true. Clem had spent the evening sitting in the cantina alone, looking like Saul after his chat with the witch of Endor.

  ‘He’s probably just worrying again about his shipment of petticoats.’ She nodded, but she wasn’t convinced. ‘The trouble with you is that you miss the brats yourself. While they were around you didn’t have time to wipe your brother’s chin and tuck in his shirt, and now you want to make up for it.’ He thought that would spark her to action, but it only brought a smile.

  ‘That’s what Clem says, in a more delicate way.’

  ‘Well, then, you see? If he says so, I must be right. But, if you like, I’ll brace him the first thing tomorrow and see what the trouble is. Maybe he’s been trying to think what kind of prizes to give away at the shooting match on Sunday.’

  Her tight little smile routed a dimple from hiding before it faded. ‘Yes, I’d forgotten about that I suppose that must be your farewell gift to us. Well, thank you, anyway. I’ll be grateful if you will talk to him tomorrow. Good night, Jacob.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ He took his feet off the table and went into his room to feel for the paper bundle under the cot. ‘Here,’ he said when he returned. ‘This is for you. For taking care of the kids, and for putting up with me.’

  She let the paper drop and stood holding the heavy silk in her hands, shaking her head as if she’d been given a puzzle that wouldn’t work out.

  ‘Oh, Jake. It’s very — beautiful. And very nice of you. But I can’t take it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, I can’t. You shouldn’t give me presents. I mean, you don’t have to give me — a gift for anything. I — no, I mustn’t take it, but thank you, thank you very much for the thought.’ She tried to put it back in his hands. He saw with surprise that she was confused and upset by the thing. She didn’t look at him, but there seemed to be tears in her eyes.

  He didn’t take the shawl, but instead took a side step and put his hand on the door under the guise of resting against it.

  ‘Now, what’s wrong with me giving you a present, or you accepting it? And what in the hell am I supposed to do with it if you don’t take it? You think French is going to give me my money back? If for no other reason, you ought to take it to keep me from looking like the kind of cheapskate you say I already am! Unless you think it’s too gaudy to wear?’

  She was flustered and genuinely contrite.

  ‘Oh, no, it’s beautiful. It really is. I didn’t mean to sound like that.’

  ‘Then take it.’ She did, holding it close to her in an awkward bundle. ‘You sure make a fuss out of every little thing. You know, when you get a present you’re just supposed to make a curtsy, or something, and say thank you. Not take off in a circle like a bee stung you.’

  She was red with chagrin, but she laughed. ‘I suppose you’re right. My manners weren’t very good, were they? I don’t often — get presents. I guess that’s why. And then, I was thinking of what people might think.’

  ‘What people? What should they think?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m sorry if I was rude to you.’

  ‘Apology accepted. Put it on.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Put it on.’ She unfolded the shawl and put it around her shoulders. The color of it was paler than her hair. It gave her an ivory look. He saw that it would never have suited Delia as it did her. She waited, still flushed, for his comment

  ‘You look good.’

  ‘Thank you, Jacob.’

  ‘You called me Jake a minute ago. I like that better. Jacob sounds like somebody with a wool tent and a string of camels. You look pretty.’ He touched the fringe. ‘The Mexican women wear theirs up over their heads, with a comb to hold it up in the back. Like this.’

  He took the material off her shoulders and put it over her hair, carefully. Then, without thinking what he was going to do until that moment, he kept her head in both hands and kissed her on the mouth.

  The sudden realization of what he felt and what he wanted hit him like an electric shock. In an elastic second he seemed to see a dozen details: her dark-fringed eyes opening slowly, her soft mouth, her surprised face, the shawl slipping back from her hair with a whisper as his hands left it to take her shoulders and pull her to him.

  17

  For a moment she was like a warm honeycomb: sweet, compliant, open; like the lost imagined women of his distant adolescent daydreams; and he held her and kissed her with the same half-forgotten h
unger.

  Then she began to struggle like a trapped catamount, with sharp-nailed fingers and with knees and feet.

  ‘Carrie . . . Carrie . . .’

  ‘No! No, that isn’t going to happen! You—’

  ‘Carrie!’ He might be mistaken about feminine ardor, but he knew panic when he saw it. He let her go, but as he did she caught him a lucky blow of the knee that sent him to the floor doubled over.

  ‘I should have known — that was all you were up to! I won’t have that happen — I won’t let that happen again, do you hear? Let me out!’

  He was slumped against the door. ‘Gladly, damn it! Just as soon as I can move.’

  She was trying to recover herself, but still backed away from him, fists clenched.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ she demanded. ‘I didn’t hurt you! You’re just pretending I did, to keep me here.’

  ‘Oh, lady!’ he groaned, and sat down on the floor trying to learn how to breathe again and diversify the pain.

  ‘You’re just sitting against the door so I can’t get out,’ she said in a more uncertain voice. ‘If I hurt you I’m sorry, but I don’t see what I could have done.’ Her chin began to quiver.

  ‘Well, never mind! Just give me another minute. I can assure you, you’d be perfectly safe here now if you were Lola Montez!’

  She turned a deep red and sat down on the bench to burst into tears. He looked at her in exasperation.

  ‘My God, do you really believe I was planning to seduce you with a cheap Spanish shawl? Did you think I was just sitting over here with it, waiting for a chance to attack you? To whip it over your head and drag you into a jail cell?’

  ‘No — yes! I don’t know,’ she sobbed. ‘But I know you never had a disinterested thought in your whole life, and you don’t have any respect for decent women or decent behavior.’

  ‘Oh, you know all that, do you? Where in the hell do you get all your information?’

  ‘The way you talk to me, for one thing. Your language is straight out of the gutter! Nobody speaks to a woman that way if he respects her. And you make fun of Mrs Cuddeback and anybody who’s trying to do anything worth while here, and — and if you had any manners you’d know it isn’t proper for a man to give presents to a woman unless she’s a relative, or his — a — oh!’