Huck Out West

by Robert Coover

  The pounding and roaring all around us died away when the calvary seen the tribe warn’t in the camp no more, and they cussed the sneaky heathen cowards and fired off some shots into the air, because they had to shoot something, even if it was only the sky. They was mighty excited and mighty disappointed. There warn’t even nothing to burn nor steal. Then, there was a loud burst a gunfire and hallooing like they’d struck something all of a sudden to shoot at. I hoped it warn’t Eeteh.

  There was some soldiers standing on the pit cover over our heads, complaining that the general’s Lakota scout was from this mob a savages, he should a knowed they was already pushed off. He was a sneaky bummer, they didn’t trust him. They reckoned Hard Ass would hang him for leading them here, and good riddance. Others was a-grumbling about the generals, how they was losing the war because of their stupidness, but some was saying back that losing a battle or two warn’t losing a war. Them heathen Sooks warn’t smart enough or brave enough or decent enough to keep on whupping white men like they been doing. Also their guns warn’t as good.

  Me and Tongo was alone under their feet in the eagle pit, and Tongo was all a-tremble. I was shushing him quiet in his ear and stroking his neck to try to ca’m him. Some a the soldiers up above was talking about getting a move on now to the Yallerstone River where the war was going, whilst others was saying there warn’t no damn hurry, the war could wait for them. The quartermaster’ll borrow them a bottle a bark juice from the larder if they take up a collection for him. They mostly yayed that idea and says they was plumb played out after this dreadful battle, they should make camp right here and rest up for a night.

  “We could roast up that hoss,” one of them says.

  Tongo couldn’t hold back. He let a sudden loud snort like he was disgusted by what he was hearing. I took up my pistols. I reckoned we was done for. “Did you snort at me, you ole faht?” asked one of the soldiers above us.

  “So what if I did, bluebelly?”

  “Watch yer tongue, butternut, or I’ll stomp you like the ugly old cootie you ah!” They was beginning to push each other around and I was scared they might come crashing in on us. “Every day you suit up in blue, grayback, you gimme the screamers.”

  “How ye think I feel, sap-haid, ridin’ longside of Yankee shee-it like you-all?”

  It sounded like they begun rassling. Somebody with a deep voice come and ordered them to get back on their horses, the company was moving out, but they kept cussing and crashing around. Dust was falling in on us, and I was afraid the cover’d give way. There was more yelling, then the sound of rifle butts whacking skulls, and at last, after some grunts and cussing, I could hear the horses finally moving on. I peeked out. The soldiers was all slowly parading away, two of them slumped out over their horses, tied to their saddles.

  What I seen next was Eeteh’s wicked brother. My heart jumped up. He was hung back and still poking around. He kicked at the ruined spit and the dead ashes. He looked over at our pit where we was hiding, and come slowly towards us, toting his rifle. I cocked mine. I could probably shoot him first, but as soon as I done it, I’d have the whole consounded calvary interested in me. I didn’t know WHAT to do. General Hard Ass done it for me. He shouted for his scout to get back on his horse, dammit, they was pulling out. Eeteh’s brother stood there a moment, trying to peek in where we was, but the general took his revolver out and pointed at his head. He cocked it. Orders was orders, and Eeteh’s brother was already in trouble for leading them all to a deserted camp. He mounted his horse, squinting back my way with a mean grin, and joined the others.

  When they was all gone at last, I pushed the pit cover away and crawled out, and pretty soon Eeteh come creeping down out a the hills on Heyokha. The poor old nag with the cracked heels was laying down by the crick, shot up a hundred times or more. “We got to go where the war ain’t,” I says, and Eeteh nodded.

  The first thing we had to do was help Tongo out a the pit. Every day he was stronger, but he warn’t never going to be strong enough to jump out a that hole. We dug up earth and built a step a foot or so high in half the pit, stood him up on it, then built another step a foot higher in t’other half, and moved him over on it. We didn’t have no proper shovel nor cart, only Eeteh’s knife, our tin plates and cups, and our shirts for humping the dirt to the pit. It was distressid hard work and was going to take a million moons.

  Emigrant miners was beginning to swarm up at the crick shore now, too, looking in the water for glittery traces. I found some wood and staked a claim, though I misdoubted nobody would take it seriously. Eeteh put on his black emigrant clothes with the derby tipped down low, and set on the edge of the eagle pit with his rifle on his knees. I fired my guns a few times to chase off the peskier ones.

  Then I spied a gnarly old miner with a shovel and a pan and a bottle he attended to regular. I went over and told him we was looking for a partner with a shovel, and he was happy to obleege. He says his name was Shadrack and he was from Ohio where he’d been a farmer mostly till the grasshoppers et him out. I knowed Tom would a somehow got him to pay for the chance to shovel up the steps in the pit, but I was grateful just to have the shovel, and mostly let Shadrack lay off. Him and Eeteh nodded at each other without saying nothing, and Shadrack went down to the water with his pan to poke around. He didn’t find no gold, but he catched a big fish, which he shared with his partners.

  Me and Eeteh built the third step on top of the first one, and then, taking turns, the fourth, fifth, and sixth, and from there Tongo was able to climb out and look around. He warn’t too impressed. He stumbled down to the crick for a long drink and then he come and laid down again, but he et the mash I made for him and generly made himself at home. He spent a few days walking about slowly like he was customing himself to the idea.

  But then one day, all of a sudden Tongo shook his whole body like wet dogs do and broke into a slow trot. He circled round us a few times, snorting and wheezing—and the next second, he was galloping away! I called out to him, but he never even turned round. My chest felt like it had got kicked. I should a picketed him. But if he was of a mind to go, a picket wouldn’t a stopped him. I was afraid he was going back to the wild and I’d never see him again. But Eeteh only says to wait. An hour went by, two hours, night come. I couldn’t sleep for fretting. And then finally, at dawn, there he was, pounding towards us, splashing through the crick, looking his old self.

  I was ever so glad to have him back. I fed him some corn-mash with honey and talked to him about how happy I was and stroked the sweat off of his neck. I didn’t know how fur he’d traveled, though I judged he’d been running fast as he could, ever since he galloped away. But he still seemed lively. He bowed his neck a couple of times and snorted. Eeteh throwed a soft piece of old lodge-skin over him and cinched it. He made a thong out a strips from his ruined buckskin vest and, finally, after tossing his head around in protest, Tongo let us loop it over his jaw for a bridle. I kicked off my boots and clumb aboard. He was quivering like something was about to bust inside him—and then all of a sudden we was off!

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  E RIPPED UP and down them hills just like the first time, running all day through chopped-down forests and lonely shantytowns and cricks lined with raggedy prospectors, till, just as the bloody-red sunball was sinking out a-front of us, we come to the end of the Hills and struck out on a broad grassy plain with a swelled-up river churning through it. We passed wagon trains and log cabins and tepees and herds of cattle and horses. “Look! It’s the Pony Express!” somebody shouted out. “No, it ain’t! That beardy coot ain’t no boy!”

  Tongo favored running towards the setting sun to see if he could beat it to the horizon. Evenings did stretch out this time a year and seemed to give him a chance, but the sun was only teasing. It got there first like always and the night growed dark. The river valley deepened under ridges and bluffs all round, and up ahead, I could see big fires a-blazing up and a war party of dancing braves blowing war whistles and yipping l
ike coyotes like they was getting ready for a friendly massacre, nor else they was having a holiday. It was exactly where I didn’t want to go, and I leaned back and tugged most desperately on the buckskin thong, but Tongo he charged right into the middle of them and they all fell back like they was seeing a ghost. They WAS seeing a ghost! It was Eeteh’s brothers and cousins, the ones who’d thronged Tongo into the pit to die, and here he was, come back to ha’nt them! They dropped their weapons and let loose a great warbling. They was wild-eyed and bloodied up and showing off scalps that they held up for us to see.

  The tribe wailed out for us to stay and I let go one hand and give them a wave, but Tongo was already on a tear again, racing back by night the way he come by day, across the plain under the moon and stars and back up into the Hills again, just as the dawn beyond begun to turn them into silly-wets. Stead of going to where Eeteh was, though, I seen he was striking straight for the mining camp in the Gulch. I tried to guide him away from there with my knees and by jerking on the thong, but his mind was clean made up. He was the willfullest cretur I ever knowed. I was being delivered up to Tom and his pals, and there warn’t nothing I could do to stop him.

  It was early morning when we rode into the mining camp. We hain’t stopped running since yesterday. The muddy street was packed with people, but Tongo galloped right through them, knocking down food stalls and tool racks and beer tents and sending citizens skaddling for their lives. Old cross-eyed Deadwood COULDN’T run nor even WALK, and when I seen him bumbling along cripple-crablike in his union suit and talking to himself, I was afeard for him. But Tongo jumped right OVER him whilst he had his nose down, consulting his fob watch. The picture-taker warn’t so lucky. He was trying to set up his camera, and Tongo, hammering straight ahead, sent him on a flying belly-flop into the mud, his camera tromped by the horse’s hoofs.

  Tongo left the ground all of a sudden and up we rose onto the raised wooden sidewalk, the loafers setting in chairs up there leaping off into the mud not to get killed or worse. Tongo pranced down the boardwalk, stepping high as if to bang it louder, and neighed like he was blowing a trumpet. Tom busted out a the claims office as we passed it, a fat seegar poking out under his moustaches, Caleb and Bear right behind him. He says something to them and they all three went a-running.

  Then off we jumped at t’other end, me most desperately hugging Tongo’s neck, my heels flying. Tongo went galloping through the screaming and yowling crowd again, heading down crickside. Shots was ringing out behind us. I hadn’t no cause to s’pose this was going to end well. When we passed Tom’s big tent, I did wish we could stop to pick up a couple a bottles a whisky and a hambone off one a the wild pigs a-roasting on the spit, but Tongo he was in a mighty hurry. We splashed through the crick, knocking over plasser miners and sluce boxes, and kept right on going.

  When at length we reached the old Lakota camp, Eeteh was a-waiting for us by the filled-up eagle pit, dressed in the dead miner’s raggedy black clothes. Everything was packed already and loadened onto Heyokha. I slid off of Tongo, my knees feeling warped and custardy, my hands raw from gripping onto the thong. Eeteh says he was wondering where I’d went, and I says I was wondering the same thing. I told him about racing all the way to the sunset and finding the tribe, bloodied up from scalp harvesting, then tearing back at dawn to the Hills and dancing on the wooden sidewalk, but I says I was mostly just hanging on, not able to get down off of Tongo’s back without massacring myself.

  Tongo was thirsty and hungry and wheezing like a fat man, so I took the thong out of his mouth and uncinched the lodge cover. Whilst he went down to the shore to drink and stir up the waters round old Shadrack, patiently panning away, I mashed up some corn and pine nuts and honey, and had a quick chaw myself. I was ever so hungry. Tongo come back and nuzzled me and et up the corn-mash and whinnied like he was happy all over. Then he turned and trotted away, his head high, tail swopping the air. By and by, he broke into an easy run. The lodge-skin flew off of him. It was the sadfullest thing I ever seen, that tattered pelt raising up as he galloped away, and falling with a plop like a period after a sentence. This time, I knowed, Tongo warn’t a-coming back.

  Even as I was watching him disappear into the timber, Tom come riding in on Storm. He was wearing his white hat and white gloves and the red bandanna round his throat, so he warn’t Tom so much as Tom’s fancy of Tom. “You and your horse is under arrest, Finn,” he says. “Your assault on our town was a most reckless and unsivilized act.” Tom’s pals rode in behind him whilst he was unloosing his declarations, Caleb and Wyndell, Oren, Bear, Pegleg Molly, and fifteen or twenty others, including toothless Mule Teeth and his fat yaller-whiskered boss who used to be a judge, but was now promoted to saloon-keeper. Eeteh was standing alongside of his pinto, and now he pulled his black derby brim down over his eyes and stepped around behind him, peeking out at Tom over Heyokha’s withers. “I judge it’s most likely a hanging offense for you and we’ll have to shoot your crinimal horse, but first we’ll give you both a fair trial like always.”

  “The crinimal horse ain’t here no more,” I says. Tom’s posse was all carrying guns, except for the lantern-jawed picture-taker, who was just arriving on foot in his mucky frock coat, but without no camera, looking mud-faced and grumpy. The Amaz’n Tom Sawyer didn’t have nobody to take his picture today, though he still set his saddle straight up with his hat on like in the photograph the picture-taker showed me. Probably he couldn’t help himself. He gazed around like he suspicioned we was hiding the horse somewheres. “Can’t say where he’s took off to,” I says. I was carrying my rifle in one hand like a pistol and had my finger on the trigger in case anyone drawed. Tom seen that, and I hoped the others did, too. “I reckon he was plumb sick a the Gulch and the people in it and run away in disgust.”

  Caleb was sore offended at that and, bellowing out some cusswords, come galloping at me with his Colt drawed. I whipped up my rifle, but Tom swung his and knocked Caleb off of his horse. He hit the ground hard and his orange too-pay fell off and his gun went off, making everybody duck. Then they all laughed. The laughing raised Caleb’s dander even higher up, and he stalked away, shaking his too-pay at them and sending everybody to hell.

  “We believe in the law here in Deadwood Gulch,” Tom says after him. “It ain’t let us down yet.” Tom looked like he was grinning, but it might a just been the way his moustaches curled up from his mouth to his ears. He turned back to me. “But you have, pard. No matter what I done for you, it warn’t never enough. You’re the most leather-headed dispreciative saphead I ever struck. It ain’t my druthers to hang a pard, but you can’t say you don’t deserve it. You got no respect for the law nor not your old pard nuther. You’re running away from the grandest idea what’s ever been thought up by the human species just on accounta you ain’t got the guts to stay and defend it. You’re a coward and a traiter. You and that dark ugly varmint in the derby hiding behind the horse. Ain’t that your rogue injun pal?” I didn’t say it warn’t, and Tom says, “How the heck did he get out a the cave?”

  “He didn’t. It’s his ghost. You killed him. That’s the suit they buried him in. Most folks can’t see a ghost. I’m surprised at you having the knack.”

  “Must be my guilty conscience acting up.” Tom stared hard and long at Eeteh. A number of curious plasser miners, new arrived, was a-gathering round. What they seen was a couple of poor scruffy tramps like theirselves, a handsome hero in a white hat, a posse of mostly ignorant townsfolk, and a powerful lot of guns. “He’s an even worse coward and traiter’n you, turning against his own tribe and running off with a low-down white man, just when they need him to fight and die for his people.”

  I judged we was safe so long as Tom kept talking. Talking too much was a weakness the boy had, who didn’t have many. I knowed Tom was hurting and I was sorry, but I was hurting, too. And I was worried about Eeteh. Any one a them pesky rascals could shoot him without no concern about the law. They could even collect a big bounty. I had to keep
an eye on everybody at the same time and hope I’d be fast enough.

  “If the main crinimal ain’t available,” Tom says from high up on Storm, “I guess you’ll have to do, Finn. We’re building a new jail and we can guest you in it, leastways till that general who’s chasing you comes. I just got a message from him. He’s on his way here to settle up with you. Hard to tell which of us is a-going to hang you first.”

  “I s’pose I ain’t got much choice.”

  “Your one choice all along’s been to stay right here. But you turned it down. I’m mighty disappointed. I told you we could handle that bugger of a general. Now I want you for myself. After the general’s sent packing, we’ll decide what we’re going to do with you. We KNOW what we’re going to do with your injun pal there. He was born a vilent crinimal, it was in his papoose bones. He’s just fitten for our gallows, and for his like there ain’t no appeal, nor not no room in the jailhouse nuther.” He nodded to his posse. It was the signal for them to raise their guns and point them at us. “Throw down your weapons,” Tom says. “NOW!”

  It was hard to say where they come from, but when Tom says “now,” the tribe appeared all around us, dressed in splendid feathered headdresses and toothy necklesses, pieces of silver, beaded jackets hung with shells and tinkling metal. Led by Eeteh’s war-chief brother, they come riding in from all sides in a slow stately manner, meloncholical and most dignified, with their hands raised to say they was only wanting peace. Their hair was braided with julery and fur. Even their ankles had fur and silver bracelets on them. The chiefs in their war bonnets warn’t mostly carrying weapons where a body could see, but all the braves was. Some had bows and arrows, some had rifles, some only quirts, lances and stone mallets, but they all looked mighty dangersome. They was mostly bare-chested and painted up for battle and had bunches of red eagle feathers in their hair, one each for who they killed.