by Jim Tully
“But I never saw anything so strong. His muscles were like a lion’s an’ my left arm was goin’ numb on me before I twisted the gun aroun’ back of his ear an’ the bullet zipped through his head like hot water through a pipe. It came out under his left eye and scraped my cheek and knocked me kickin’!”
“Lordy! Lordy!!” exclaimed Goosey, “it’s a wonder you ain’t nutty yourself.”
“Ye—ap, it is a won—der,” drawled the prisoner from Alabama.
“How’d you make the getaway?” Jock asked, with roused interest.
“God I don’t know. A fellow never knows how he does those things. I stuck my buddy between two old cotton bales. I thought I was headin’ north, but got all balled up an’ headed in the direction of Pensacola. I musta beat it fifteen miles without stoppin’—right across country wit’ no more shoes than a rabbit before I climbed up in a big pine tree an’ slep’ there. Then I had to backtrack after I watched the sun a minute ’cause I wanted to go north.
“That night I hit a nigger settlement. They give me some old shoes and some things an’ let me sleep in their shack, an’ they never woke me for a day and a half. I’d slep’ that long. Finally, an old greyheaded nigger took me in a peddler wagon to the Junction, an’ I caught a freight for Birmingham.”
VI: Tales are Told
VI: Tales are Told
ASOLEMN silence followed the man’s tale. We all sat very still and looked straight ahead. Jock rose and seated himself between me and the man who had killed his comrade.
The murderer for pity sat with clenched jaws, a look of madness in his eyes. Jock touched him on the arm. He jumped and reached for his hip pocket.
“That’s all right, old scout. You don’t need to mind me, I’m all O. K.” Jock paused. “But I’d never tell that yarn again if I were you. You’ll bump into some guy on the road who’ll turn you in for a plugged nickel.”
The man’s jaws opened suddenly. “I don’t give a damn. I’ll bang the buttons off any damn bull that comes near me. I’m willin’ to burn in the chair to kill a few cops an’ that judge in Alabama.”
Jock’s voice went easy. We all listened attentively. “But after you kill ’em all, then what?” he asked.
Jock laughed in his throat, and continued:
“You know, old boy, you ain’t been through it all. A lot o’ guys have been in longer’n six months in a coal mine.” He laughed in his throat again. “Christ Almighty, man, that’s only one night compared to a twenty-year jolt.”
We stopped at a junction point.
“Where the hell are we?” someone asked.
“Some little jerk-water place,” I answered. “The Missouri Pacific crosses here.” We looked out and saw the white tops of two steel rails stretch toward the southwest.
We could hear the restless moving of the elephants in the car ahead.
Over the sudden stillness came the dismal whining of a hyena. “It’s funny about those damn things,” said Goosey, “they know more about the weather than the Lord himself. That whine means rain within two days. You can’t fool ’em. Their whine’s different when it’s goin’ to turn cold. They howl louder an’ they start all the other animals doin’ the same.” He held up his hand as the noise became louder. “You see, some more’ve started. Them’s the two in the cage with the blind brown bear.” Suddenly other members of the cat family began howling. Then quickly it subsided.
The sky was blue and purple in the west.
The engine could be heard taking long tired breaths of steam. The elephants still stamped nervously.
The murderer for pity, jaws unmoving, stared into the darkness.
“More rain,” said a voice. “It’s the wettest year I ever seen with the tents.”
The air turned murky and heavy. Frogs croaked along the track. We listened to them for several minutes.
“Well,” said Goosey at last, “I think I’ll step up an’ see how my big babies are makin’ it.” He jumped out of the car and went toward the elephants.
“Think I’ll take a little walk too,” said the prisoner from Alabama. He pushed his torn straw hat low on his head, jumped to the ground quickly and walked toward the Missouri Pacific tracks.
I watched him until he could be seen no more.
Often I have wondered what became of him, and who he was, and from where. With the code of the road, we asked no questions. He had volunteered much. Like most rovers he had said nothing about his identity. He did not return.
Goosey came back to our car. The train moved on.
“It’s hell, a guy like that runnin’ around loose,” said Jock, his mind still with the man who had gone. “He’ll bump somebody off just as sure’s there’s noise in dynamite.” Jock whistled and then laughed. “Oh well, I should worry a lot an’ build a house. It’s no pansies off my grave. But I wouldn’t wanta be that judge in Alabama.”
“I hope to hell he gets him,” volunteered the indescribable man.
“Me too,” said Goosey, “he deserves it.”
“Yes, an’ every other judge, an’ the lawyers too—and the cops—kill ’em all, the damn bloody bloodsuckers, that’s my motto,” sneered Jock.
“Don’t you want no law in the world?” asked the indescribable man.
“Law? What the hell’s the good of it?” leered Jock. “If they’d put everybody in jail that’s out, an’ let everybody out that’s in, we’d be just as well off. Them on the outside’s the biggest crooks. They’re smooth enough to keep out,” he said with finality.
“But wasn’t he a big guy, though. He was tall as Denna Wyoming,” I said, in an effort to veer Jock’s mind.
“Yeap,” laughed Jock, “poor old Denna. It took a lot of clean dirt to cover him. I’ll never forget the time he saved Bad Bill the lion from dyin’ of pneumonia. He put mustard plasters a yard long on him, an’ now the vicious devil’s up there howlin’ an’ Denna’s in his grave.” He sighed. “Old Cameron sure cashed in big when he died.”
“He was a good fellow,” said Whiteface.
“None better in the world,” responded Jock.
“He sure knew how to handle animals,” put in Goosey. “One time when Cameron got that lion with a lotta boils, Denna just quit feedin’ it fat an’ it got all right agin. He’d never feed the lions on Sunday. Makin’ ’em fast one day was good for ’em. He’d only give the lions meat an no fat—an’ a big bunch. He used to say a little meat was worse’n none at all.”
“Poor old Denna,” Jock said, half reminiscently, “he could hold more licker than a copper tank an’ never show it. I’ll never forget the time Bad Bill got loose on top of the cage—remember that, Goosey?” Turning to me, he said, “That was before you joined us, kid. Well you know—the lion used to ride on top the cage lyin’ down. It was chained so fas’ to the top it couldn’t get up. But the rubes couldn’t see the chains. They thought it was just lyin’ there peaceful. Six girls used to ride right around him; sittin’ there easy like. An’ all the rubes seein’ the parade pass by would think how brave they were.
“Well one time Denna’s helper forgot to chain Bill, or else he got loose. Bill stood up an’ looked around right where the crowd was the thickest. The Strong Woman saw the lion git up and damn near fell off on her head. The Moss-Haired Girl just says under her breath like to the five others:
“ ‘Just sit real quiet. Maybe he’ll think he’s chained an’ lie down again.’ The Strong Woman and the rest of the girls jist sit there clenchin’ their hands. Bad Bill stood up for a block or two, an’ sure enough he musta thought he was still chained. He sniffed the floor like a cat an’ lay right down agin an’ never moved till we got back to the lot.
“Old Cameron was so tickled at the Moss-Haired Girl’s nerve he tried to hug her. ‘How’d you ever come to think so fast?’ he asked her.
“ ‘It wasn’ anything,’ she says right back. ‘Denna always told me never to let one of the big cats know I was afraid of it. I just remembered, that’s all.’ ”
�
�But I’ve seen Denna nervous-like. Was he really brave?” I asked.
“I’ve always thought he was the bravest kind of a guy,” answered Jock. “He knew he was takin’ chances but he kep’ right on. A boob never knows when he’s takin’ a chance. A brave man’s a coward lots of times, jist like a lion.”
He paused, and then added with more verve, “Well, if Bad Bill ever tangles with Royal Bengal he’ll get his’n. There can’t no lion lick a tiger.”
“Yeah, dey kin,” said Whiteface.
Ignoring the shift in conversation, Goosey commented, “It’s jist like an elephant or a lion. They hain’t always brave. I guess it’s ’cordin’ to how their liver’s workin’. I’ll never forgit the time when I was wit’ the Wallace shows. An elephant reached out its trunk and got hold of the Sacred Bull from India’s tail and give it a hell of a yank while he was paradin’. That bull roared like old Mahomend himself and rares on his hind legs like he ain’t use to such famelarity.” Goosey laughed. “But you shoulda seen the keeper. He was one of them Mohamends too. He jumped right up in the air an’ grabbed the elephant’s ear an’ started beatin’ him over the head wit’ his whip. That elephant woulda killed any other guy in the world but that Mahomend. He jist lay right down an’ took the beatin’ like he knowed he’d done somethin’ unholy. Then I comes up an’ he sees me an’ gits his nerve back an’ Mahomend starts to run towards his bull. But he only gits ’bout four feet when mister elephant reaches out his trunk easy like and ketches him around the neck. It gives him a little flip an’ up he goes in the air like a bird an’ down he comes like a ton o’ brick an’ lights right on the back of mister bull from India. Well, sir, youda thought it ’ud caught Mahomend shootin’ craps. It jist bellered an’ stuck its head an’ started to run an’ it darn near busted up the parade. You see, them bulls ‘re saccerd. They’ve been blessed by the Pope or somethin’ an’ they hain’t used to elephants pullin’ their tails ’er havin’ people light on their back that way. But you see how that elephant wasn’t brave at first.”
The tale of the Sacred Bull had amused Whiteface. He laughed often, his white teeth showing distinctly in the uneven light.
“That reminds me,” said the Indescribable One, “of the time I was on the bum wit’ a venterliquist. They was passin’ the collection box in church when he throws his voice up behin’ the altar an’ says to the preacher, ‘Who the hell told you that you was right, you old fathead? Look at me. I’m your God up in the ceilin’. An’ all the rubes look up, an’ he takes the collection box an’ walks outta the church wit’ it, me followin’ after him. That preacher darn near sits down right there. You see it got him when his liver wasn’t good or somethin’. You’re right, Jock, them things do happen. Anyhow we beats it to a restaurant and after we has two big beefsteaks my buddy he says to me, ‘Now that you gotta chance you’d better eat enough for tomorrow.’
“ ‘God! I’ll say I will,’ I says, ‘but gimme time. I hain’t et enough for yisterday yit.’ ”
Everybody laughed while the engine whistled five times to call in the flagman.
The car, in spite of the open door, became nauseating. The heavy air did not move swiftly enough to carry the many odors of the circus away from the track.
“I wish the train ’ud move. The damn circus don’t smell so bad when we’re runnin’,” said Jock.
“Smoke cigarettes like I do,” advised the Indescribable One, “then you can’t smell it so much.”
Soon several cigarettes were lit.
“Some one done tell me we was goin’ furder away daown south?” Whiteface, the tall Negro in the group, asked anxiously.
“Yeap, that’s so Whiteface. We’re circlin’ through Arkansas, then over through another part of Lousiana till we hit the gulf, so they tell me,” Jock volunteered. “But don’t you never mind.”
“Well it do make some neber mind to me, say what you don’t please no time.”
The worried expression soon left the Negro’s face and he whistled his favorite verse:
My masteh had a yaller gal,
An’ she was frum the Souf;
Her hair it kinked so berry tight,
She coulden shut her mouf.
He laughed musically. “Ah’se dreamin’ last night ah’se a big white buhd a flyin’ aroun’, an’ somebody squirts lotta ink on me. Wasen dat a funny dream?”
The giant Negro’s carefree manner had made me his friend. “I’ll say it was, Whiteface.” The Negro sat very still with a wide smile on his face.
“Talkin’ about dreams, Whiteface,” said Jock, “let me tell you one I heard from an acrobat who’d been over’n England wit’ Barnum. It sure knocked me for a loop an’ I can’t forget it.”
“Dat so—dat so?” And the Negro smiled anxiously.
“It’s about three people dreamin’ the same thing at the same time.” Jock looked keenly at Whiteface.
“Do tell,” pleaded the Negro.
“Well now you gotta get it straight,” and Jock addressed himself to Whiteface as if he were the only one in the audience. “This acrobat’s wife lived down near Buffalo an’ she’d never seen the ocean—remember that.”
“Ah will,” the Negro answered quickly, and leaned forward as though his life depended on every word.
“Well this acrobat took a low black steamer home. It was crowded as the devil and he had to share a room with another guy. He was homesick to see his wife and he went to bed thinkin’ about her. There was a big storm and the boat rolled all over the ocean before he finally got to sleep. The guy over’n the other bed was snorin’ like an Erie freight engine by that time.
“When the acrobat did get to sleep he dreamt his wife came into the room and stood still for a minute when she saw another guy asleep across from her man. She held her hands together and at last got up nerve to go over to her husband and tuck him in and then kiss him goodnight. Nervous-like, she looked over to the guy who was still snorin’ and hurried outta the room.”
Jock paused for a long effect.
“Is dat all?” asked Whiteface impatiently.
“I’ll say it ain’t,” replied Jock much pleased. “It ain’t even the starter.”
“Go on, go on,” said Whiteface.
Jock smiled crookedly.
“Well when both the guys woke up in the mornin’ and started dressin’, the snorin’ guy says to the acrobat:
“ ‘You’re a dandy, havin’ a good lookin’ Jane come into the room and hug an’ kiss you. I laid there hopin’ she’d come over an’ give me a smack.’
“The acrobat was so surprised you coulda knocked him over wit’ a feather.
“ ‘What did the woman look like?’ he asked his room mate.
“You coulda knocked him over wit’ half a feather when the guy described the acrobat’s wife to him.
“ ‘My God,’ he yells. An’ all that trip he’d not go near the other fellow. He had his room changed an’ everything. He thought he was a devil.
“When the acrobat got to New York he took a train for the burg near Buffalo. His wife said to him right away, ‘Dear, you had a stormy voyage at first, didn’t you?’
“ ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘How’d you know, sweetheart?’
“ ‘Well the first night I knew you were leavin’ Liverpool I dreamt it was awful stormy and your little low black boat was rockin’ about as if it would be washed under any minute.
“ ‘I was dreadfully frightened and hurried to your state-room. I got half way in before I saw a man sleepin’ in the other bed. I stopped in the middle of the floor and gathered my courage together and went over and tucked you in and kissed you goodnight. The man was so strange lookin’ that I was scared of him and hurried out.’
“ ‘What did he look like?” her husband asked.
“An’ the acrobat’s wife described the guy in the state-room she had never seen only in a dream. She’d never seen the boat either for that matter and she had it down pat too.”
Jock paused and looked at Whitefac
e. His eyes were larger than usual. The smile had been routed by a more serious expression.
“Lawdy! Lawdy! dat suah am spooky. What kinda licker dem folks drinkin’ nohow?”
Jock laughed. “No kind at all, Whiteface. The brain’s a funny thing. Just think how them three people saw the same thing at the same time. I’ll say the brain’s funny.”
“My brain ain’t dat funny, Misteh Jock. An’ what’s some moah I woan habe no brain ’tall if eveh I heahs many moah tales like dat one.”
“You’re sure right, Whiteface. I think we’d all better hit the hay on that yarn,” laughed Goosey.
“When’ll we strike?” I asked.
“About eight in the morning. We’ll parade before noon. Everybody ought to be feelin’ fine for the long rest—except old Cameron and the Baby Buzzard. They’ll surely jerk in the nickels tomorrow,” laughed Jock, “so I’ll pound my ear and you fellows can do what you like.”
We slept while our weird caravan rattled over the ties.
VII: Without What?
VII: Without What?
WE arrived in ———, Arkansas, completely rested and in high spirits.
Cameron walked about the lot after the tent was up and rubbed his hands gleefully. Slug Finnerty, his one eye now open, prepared his blue ticket wagon early. Rosebud and the other musicians practiced in their tent. The Strong Woman sang Die Wacht am Rhein, while a few stray “rubes” stood outside her little tent and listened.
Goosey had his three elephants ready for parade early. One of his helpers, a boy like myself, had deserted the circus. Some one always rode each elephant in parade. Cameron ordered me to ride in the boy’s place. Goosey rigged me out in an Arab costume.
“Arabs don’t ride elephants, Goosey, do they?” I asked.
