Friends and Enemies

by Stephen A. Bly

  Robert tipped his hat at Guthrie Holter. “I see you told them what was going to happen?”

  Holter nodded.

  “Have them ride there with you. We’re going down to the racetrack to see the commotion.”

  Taite rode up beside Robert. “You ain’t exactly dressed for the occasion.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference in the world what I look like. I’m not going to stay. I’m just looking for Sammy.”

  Wagons, horses, carriages, hacks, military ambulances, and several bicycles were crowded around the racetrack and out into Sherman Avenue. Holter parked the wagon by a willow tree that had been permanently dwarfed by the snow heaps of winter.

  “You wait here. I’ll go find out what’s going on,” Robert said.

  “I’d surely like to get close enough to see them races,” Stillman Taite declared.

  “I’ll go find Sammy and then come right back. Then it will be your turn. You can have the rest of the day off.”

  “From the sounds of the yellin’ and screamin’, we both might miss the races,” Taite surmised.

  It seemed more like a parade crowd than a racetrack gathering as Robert pushed his way through men, women, and children, inching his way closer to the rail.

  He could hear the roar of galloping hooves on the back side of the track. He scooted up to the rail next to a well-dressed lady and a man in a wheelchair. No one paid attention to him as the twelve horses thundered toward the finish line! The whole crowd shouted as they crossed!

  When the race was over, the man in the wheelchair glanced up. “Bobby! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so tattered.”

  “And I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you holler, Quiet Jim.”

  “Hello, Robert,” the lady nodded. “Isn’t this exciting?”

  Fortune tipped his hat. “Yes ma’am, Columbia. But I see the black professional horse won.”

  “Did you see who finished second?” Quiet Jim asked.

  “Eh … a buckskin … was that Sammy’s buckskin?”

  “Yep,” Quiet Jim replied.

  “And did you see who was ridin’ him?” Columbia asked.

  “No … but he was too small for Sammy.”

  “It was our Quint,” Columbia announced.

  Robert glanced down at the immaculately dressed Fern, Sarah, Jimmy, and Brett. “Big brother was on that horse?”

  Fern nodded. “Yes, he did very well, don’t you think?”

  “He did wonderful, darlin’.”

  “Did you notice who was mounted on the black horse?” Jim asked.

  “Am I going to like the answer?”

  Quiet Jim chuckled. “The Moraine boy.”

  “Eachan? I thought they had professional jockeys?”

  “Not today,” Columbia said. “It’s local entry day. All jockeys have to be local.”

  “The kid must be a good horseman,” Robert said.

  “They wouldn’t let him ride such an expensive horse if he wasn’t,” Quiet Jim explained. “Next race it will be time for the tall gray horse.”

  Robert turned to Mrs. Troop. “Columbia, have you seen Jamie Sue today? I just got into town and no one’s home.”

  She pointed to the east. “They are up at the finish line.”

  “They’re here?”

  “Every Fortune and most ever’ fortune is here today,” Quiet Jim drawled.

  Two men in silk suits and top hats blocked his progress as Robert scooted along the rail. Two well-dressed ladies in bright satins and white lace stood at their sides. He glanced at the man with the round face.

  “Oscar Puddin? Is that you?”

  A wide smile broke across the man’s face. “Oh, howdy, Mr. Fortune! Ain’t this something. I got me a shave, a haircut, and a bath. I even shaved off my mustache and chin whiskers!”

  “I noticed.”

  “And this is a fine suit.”

  The man next to Puddin turned around. “Mr. Chambers, are you responsible for Oscar’s refinement and culture?” Robert asked.

  “Fortune! My word, what happened to you?” Chambers sputtered. “Did you get run over by a train?”

  “Actually, I crawled under a train. Fortunately for me, it wasn’t moving at the time.”

  “Quite an exciting race, wasn’t it?” Chambers probed.

  “Yes, it was …” Robert stared at the two women, dressed in satins, who stood next to Puddin and Chambers.

  He had to choke out the words. “Miss Augusta? Miss Sandra?”

  “As you can see, we took your advice,” Sandra Raxton gushed. “We came to town and arranged an investors’ meeting for tonight.”

  “And we scrubbed up a bit,” Augusta added.

  “A bit? You two look clean as a new gold eagle coin.”

  “Which is more than we can say for you,” Miss Sandra chided.

  “I ran into a train hold-up and had to chase down the culprits.”

  “Did you catch them?” she probed.

  “Half of them.” He stood back and looked the Raxton sisters over more carefully. “I can’t believe how nice you look all cleaned up.”

  “Well, don’t get to starin’ too long,” Miss Augusta challenged. “You are a married man, and we’ve made prior commitments.”

  “You have?”

  Miss Sandra Raxton slipped her hand in Oscar Puddin’s arm. Miss Augusta put hers in Byron Chambers’s.

  “We took your advice about other things too,” Miss Sandra added. “The part about seekin’ what the Lord wants in our lives.”

  “And what does He want in your life?”

  “He wants us to be rich and married,” Miss Sandra announced.

  “But not,” Augusta giggled, “necessarily in that order.”

  Robert stood on his toes and tried to stare over the top of the crowd. I wonder how long it’s been since they were clean … and giggled. The multitude rehuddled as different horses were led out on the track. Robert had to talk loud to be heard. “You know my brother Sammy. Have you seen him?”

  “He’s over there with his beautiful wife, Abby,” Miss Sandra pointed.

  “You know Abby?”

  “We know all the ladies in your family. Who do you think picked out these dresses and made us scrub up?” Miss Augusta explained.

  “You Fortune men exhort us with your words,” Miss Sandra added. “But them women of yours do their preachin’ with their actions.”

  “Ain’t never met a family like yours, Fortune,” Miss Augusta said.

  Robert pushed his way through the crowd. Nor have I met anyone quite like the Raxton sisters!

  Sam and Abigail stood at the rail watching the horses being led onto the track. A teenage girl, carrying a four-year-old boy, stood next to them.

  The boy spotted him first. “Hi, Uncle Bobby!”

  “Howdy, Garrett. Are you going to ride one of those horses?”

  “No, Uncle Bobby!” he squealed.

  The teen girl looked around. “Uncle Bobby, it isn’t fair. They wouldn’t let me ride one of the horses! They said girls were not supposed to straddle horses. I think they made that up because they know I’m better than they are!”

  “Well, Amber, darlin’, you might be right.”

  “Bobby, what in the world happened to you!” Abby gasped.

  Sam turned around. “Little brother, you been out playing with coyotes again?”

  “It’s a long story. There was a train robbery, and I had to track them down.”

  “Did you have to do it on your belly?” Sam chided.

  “Some of the time. I hear your buckskin came in second.”

  “We all conceded first to the black horse. We were really competing for second. That was Quiet Jim’s boy up on top. When they wouldn’t let Amber ride him, Quint volunteered.”

  “Have you seen Jamie Sue?” Robert asked.

  Abby pointed down the rail. “I think she’s on the other side of Dacee June and Carty.” Sam pointed down the rail.

  A big sorrel stallion reared
up and dumped his rider, then broke down the track in a panicked gallop. Everyone ran to the rail to watch as Robert pushed his way to Dacee June.

  “Oh, good! You arrived just in time for the second race,” Dacee June announced as he approached. “Even if you are slightly … disheveled.” She wore a crisp, starched, purple gingham dress with white lace collar, cuffs, and hem. Her straw hat was tilted to the side. The baby in her arms wore an identical dress.

  “You and little Gracey look pretty,” he said.

  “Robert Fortune, her name is Ninete!”

  “I never was too good with French,” he grinned.

  “Look at the others …” She pointed to Carty, who packed three-year-old Elita in his arms. An older woman carried two-year-old Jehane.

  He tipped his hat to the lady. “Mrs. Edwards, nice to see you.”

  “Robert Paul Fortune, your mama, rest her soul, would never let you out of the house looking like that,” Mrs. Edwards lectured.

  “No, ma’am, she wouldn’t. I just captured a sneak thief, and haven’t had time to change. I need to talk to Jamie Sue. I didn’t know this was going to be such a social event.”

  Twenty-six-year-old Carty Toluca shifted Elita from one arm to the other.

  “Carry me, Uncle Bobby!” the little girl begged.

  Robert took the toddler in his arm. She hugged his neck and gave his beard a slobbery kiss, then instantly jerked back and rubbed her mouth.

  “Like kissing a wooly sheep, isn’t it, darlin’,” Robert laughed. “Sorry about that.”

  “Did you see that first race?” Carty asked.

  “Caught the end of it.”

  “Sammy’s horse sure is fast, isn’t he?” Carty added.

  Dacee June handed the one-year-old to her husband. “You know, of course, Amber pitched a fit to ride the horse.”

  “That’s what she said,” Robert said.

  “I thought Daddy would shoot that race promoter for not letting her ride.”

  Robert bounced the toddler on his hip. “He’s a might protective of his girls.”

  “You know what Stella down at the telephone exchange said?” Dacee June took the squirming Elita from Robert’s arms. “She said all the single women in Deadwood wish that Daddy Brazos would adopt them so they could be one of the Fortune women.”

  “There sure are lots of Fortune women around already.”

  “These three are Toluca girls,” Carty declared.

  Dacee June scowled at her husband.

  “Well … sort of …” Carty mumbled.

  Robert leaned over and gave Jehane a kiss on the forehead. “Whether Fortune or Toluca, you are ‘God’s gift,’ young lady. You remember that.”

  Two men now had ropes on the big sorrel’s neck. He yanked them off their feet and dragged the men around to the back of the track. The crowd cheered, but it wasn’t clear whether they were cheering for the men or the horse. He pushed his way down to a picture-perfect family, each standing quietly at attention, under the orchestration of Rebekah Fortune.

  The next-to-the-youngest child broke rank and ran to him.

  “Hi, Uncle Bobby. What happened to you? Did a horse run over you?”

  Robert grabbed up six-year-old Stuart and carried him back to where Todd, Rebekah, Hank, Camillia, and Nettie stood.

  “Stuart’s right, Bobby,” Rebekah called out. “You look quite horrid.”

  Robert put his hand on seven-year-old Nettie’s head. “Your mama speaks her mind, doesn’t she?”

  Nettie pulled down Robert’s hand and placed her little fingers in his. “Mama always tells the truth,” she explained.

  “Little brother, Stuart looks identical to how you did when you were that size,” Todd reported.

  Robert set the six-year-old down. “You and me are partners, aren’t we?”

  Stuart mashed his lips together and nodded his head.

  Thelma Speaker strolled up holding a four-year-old’s hand. “You tore your trousers, Uncle Bobby.”

  “Yes, I did, Casey.”

  “You aren’t supposed to play under the porch.”

  Robert laughed and shook his head. “I know. I’ll try better next time. Now, where have you and Mrs. Speaker been?”

  “To the privy!” Casey shouted.

  Thelma Speaker’s face turned beet red.

  Robert leaned over and kissed the older lady’s cheek. “Blush-red looks good on you, Mrs. Speaker.”

  “Robert, dear, Sarah Ruth would never approve of you coming to a public event so attired,” the gray-haired lady replied.

  “No, ma’am. Your sister has already reminded me of that.” He glanced around the crowd. “Actually, I just need to talk to Jamie Sue, then be gone. I’ve still got work to do.”

  “She’s on the other side of Daddy.” Todd pointed through the crowd.

  By now two more ropes had been thrown around the sorrel stallion’s neck, and they were trying to coax him off the racetrack. Suddenly he yanked his neck back, lifting one of the men off his feet and tossing him over the rail into Whitewood Creek.

  The crowd hurrahed.

  The rest of the racehorses and riders were milling around the starting line.

  Robert spotted his father leaning against the rail, his .50 caliber Sharps carbine over his shoulder, talking to a very fat man who wore a round straw hat.

  Robert weaved through the crowd. His path was cut off by a rugged man in dirty shop clothes.

  “Did you get beat up?” Riagan Moraine asked.

  Robert pushed his hat back and let his hands slip down to his hips, but he purposely avoided his holstered revolver. “Not yet. I’ve been trailing a lady jewel thief who robbed a man on the train. She’s the one that typed that letter on my stationery, Moraine.”

  “Why did she type it?” Moraine demanded.

  “She didn’t want me on the train when the robbery took place. She thought she could talk you into stopping me.”

  “She was almost right.”

  “But you found you couldn’t shoot a man in the back, could you?” Robert challenged.

  Moraine glanced down at his boot tops. “No … no, I couldn’t.”

  Robert took a deep breath and could feel his muscles start to relax. “Now about that novel …”

  Moraine rubbed his chin. “Your daddy already explained that to me.”

  “He did?”

  “He and that fat man over there.”

  “Who is that man?” Robert asked.

  “Hawthorne Miller, the one who wrote the book. Your daddy marched him up to the shop at gunpoint and made him tell me everything.”

  Robert shook his head. “Yep, that sounds like Daddy.”

  “Turns out that Fortune in the book isn’t your kin after all,” Moraine declared.

  “I’m glad to get that worked out, Riagan.” Robert held out his hand for the Irishman to shake.

  Moraine hesitated. “Just one thing. We were born Catholic, and we die Catholic. I don’t want you tryin’ to change that.”

  “I’ll leave that up to the Lord. Fair enough?” Robert replied.

  “That’s fair.” Moraine reached out and shook his hand. “Did you see my boy on that black stallion?”

  “Eachan did a great job on that horse.”

  “He’s a natural at it, you know.” Moraine put his hand on Robert’s shoulder. “I hear your boy can ride too.”

  “Little Frank’s learning. It comes from hanging around cavalry soldiers all his life.”

  “Maybe I should give them a hand with the sorrel.” Moraine ducked under the railing. “Or the second race will never begin.”

  Robert strolled up to the rail and leaned his elbows against it next to his father.

  “I knew you’d make it,” Brazos said, without looking at Robert.

  “Daddy, I’m glad you feel like getting out a little.”

  “There’s no way on earth I’d miss this race.” Brazos motioned at the man next to him. “This gentleman is that famous author, Mr. Hawthorne Mi
ller.”

  All three men leaned against the rail and watched a dozen men yank the sorrel out of the track into the corral at the north end.

  “Mr. Miller, I hear Daddy talked you into explaining things to Mr. Moraine.”

  “Yes … well … your father is very persuasive,” Miller huffed. “I never thought anyone ever believed any of my stories.”

  “I believe the one about Todd’s ‘flying fist of death’,” Robert said.

  Brazos cleared his throat and pointed the carbine in Miller’s direction. “All of them books about Stuart Brannon are true, aren’t they?”

  Miller pulled his hat off, wiped his sweating forehead, then cleared his throat. “Eh, yes definitely… . All the Brannon books are true.”

  Brazos brushed his hand against his thick, sagging, gray mustache. “I met him once, you know …”

  Oh no, I’m going to have to listen to those “me and Stuart Brannon” stories? “Daddy, I need to talk to Jamie Sue. Why don’t you tell Mr. Miller about the time you and Stuart held off that renegade Confederate veteran army down in Sonora, Mexico.”

  Brazos’s eyes lit up. “That was a day, wasn’t it!”

  “Yes,” Miller said, “but before you leave the track I need to talk to you about a book on how the ‘Fortune Family Foils the Fearsome Five.’”

  “What?” Robert gasped.

  Miller shrugged. “It’s just a working title.”

  “For what?”

  “For how you, Jamie Sue, and the kids busted up that Wild Bunch gang on the train,” Brazos laughed. “I reckon it’s your turn.”

  “We don’t want a book written about us,” Robert insisted.

  “I’m going to write it anyway. It’s a matter of whether I get the story straight from you or have to make all of it up.”

  “Give him the facts, Bobby,” Brazos said. “We don’t want any more make-believe stories about Fortunes.”

  Robert pointed over to where Jamie Sue and the girls stared out at the racetrack. “I’ll have to talk it over with my family.”

  He pushed on through the crowd, which was intently watching as the horses formed a crude, dancing, prancing line, nervously waiting for the signal gun to fire.

  Patricia wore the rose satin dress, Veronica the yellow.

  Veronica spotted him first and ran and grabbed his arm. “Daddy! Isn’t it exciting! Curly Mac is riding that bay mare! I think he’ll finish right behind the gray, don’t you? It’s like first place. Everyone knows the gray will win.”