He said it as a joke, but Dane’s face clouded up and his lips clamped tight. He spat a stream of tobacco juice out of the side of his mouth. “Only man I owe money to is Throckmorton, that greedy banker in the Mission. If Mr. Omaha is here to buy me out, I’m going to throw him out on his ear.”
“Heap big man, Randy say,” Eagle said.
“You know, Joe, a boot in the nuts can make a man mighty small mighty quick.”
Joe Eagle laughed.
“That true,” he said, and the two rode on as the sun rose and the heat began to burn through their clothes and dry the sweat on their faces.
Chapter 2
Thorvald Kramer pumped his cane up and down. It thumped on the oak floor of the front room. It was, to him, a mighty cane, because his son, Dane, had crafted it from the penises of bulls he had raised and butchered. He had glued them all together, shellacked them so that the cane was a single piece of hard, straight flesh with a metal tip made from melting down and shaping an iron horseshoe.
“Tell the man to come inside the house,” Thor shouted as he pounded on the floor with his cane.
Thor was bent over in his chair. His spine was bowed so that his back formed a parenthesis, bowed so much that he appeared to be a hunchback. He was eighty-five years old, but his mind was as sharp as a barber’s razor. His balding head was streaked with strands of gray hair, swept back by his brush, so that his head appeared streamlined, especially with that hunched-over stance when he stood up from his overstuffed rocking chair.
The door opened and a large, heavyset man had to duck to enter the room.
“Who be ye?” Thor demanded when the man was clear of the door and stood up straight.
“The name’s Himmel, sir. Otto Himmel.”
“Well, set down on the divan there, Mr. Himmel, and tell me your story. Why are you here and what do you want with my son?”
Randy stood there, gape-mouthed, in the doorway.
Thor shook his cane at the young man and growled at him in his gravelly voice, “You ride out and find Dane, young feller, and tell him to get his sorry ass back here pronto.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Kramer,” Randy said, his sharp-pointed Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, threatening to puncture the skin of his skinny throat. He wheeled and went out the door, easing it back so that it wouldn’t slam. If it had made a noise, he knew he would feel the explosive wrath of Thorvald, complete with snarl and invective.
Otto Himmel sat down on the divan and looked around the room. Above the fireplace, he saw a Kentucky long rifle with its polished curly maple stock, hanging on wooden pegs. Next to it was a powder horn dangling from another peg. There were tintypes in frames of prairie scenes and some Currier & Ives colored prints of horses and carriages, exotic fountains, and buildings. There was also a photo, faded to a yellowish brown, that looked very old in an oval frame.
“That’s my ma,” Thor said, pointing with his cane at the picture. “Danish woman. My pa was German. Like you, eh, Mr. Himmel?”
“I am of German heritage, yes. My parents were both born in Andernach, Germany. They came to this country in 1815. I was born in Pittsburgh. They never did speak English very well and I never learned the German language.”
Himmel was a huge man, topping six feet, with rounded shoulders and a belly as big as a Chicago stove. His boots were polished and seemed to have the same sheen as his dark hair and the handlebar mustache beneath his nose. His eyes were small and porcine, as blue as a June sky, as penetrating as sharp-pointed darts.
“Handsome woman,” Himmel said. His tone was polite but wary.
“You want some coffee, Himmel?” Thor asked.
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble, Mr. Kramer.”
“Call me Thor. No trouble. Ora Lee keeps a pot goin’ all day long. I got to have my coffee every mornin’ and through the day.”
“That would be fine,” Himmel said.
Thor thumped his cane on the floor several times.
“Ora Lee. Ora Lee,” he called.
Seconds later a large dowdy woman came down the hall from the kitchen and entered the room. She wore a blowsy dress of soft linen, dyed mauve, with streaks of gray in her bundle of hair piled atop her large head. She had puffy lips faintly brushed with a light rouge, rouge circles on her checks. She had at least three chins that looked like a bloated accordion. Short, with stocky legs covered in blond stockings. Her shoes were the type worn by nurses and washerwomen, black, with large sturdy heels and white laces.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Thor,” she said. “More coffee?”
“More for me and a fresh cup for Mr. Himmel, Ora Lee, if you please.”
“I didn’t know we had a visitor,” she said to no one.
“Ora Lee’s been with me for better’n two years, Himmel. She cooks and cleans and makes my bed. Sometimes she rubs my back.”
Ora Lee’s face flushed a bright pink and she left the room, waddling down the hall on those functional black shoes of hers.
Himmel cleared his throat and looked up at the beamed ceiling of the log home, the cobwebs in two corners that looked like swamp mist.
Thor swung his attention to Himmel as if trying to figure out what brought him to the Circle K.
“Just what did you want to see Dane about, Himmel?” he asked. “Earl send you out?”
“Earl?”
“Earl Throckmorton. Runs the Prairie Land Bank over at the mission.”
“Never heard of him,” Himmel said.
Ora Lee Gibson returned to the front room carrying a small wooden tray. She set it on the little table next to Himmel’s chair. She lifted a pot and poured coffee into a cup, then carried the pot to Thor, who held out his almost-empty cup. She poured steaming coffee to within an inch of the brim. He nodded to her and she set the pot back on the tray.
“There’s some fresh cream there,” Ora Lee said to Himmel, “and some sugar in that bowl with the teaspoon.”
“Thanks,” Himmel said. “I like my coffee black.”
“Suit yourself,” Ora Lee said, and left the room on stout muscular legs, her shoes clacking on the hardwood floor of the hallway.
“Ora Lee follered us from Texas,” Thor said. “We pulled up stakes in the Rio Grande Valley when Cap’n King started buyin’ up all the land and we figured that if we stayed in those parts, he’d eventually swaller us up, lock, stock, and barrel.”
“I’ve been there,” Himmel said as he lifted the coffee cup to his lips.
“Where?” Thor asked.
“The Rio Grande Valley. Lots of cattle. Lotta land.”
“You got that right. You sure Earl didn’t send you out here?”
“I’m sure, Mr. Kramer. Er, I mean, Thor.”
“Well, what do you want to see Dane fer?”
Himmel worked the coffee around in his mouth to cool it before he swallowed it. “I prefer to conduct my business with Dane Kramer, sir, with all due respect.”
“Hell, I’m his pa. Him and me don’t hold no secrets from each other.” Thor seemed to bristle as he leaned his bent frame forward in the chair.
“It’s just my policy, sir. No exceptions.”
“Dang it all, you got my curiosity all perked up and won’t tell me why you come out here.”
“I’m sorry, Thor. It’s just my policy. I deal with a lot of parties and it seldom pays to discuss business with anyone except the principal. I hope you understand.”
Thor leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee after blowing on it with bloodless pursed lips. “Parties and principals, eh? Well, out here we talk man to man, ’thout’n no formalities. Where did you say you was from, Mr. Himmel?.”
“Why don’t you call me Otto, Thor? We might become friends, you and I. I’m from Omaha, up in Nebraska, and I’ve come to see your son, Dane. On business.”
“I don’t know how you do business up in Omaha, but we lay it all out on the table down here. I don’t think Dane is much interested in any business you got in Omaha.”
&nbs
p; Himmel flashed a weak smile at Thor and took another sip of coffee, as if to stop any further conversation that might issue from his mouth.
The two sat in silence for several minutes. They drank their coffee and seemed oblivious of each other.
They heard hoofbeats a few minutes later.
“That would be Randy comin’ back from tellin’ Dane you was here,” Thor said.
“So Dane can’t be very far away,” Himmel said.
“Nope. He had to chase a calf down what got itself struck by lightning early this mornin’.”
“I was in that storm,” Himmel said. “Got soakin’ wet. My bedroll’s still damp, I suppose.”
“You rode down here on horseback all the way from Nebraska?”
“I did,” Himmel said. “A buggy wouldn’t have made it and I have a good horse. No trail along the Missouri River.”
“Well, I swan. All the way down from Omaha. Just to see a principal party.” Thor shook his head in mock disbelief.
“It was quite an experience,” Himmel admitted.
“I reckon so.”
They had finished drinking their coffee when they heard more hoofbeats coming toward the house at a rapid pace.
“That would be Dane and Joe Eagle,” Thor said. “Won’t be long now before you can state your business to the principal.”
Himmel ignored the sarcasm and finished his coffee. He tapped a pocket of his vest but did not take out his pipe or tobacco. It was just a reassuring pat in case his meeting turned out to be successful and he could light his pipe.
“I’ve got a satchel outside on my horse,” Himmel said. “I’d better go and get it.”
He set his cup down and walked to the door without Thor’s approval and went outside.
He saw the two riders as they pulled up at the hitch rail. He walked to his horse and untied the leather thongs that held his leather satchel. He had it in hand when Dane and Joe Eagle dismounted and started toward him.
“If you’re from the Prairie Land Bank, mister, you can just put that satchel back on your horse.”
Himmel turned around, his hand midway through the untying.
“I am not from any bank, sir,” Himmel said. “Are you Dane Kramer?”
“I am.”
Joe Eagle walked up. Both men were packing sidearms and Himmel looked down at the butts of their pistols.
“I’m Otto Himmel. I rode here from Omaha up in Nebraska, and I’ve got a proposition for you. I’ve met your father. Drank a cup of coffee with him, in fact.”
Dane stuck out his hand.
Himmel took it and the two shook hands
“This is one of my hands, Joe Eagle,” Dane said, stepping a half foot away.
Himmel held out his hand, but Joe merely nodded. Himmel withdrew his hand as if it were suddenly an unwanted appendage.
“Come on in the house,” Dane said. “I’ll listen to what you have to say as long as you weren’t sent out here by Throckmorton.”
“I was not, nor have I ever met this Throckmorton, Mr. Kramer.”
“Call me Dane. Should I call you Otto or Mr. Himmel?”
“Otto is fine.”
“I put up the horses,” Joe Eagle said.
“Come on in when you’re through, Joe,” Dane said.
Joe Eagle grunted a guttural “hunh” and led the horses to the stable about two hundred yards in the back of the house.
Himmel hefted his satchel and followed Dane into the house. The door, on a sash-weight spring, closed behind him.
“Pa,” Dane said, nodding to his father. “You and Mr. Himmel have a good talk?”
Thor thumped his cane on the floor and growled at his son, “He don’t say much. Wouldn’t tell me nothin’ ’bout why he come here all the way from Nebraska.”
“Well, clean out your ears, Pa, and listen. We’ll both hear what Mr. Himmel has to say.”
“Harrumph,” issued from Thor’s mouth, and he leaned back in his chair, his cane across his lap.
“Have a seat, Mr. Himmel,” Thor said. “If there are foreclosure papers in that satchel, you might be carrryin’ them back outside in a different location.”
Himmel sat down and set the satchel on his lap. He did not open it.
“Mr. Kramer,” Himmel said, “I assure you there are no foreclosure papers in my satchel. I’ve come to you with an urgent request and a proposition.”
“You want coffee, Dane?” Thor asked.
Dane shook his head. “No, not yet, Pa. Let’s hear what the Omaha man has to say.”
“I’m all ears,” Thor said.
Dane laughed. Himmel wore a serious look on his face.
“Mr. Kramer,” Himmel said, “I looked up your brand in the register and I saw that you have better than ten thousand acres here in Shawnee Mission, and that you have had difficulty in getting your cattle to market because of the late start last summer and the harsh winter we all had.”
“That’s true. We got turned back from Kansas by an early blizzard last fall and now I’m ready to try again when the grass gets higher.”
“That’s why I’m here, Mr. Kramer,” Himmel said.
“Better call me Dane or I’ll think you’re talkin’ to my pa here.”
“Very well, Dane. I need three thousand head in Omaha. I’m prepared to pay you twelve dollars a head if you can deliver the herd by midsummer. It’s a long drive up the Missouri. A small advance, say a thousand dollars, to get you started and buy grub for your chuck wagon, and the balance on delivery. Fair enough?”
“Not quite, Mr. Himmel,” Dane said. “I know how far it is to Omaha, and it’s a dangerous trail with Indians and cattle thieves from here to Kansas. I’ll need more money.”
“How much more? That’s a fair price.”
“It’s fair if I was going to Salida or Kansas City. Omaha’s a different matter.”
“Let me think for a minute,” Himmel said.
Dane waited, with a look of unconcern on his face. He examined his hand that still bore traces of salve under the fingernails of two fingers and streaks of it along the side of his thumb.
“Tell you what,” Himmel said. “If you can deliver three thousand head to my stock pens in Omaha by June first, I’ll pay you fourteen dollars a head.”
“Fifteen,” Dane said.
Himmel’s throat swelled and his face colored from infusions of sudden blood into his corpuscles. He appeared almost apoplectic.
“In that case, I’ll meet your price, Dane. Fifteen dollars a head for three thousand head by early June. But there is another matter that is now on the table.”
“Another matter?”
Himmel cleared his throat and the rosy hue on his face subsided. “I need a big favor from you and I’m prepared to pay.”
“You be real careful, Dane,” Thor said. “I think there’s a snake in the woodpile with this feller.”
Dane looked at his father, then back at Himmel.
Himmel opened his briefcase and the silence in the room deepened with suspicion and anticipation. Thor lifted his cane from his lap and glared at Himmel as if ready to do battle.
Dane thought of driving three thousand head of cattle all the way to Omaha, and his stomach churned with something that might have been called fear in a lesser man. Bile roiled in his belly like writhing snakes and he waited for Himmel to take something out of that fat satchel of his.
And Himmel was taking his sweet time for some unknown reason.
Chapter 3
Before Himmel reached into his satchel, he looked over at Dane, then at Thor. The expression on his face was one of curiosity and his eyes widened.
“Just curious,” Himmel said. “About that man who rode up with you. Joe Eagle, I believe you said, was his name.”
“Yeah, that’s what we call him.”
“He’s an Injun, isn’t he?”
“Yes. Full-blood,” Dane said.
“May I inquire what tribe he’s from?”
Thor cackled from his chair.
> “He’s a Cherokee,” Dane said. “But that’s not what his tribe is called in his own language. Cherokee is a Creek word and somehow it stuck. In his language he is a Tslagi, and his name is really Awohali, their word for eagle. So we call him Joe Eagle. He was half-dead when we found him, starving, just skin and bones. He had been captured by a snake oil peddler who used him as a kind of attraction. Didn’t feed him well, and beat him regularly. Kept him in chains. We took him in and run the drummer off. I taught him the cow business and he’s a damned good hand.”
“Reason I asked was I never saw a real Indian up close before. We got Omahas in Nebraska and Kiowas.”
“Well, between here and Kansas, you got renegade Comanches and maybe some Apaches what won’t stay put on any reservation. They think a cattle drive is manna from heaven, that God is bringing them food and money.”
“I know,” Himmel said.
Then he drew a sheaf of papers from his satchel, closed it, and set it on the floor beside his chair. “The favor I’m asking you is this. I have about nine hundred head in Kansas City. I’m paying out feedlot prices to hold them there. I want you to pick those cattle up and drive them up to Omaha with your herd. I’ll pay you two dollars a head on those. They carry the trail brand of the Three Bar Two. Here’s the manifest that you will show to the owner of the feedlot in Kansas City, a Mr. Chester Dowd. I’ll give you a bank draft to pay the remainder of the bill there so that he’ll release the cattle to you.”
Himmel leaned from his chair and handed the papers to Dane, who scanned them for a few seconds.
Dane looked up from the paper.
“That’s an extra nine hundred head,” he said. “Big responsibility. Do you know how far it is from here to Omaha?”
“It’s nigh on to five hundred miles by my reckoning.”
“We have to figure on ten miles a day. There’s no way we could drive the herd that far, pick up your strays in Kansas City, and make it to Omaha by mid-June.”
“Let’s say July, then,” Himmel said. “Look, I have stock pens there and both a slaughterhouse and packing plant. I employ a number of Poles to butcher the cattle and it will be a stretch to keep them there that long if I don’t have work for them.”
The Omaha Trail Page 2
