Collier was uncomfortable. He didn't like being the center of attention. "Well, it's just that you're going into country that's crawling with Indians and even in a large group, you can plan on a fight. Killing buffalo is one thing but even the smallest error, where Indians are concerned, can mean your lives."
McKnight leaned to Collier's ear. "What's the matter with you? You sound like some Sunday school marm." He raised his voice to the crowd. "Don't you fellers fret none. Collier and McKnight will be there for sure! Ain't no Injuns gonna keep us from them buffs, not while there's spikes to shoot!"
The crowd laughed. Mooar didn't. He watched Collier closely. "You got a better plan, Collier?"
Collier was more uncomfortable. "No, I haven't, but, some of you fellows haven't faced Indians in the kind of numbers we're talking about. I'm just saying you'd better be aware of what you're getting into. A lot of you may not come back. There's no army down there to protect you."
McKnight spoke loudly. "Hell, Collier, I always thought we protected the army!"
Again the men broke out laughing.
"I don't know bout the rest of you fellers but I'm a spike huntin' sonofabitch. I like your plan, boys! Hell, let's load up and get packing before those brutes die a' old age." He came to his feet pulling Collier up with him. "Come on, partner. Let's get going."
Collier shrugged his shoulders and shook hands with Mooar and Meyers. "I guess that settles it. We'll be crossing the Dead Line along with the rest of you."
Mooar seemed relieved. "That's good news, Lane. We need men who can parlay with those Injuns in case of a problem. I was hoping you'd be in on this."
"I'm afraid that parlaying may be out of the question once we cross that river in mass. Things could get bloody."
McKnight and Collier left the room and made their way down the stairs. McKnight tried to keep his voice low as they entered the street. "Jesus, Collier! I never expected you, of all people, to go pissing out on this deal. What the hell is the matter with you? There ain't no buffler except in the nations and I ain't ready to call er quits yet. Not by a damned sight! Hell, you wantin' to raise poseys or what?"
Collier shook his head. "Have you ever seen a man scalped and mutilated?"
"I've seen bout everything there is to see. So what?"
"I'll bet you that half the men in there haven't. I just thought someone ought to make some of them aware of what they were getting into."
McKnight blustered. "Well, hell, Collier! If'n that's all it was, I fergive ya. They're big boys. They ain't completely stupid. I don't see that it's your job to be their mother. Hell! If'n they get scalped, fine. More buffler for us! Right, partner?"
Collier shook his head and smiled. "Right, partner. That sounds good until you consider our own people. What if it's our people that get scalped?"
McKnight stopped. "It's that damned kid, ain't it? You're afraid for that kid! Well, if you ain't the mother of the world, I'd like to see what she looks like. Hell, if you're worried about that kid, leave him the hell here or ship his little ass back to Missouri!"
"I guess I'll have to. I just don't want to take such a risk with that boy."
“You do what you want. You're gonna have to decide whether you're a spike killer or a damned Missouri posey farmer and nursemaid. I reckon both of us were about his age when we first came out here and I wonder what we'd have done if someone had told us to go home. I wouldn't have. Would you?"
"No, I wouldn't have."
"Then let the boy make his own decisions. He's got the right just like we did. It's his scalp!"
"I guess you're right. I'll speak to the boy about it." Collier walked on toward the hotel.
McKnight watched in disgust. He smiled and spoke softly in a hoarse whisper. "And so will I, Mr. Collier. But, first we ought to let the spud see just what he'll be missing back in Missouri."
CHAPTER VI
A freshly scrubbed Anson Jones sat alone at his table in Delmonico's Cafe. A second change of clothes and a cleaned hat gave the boy a feeling of importance as he reclined in his chair. The twentyfive cent steak dinner had been cleaned right down to the plate surface and a fresh slice of apple pie topped off a fine meal. Anson watched a large man in his forties finishing his own steak dinner. A waitress approached the man and asked him if he was satisfied and if there was anything else she could get for him.
The man, with long gray sideburns said something to the waitress that made her giggle, then went on with his order. "I believe I'd like an after dinner smoke. One of those nickel panatellas, if you don't mind."
"Yes, sir," the waitress answered. "We've just received a fresh shipment."
Anson sat up in his chair as he watched them closely. The waitress returned with a long black cigar and handed it to the man. He placed a halfdollar on the table and told the woman to keep the change. The waitress, obviously impressed with the generous tip, thanked the man and departed. The man bit the end off the cigar and licked it from front to back and carefully lit it using the table lamp. After a large puff, the man rose from his seat and departed the cafe.
"Only a nickel, huh?" Anson thought to himself.
The waitress, a thin woman with bad teeth, spoke to Anson as he watched the man depart.
Anson turned, not quite hearing what she said. "Yes, ma'am. I believe I'd like an after dinner smoke. One of those nickel panatellas if you don't mind." He waited anxiously for her reaction. He wasn't sure that she'd sell him one.
"Yes, sir," the waitress answered, "We've just gotten in a fresh shipment."
Anson let out a sigh of relief after she left. "What do I do now?" he thought. He couldn't let her have the whole fifty cents. That was all the money he had. That fellow had left a tip but how could he? He would leave himself bankrupt and the night was still young. The woman returned with the cigar and Anson placed the fifty cent piece on the table.
The woman smiled and took the money. "I'll have your change in just a second."
Again Anson sighed. He had managed it. He had gotten his meal, and his cigar, and his change without being made to look foolish. It seemed quite an accomplishment. The woman returned and gave a dime and two nickels in change. Anson picked up one of the nickels and handed it to the woman.
"Thank you, sir." She said, seemingly as pleased with it as with the larger tip.
Anson was perplexed. Why had that guy wasted fifteen cents on a tip when a nickel got the same results? Oh, well, on to better things. Lighting this thing would be tricky. He carefully looked around the room to see if anyone was watching. Now would not be the time for a mistake and he had no matches to try lighting it outside. He had to light the cigar off the lamp as the other man had done. Anson thought carefully. He bit the tip off and tried to spit it on the floor. Only thing was, it didn't seem to want to leave his mouth. Anson spit harder. Out it came, bouncing over to the corner of the room. Anson watched as it rested against the mop board. "Odd," he thought. "If you had to bite it off and spit it out, why was it on there in the first place? Now, what is next? Oh yes, I have to lick it. Why do I have to lick it? Oh, well, everyone else licked them so I will too." It tasted kind of good. Now the tricky part. Anson slid the lamp toward him, afraid to pick it up with one hand as the man had done for fear that he might drop it. He certainly wouldn't want to do that. Instead, he elected to stand and bend over the lamp to make the attempt. Again, he looked around the room to see if anyone was watching. No one was. He put the cigar in his mouth and leaned down to the chimney. The heat of the lamp rising through the glass chimney went directly up his nose. He almost choked as he felt his nose hairs singe. He drew back quickly, trying not to sneeze. "Too close!" he thought to himself. "You were way too close!" Again he tried, carefully keeping his face away from the chimney. The cigar started glowing on the end and Anson drew in a puff. The smoke and heat rushed into his lungs and Anson's first impulse was to choke. He tried to conceal the coughing but the urge to get the horrid stuff from his lungs was too great. Anson rushed to the door co
ughing deeply. Once outside he took a deep breath of fresh air only to start coughing again. Anson was afraid he would throw up. He turned to start down the walk to get to an alley when he ran square into the man who had just left before him.
"Watch where you're going, boy!" the man shouted.
Anson could hardly see him through his watering eyes. "Excuse me, sir. I didn't see you."
"Watch where you're going, son." The man walked briskly away.
Anson's first impulse was to throw the cigar down but a nickel was a nickel and he hated to waste the money. He made his way to the alley and stepped between the buildings into a narrow alley. Luckily, the end of the cigar was still glowing. He tried puffing again, this time carefully holding the smoke in his mouth. That was much better. After a few successful puffs, he again braved the street. It wasn't so bad after all. Anson watched the passersby as he puffed his nickel panatella. The great buffalo skinner was enjoying being a cigar smoker and the obvious importance that went along with it. Gaining confidence, he leaned against a hitching rail, cigar in mouth and tipped his hat to a lady in a passing wagon. The ash was growing on the end so Anson resolved to knock it off with his little finger. The wagon had stopped and the lady was being helped down from the seat by her escort. Anson flicked at the ash but it didn't fall. He tried harder and the cigar flew out of his hand. Anson fumbled desperately to keep it from falling into the mud. He caught it but the burning end buried itself into the palm of his hand. He let out a yowl of pain and retrieved it before it lit in the mud. He looked at the lady. She only smiled and shook her head before going into Delmonico's Cafe. Anson felt his face blush. Oh well, just one person had seen it. That wasn't as bad as it could have been. He went on with his puffing. After a few minutes, he felt a burning sensation in his belly. Anson studied the cigar carefully. Why would anyone want anything to do with such a thing? It was going to cause him to lose his dinner. The buffalo skinner was sicker than at any time in his life. He allowed the cigar drop to the street. No sooner had he let the cigar go than he heard the booming voice of Abe McKnight behind him.
"What er ya doing, Spud? That's a nickel cigar you're throwing away!"
McKnight retrieved it from the mud and wiped it off. He took a deep puff, exhaled the blue smoke, spit some of the grime that had caught on his lip and gave the boy a broad smile. "Having a smoke after dinner, huh, Spud?
"Yes, sir. I guess, I was."
"Don't blame ya. Kind a fond of the weed myself."
Anson watched McKnight’s enjoyment from smoking the filthy cigar.
"So, what er ya going to do now, Spud?"
"I don't know. Thought I'd see the town."
McKnight gazed up and down Front Street. "Hell, boy, unless you're interested in a pile of stink'n buffler hides down at Rath's yard, you've seen it!"
"I guess that would be interesting."
McKnight put his arm around his shoulder and started him down the street. "Naw. Now any feller who's big enough to smoke a cigar like this is ready fer some of the finer entertainments that Dodge has to offer.
"What finer entertainments, Mr. McKnight?"
"My man, there's three kinds of entertainments. There's the day to day, easy things, like a fine day or a cool drink a water when you're thirsty. Then, there's the second kind. The kind that sorta gives ya a rush like almost gettin shot and not, or thinken you'd gotten caught sinnin' and gitten' clean away.”
"What's the third kind, Mr. McKnight?"
Abe assumed a fatherly pose. "Well, Spud, the third kind is kinda hard to explain."
Anson's eyes grew wide. "Yes, sir?"
"Well, have ya ever had pressures build up in ya? Pressures so great that ya just thought you would explode if'n ya didn't do something about it?"
"Yes, sir, I guess so."
"Well, that third kind of pleasure works kinda like a relief valve. Its a letgoandletyourhair down, kind a thing."
"You mean like a fight?"
"Kinder. But much nicer. Naw, you got the right idea, Spud. It's a sort a nice kinda fight."
"I just don't get what you're saying, Mr. McKnight."
McKnight patiently patted the boy on the shoulder as he escorted him down the street. "You will, boy. It's as easy as falling off'n a log. After you've had a little practice, that is."
CHAPTER VII
They made their way down the street until they reached the entrance to the Alhambra Saloon. Even though the sun was just going down, light spilled into the darkening street from various establishments. Twenty-two saloons were scattered along Front Street. Loud piano music, talk and laughing rocked through the shabbily constructed buildings.
"A saloon? You're taking me to a saloon? "I've already been to a saloon," Anson complained.
"So ya have, Spud. But, ya see, it isn't the saloon that I'm a goin ta show ya. I want ya to meet some friends of mine."
"Meet some friends? Friends are the third kind of entertainment?"
"Special friends are."
"Like, Mr. Collier?"
"No, no, no, boy. Collier's my partner. It's a whole different thing. These are special friends."
The words were barely out of McKnight's mouth as the two entered the doorway. McKnight’s entrance brought on a hail of greetings. Anson sucked in air and gulped as he watched a blondhaired woman of three hundred pounds clear her path through the crowd.
"Abe, Honey! I was hoping you'd come by one last time before you lit out!"
McKnight gave her a rough squeeze. Anson thought to himself that it was a good thing she was so big or McKnight would have broke her in two.
"Big Sally! I want ya to meet a friend a mine. This yer is Anson Carrot Top Jones, one of my crew!"
Big Sally stood back and placed her hands on her hips. Her eyes were so blue that they seemed unreal. Her skin was milk white and red rouge was caked on her cheeks. "Well, how de do, Anson Jones. Oh, Abe, he's so cute." She pulled Anson in her arms and his head into her ample breasts. She gave him a tremendous squeeze. Anson's face was pulled into a soft darkness that smelled of perfume. She was holding him so closely he could feel the sides of her breasts against his ears. Just as he was getting short of breath, she let go and held him at arm's length. "Just look at those freckles and that red hair! Why, he's about the cutest thing I ever did see. Where'd you get him, Abe?"
"Collier brought him from Missouri. He's gonna help with the hides."
"Mister Collier, huh. You sure he knows about this, Abraham?"
McKnight puffed, “what difference does that make, honey?"
"It always struck me odd that half of the partnership doesn't seem to have time to come in here and give us some business once in a while. Maybe he wouldn't take kindly to any unauthorized visits."
"Sal, honey, I told ya that Collier's married."
"What the dueces difference does that make? She's three hundred miles away. It don't seem natural for a partner of Abe McKnight's to not even come in for a drink or even a little conversation. This place has more to offer than just feminine companionship!"
McKnight gave her another squeeze and held her close to him as he winked at Anson. "Now Sal, honey, don't you fret about Collier. Don't I give you enough visits for the partnership?"
"A course you do, honey. Why you're the best customer this place has got." She gave McKnight a smacking kiss and turned towards the boy. "What about you, sweatheart? What can I do for you?"
Anson watched her breasts bounce as she laughed. "Me? I don't know. What do ya have?"
"Oh, Abe, are you sure this is the place for this young cutey?"
"I thought maybe he might enjoy meeting Emmy."
"Emmy....yeah, Abe, that would be perfect. I reckon you and her would be about the same age, honey." She took Anson under her arm and forced her way through the crowd. "Where is that girl at? Oh, there she is over by the stairs."
Anson strained to see whom Big Sally was talking about. After a moment he saw a small girl with short brown hair and dark circles under her eyes
sitting on a small bench, away from the crowd. She seemed so tiny. Her arms were so slender that Anson felt that he could place his hand completely around one of them at any point. She managed a weak smile as they approached. Big Sally put her hand on Emmy's back and urged her forward. "Anson, this here is Emmy. Emmy, this young fellow is Anson Jones, a friend of Abe's."
They shook hands and Anson looked into her eyes. They were a deep brown but they were dull and didn't seem to have any life in them.
Big Sally spoke gently. "Maybe you two would like to sit a spell and talk. Sort a get to know each other. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Emmy?"
She smiled. "Yeah, I'd like that just fine."
"What about you, Spud?" Abe asked.
Anson smiled, "Sure, that would be alright."
Big Sally nodded. "Then it's all settled. Abe, honey, you owe me a drink."
"Yes, ma'am, if'n my credit's good."
Big Sally laughed. "Honey, your credit's always good at Big Sally's." They left for the bar arm in arm.
Anson and Emmy sat quietly. Anson had been in a saloon before but never one so raucous. Men and women were everywhere laughing and drinking. He had never seen a group of people behave in such a manner. Even his mother seldom placed her arm around his father. Here, everyone seemed occupied with hugging and kissing, laughing and playfully slapping each other on the rump.
After a while, Emmy spoke softly. "Where are you from, Anson?" Anson was too engrossed to hear. She made a second effort, this time placing her hand on his arm. "Where are you from?"
"St. Joe, Missouri. Where are you from?"
"Independence."
Again silence prevailed as Anson watched the crowd. "What are you doing in Dodge, Anson?"
"I'm going to handle hides for Collier and McKnight."
Again silence. Anson felt he should say something to be nice. "What are you doing in Dodge?"
"What do you think!" Emmy snapped.
Anson stared uncomfortably at the floor.
Dodge City Page 3
