But tight as the rope was, not one ounce of Old Fooler’s two thousand pounds was planning on going anyplace.
“Push the bastard!” Slim yelled, and seven or eight of us crowded around Old Fooler, heaving with all our weight. I think what turned the tables was Slim’s pocketknife. Along with pushing, Slim stabbed Old Fooler in the rear. Not where it would do him permanent damage, but it still must have hurt like hell. The big black bull let out a bellow that damnere matched Shad’s cowboy yell and leaped high into the air in the general direction Slim wanted him to go. And when he came down, he was in the Gulf of Peter the Great, complaining loudly and splashing all over the place.
And, as Shad had thought it would, that kind of broke the ice with the others.
“Look out!” Slim yelled, and we jumped back from the sea door as probably the only stampede of longhorns on a ship ever recorded in naval history began. There must have been three hundred cows and bulls that suddenly realized, after two months of imprisonment, that there was at last a way out. Once Old Fooler had unintentionally led the way, they couldn’t have cared less if they were jumping off Pikes Peak, as long as they were getting out of that hold.
We were lucky not to get crushed in the wild mass exit.
And then suddenly, like a snap of the fingers, the stampede stopped in midstream. Longhorns are sort of like people, I guess. They don’t know what the hell they’re doing either most of the time. A big spotted cow with a yearling calf gave a terrified bawl and skidded to a halt at the sea door.
Evidently taking her word about something being wrong up front, the two hundred or so head behind her slammed on their brakes and now wouldn’t be budged.
So this is when we used Shad’s “fire.”
“Levi!” Slim yelled. “Link, Rufe! Crab! Stay with me and light those torches. The rest of you hit the water!” Old Keats and Mushy were the first two mounted and out. The horses didn’t really like the idea, but so many cattle had dived out by then that it must have started to seem like the natural thing to do. Natcho’s big black didn’t argue at all. Chakko, Dixie and Purse went next. And finally Shiny Joe and Big Yawn. Big Yawn was so scared his hands were shaking even before he got aboard his horse.
“Shiny,” Slim said, “stick close t’ Big Yawn!” And then they were both gone, in almost one gigantic splash.
I’d already lighted a torch, and we were now lighting others from it. When we all had one or two torches apiece, we ran to the far side of the hold and started yelling our lungs out and scaring the hell out of the cattle with the flaming torches. Slim was up by the spotted cow who’d stopped the first stampede. He picked up her calf and threw it overboard. She must have been mad about it, but this was no time to argue. Bawling wildly, she went after her baby like a shot. And, terrified by our yells and waving torches, the others started to follow. One mean-looking dun bull lowered his head five feet away to charge right at me, so without thinking about it I burned him a quick, good one on the nose with the torch and, luckily, he changed his mind and charged the other direction instead.
I guess that ocean water must have cooled his nose off pretty fast.
I know damn well that about two minutes later it cooled me off fast. The rest of the remuda and the pack mules followed the longhorns, and when the last big, balky mule got to the sea door, Slim whacked him on the tail with his torch and yelled, “Abandon ship, goddamnit!” And an instant later they were all gone.
“We’re bringin’ up the rear, so carry your torches!” Slim said, swinging up onto Charlie, his calico stud. He went over and when he came up, still holding his torch, he yelled in a strange, choked voice, “Come on in! The water’s fine!”
I got aboard Buck, who was, naturally, a buckskin, and who was as nervous as I was. But when I pushed him toward the edge, he went right on over, out and down without even looking back.
And great, holy God was it cold! It was already kind of cold because we’d all sent our warm jackets on the small boats. But now ten thousand wet, tiny icicles plunged paralyzingly into every pore of every part of my skin, through shirt and pants and even boots. It was colder right then than any time I can remember, even including the time Ma and Pa froze to death around me. Just the shock of it alone was so much I couldn’t even try to get my breathing going for a while.
Slim was a few yards to my right, waving his torch and yelling, steering the cattle in front of us toward the shore. Looking at me he called, “Yell out, Levi! Holler! It’ll start your breath goin’!”
“Yowwwwwww!” I put all my lungs into it.
“Shad was right about it bein’ refreshin’!” Slim called.
I could yell back by now. “Sure takes your mind off drownin’!”
Crab was on my left, holding his torch high. All he could manage through clenched teeth was a loud, chattering “Jesus!”
“Steer ’em!” Slim bellowed. “Keep pushin’ ’em in!”
And then, in those freezing, heaving black seas, we lost one of the herd. A mud-colored cow with only one horn was about twenty feet ahead of me. For no understandable reason, she suddenly turned around toward me and started swimming back in the other direction. It sounds silly, but for a minute I had the awful feeling that she thought she’d left something behind on the ship. “Hey!” I yelled, waving the torch toward her. “Back!”
Her eyes were glazed over, and I don’t think she was even aware of the torch or my shouts. She started to go under, but then swimming frantically she raised her nose up among the rough waves for one last pathetic half of a wheezing breath. And then she sank like a rock.
I dropped my torch and grabbed for her, which was pretty ridiculous, but didn’t seem like it at the time. As the torch sputtered out in the water beside me, I caught one of her soft, water-soaked ears for a brief moment, and then it slipped out of my hand as the cow went down below into the dark, icy sea.
“Let go!” Slim was already bellowing. “You’re pullin’ your horse off balance!”
Somehow, cold and frozen and scared as I was, I was damnere ready to cry. And maybe even did, a little.
That poor damn cow!
I couldn’t quite get all of my broken feelings for her in place. But it was just so sad for her to die alone and helpless out here in this black, terrifying water. So damn sad for her to die like that, way off at the end of the world where she’d sure as hell never asked to come. To die stunned and frozen, and not understanding it at all, in this unknown place, while she was trying blindly and so desperately to somehow struggle back home.
We were probably not in the water much more than half an hour, but it seemed closer to a hundred years of Sundays. Toward the end, up ahead, Purse lost his seat on Vixen somehow. But he managed to grab the saddle, and then the mare’s tail as she went by, and she pulled him in all right. Along the way, Purse didn’t have much chance that night to help a speckled bull. It got its horns caught in a huge bunch of seaweed. And the seaweed came up afterward but the bull didn’t. Natcho’s black Diablo turned over under him and started kicking and thrashing like hell. But Natcho just got out of the way and the two of them swam along onto the beach together.
Finally, with both my hands almost frozen stiff around his reins, Buck’s feet touched ground, and he just walked up through the water to the shore as calmly as if this kind of a cattle drive was an everyday, or every night, experience for him.
We were a little ways away from town here, and Sammy, who had been in the first boat, had already got a giant bonfire started on the beach. There’d been key gear on that first boat to hopefully keep us from freezing solid, including kerosene, and Sammy had poured a lot of that over a big pile of driftwood he’d gathered and struck a match to it.
“My God!” Rufe stuttered, almost falling off Bobtail. “That fire looks like the pot a’ gold at the end a’ the rainbow!”
As we came ashore we all headed straight for it.
Except for the sailors bringing more of our supplies from the boats up onto the beach, Sammy the K
id was the only dry one there. He’d already pounded stakes into the ground near the fire and strung a lariat between them to fix a handy rope hitch for our horses. And now he was keeping himself busy handing out dry shirts and britches and socks to us from our gear so we could change into them, and then passing out our jackets as soon as he could find them. But while he was doing it, he wasn’t looking any of us in the eye too much, and wasn’t saying anything.
He handed Dixie Claybourne’s rawhide jacket to him and Dixie was just barely thawed out enough to say, “How was that boat trip, Sammy?” Dixie had a way of saying things, sometimes, so that you didn’t know if they were as mean as they sounded or not. But Sammy looked like he’d been slapped, and pretty hard at that.
“Well,” Dixie kept on, “was it tough?”
“In case you didn’t know it, Dixie,” Shad said quietly, “we needed one man to take the first boat. And, all things equal, I elected the Kid.”
“Sure.” Dixie shrugged. “If you say so, boss.”
“I wanted someone here t’ start settin’ things up for the rest of us. If not him, somebody else.” Shad’s tone hardened a little. “Maybe you.” When Shad spoke this way, Dixie was smart enough not to answer too fast. He was thinking for some kind of an answer when Slim grinned, buttoning up his dry shirt with still-shaking hands.
“Hell, I wish it’d been me, boss. Right now my ass is froze damnere completely off!”
Shad turned to Sammy. “Break out the bourbon ya’ got over there. If Slim froze his ass off, it’d be the biggest loss our outfit ever suffered.”
There was some easy laughter from all around now, but everybody knew just exactly what had actually happened. It’s kind of complicated, but it’s honest-to-God true. Dixie had insulted Sammy the Kid, who was sure as hell feeling bad enough already. Shad, knowing the way the youngster felt, had protectively taken his side. Dixie had tried to back down, but his own pride had got in his way and wouldn’t let him really back off altogether, or in an easygoing fashion. That kind of pride Dixie had, starting out with needlessly hurting the Kid, was a false pride, and Shad nailed him for it on the spot. Dixie was caught in a bind, and Slim came to the rescue of the situation by saying something for everyone’s benefit that was kind of funny. Shad picked up on that and decided to let it go by saying something back to Slim even funnier, and at the same time getting us the bourbon he’d had brought in on the first boat.
I can guarantee the above is almost exactly accurate, because Old Keats brought it up to me a few minutes later, while we were all drinking tin cups of bourbon, the two of us standing a little apart from the others. “Strange thing, Levi,” he said, raising his cup to drink with his good right hand. “There is no parliament, no congress, where the men can know each other so completely and well as men know each other who do hard daily work, sometimes dangerous work, together. No, not even the classic ancient Greek or Roman Senates.”
“Well, I guess that’s fair enough.” The drink was starting to warm and help my gut the way the fire was helping my right side, at the angle I was standing to it.
“Like what just happened before.” Keats sipped from his cup again. “Poor old Dixie lost.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have pushed Sammy.”
“But don’t you see, we all knew he was weaker, for having picked on Sammy’s weaknesses?”
“Sure. Sort of.”
“Give me a little more.” Keats put out his cup and I poured from a bottle that was near us on a rock near the fire. “That’s damn good,” he said, tasting thoughtfully. “Jack Daniel’s, Distillery No. 1, 1866. Great bourbon.”
I looked at the bottle in the light of the fire and said, “Goddamn! You’re right. You’re a damn good guesser!”
“That wasn’t such a good guess. It was a truth based on knowledge, which in turn was based on many years of happy and often heavy drinking.”
“Oh, t’ hell with you, that’s really somethin’!” Despite still being chilled by the cold, I couldn’t hold back a kind of genuine enthusiasm. “T’ even guess the year you gotta be smarter’n hell!”
He raised his shoulders slightly, dismissing this. “I was talking to you about weakness before. And the strongest man I was thinking about has the greatest weakness.”
“Who?”
He said quietly, “Shad.”
“You shouldn’t talk about Shad an’ bein’ weak in the same breath!” I said angrily.
He gestured with his left hand, raising it as high as he could, to about chest level. “I love the sonofabitch as much as you do, Levi, and I’ve even got a few more years of seniority there than you. But his great strength is what makes his greatest damn weakness. He’s too strong to change his mind. Too strong to see something from someone else’s point of view.”
I had flared up before, but one thing both Shad and Old Keats had taught me was to always try to calm down, and I did my level best now. I took a deep breath. “Old Keats, sir, Shad can do anything!”
Keats took another drink, a long one, and looked at me with eyes as sober as two iron spikes driven into a railroad tie. “This deals with what I told you before about seein’ or not seein’ this giant land.” His bad left hand came up and pointed at me again, in a tough but still friendly gesture. “Sometimes it’s hard t’ know, or to ever properly establish, Levi. But all of us, always and always, find in this world exactly what we set out t’ give to it.”
I stared hard back at him, trying to make my eyes like iron spikes too. “Well, what the hell, then! Shad always gives everything!” My own iron spikes were starting to melt already, because there was no way for me to stay mad for long at Old Keats.
Keats now lowered his eyes for a moment, then nodded. “He always has—up until comin’ here t’ this damn Russia. But he’s got a hate for it that he may get back times ten.” He put his cup down and started rubbing his hands together. “By God, the blood’s startin’ to flow again. We just may live for a while longer, after all.”
“Hey, boss!” Sammy the Kid yelled from off on the other side of the fire where he’d been helping the sailors finish unloading our supplies. “Everything’s ashore!”
The men from the Queen started rowing back in the last small boat as Shad came into the firelight from the side near where the cattle were huddled.
“Good luck!” one of the crewmen shouted, and some of us yelled “So long!” or whatever back. Then, after a silence, another sailor called with a certain warmth in his voice, “Cap’n Barum speaks for all of us! He thinks you’re all daft!”
Since it wasn’t really a tough line, some of us yelled back in a friendly way, “Get a horse!” and “Fuck you!” and things like that.
And then the man’s voice came across the water again, fading in the distance. “He speaks for us! An’ he said if he wasn’t born a sailor, he’d rather be a cowboy!”
It was too late to holler anything back by then, and what he’d yelled was kind of touching anyway, so we just waved by the light of the fire, and then stood around the flaming driftwood, kind of quiet.
And then Shad said thoughtfully, “Been takin’ stock of the cattle, an’ a lot of ’em are too cold from that water t’ make it through the night.”
The way he said that grim thing you could tell he was worried, but that he more than likely already had thought of the problem and had some kind of an answer to it.
“Them ’as made it’d be sicker’n hell,” Slim agreed. “What you got in mind, boss?”
“Fire an’ bourbon brought us around okay,” Shad said, kind of musing. “We can’t build enough fires to warm them, but we can get some booze into ’em. So we’re gonna break out all the grain we brought ashore and make that herd the most potent mash they ever ate in their widely traveled lives.”
“Ya’ mean get ’em drunk?” Mushy asked.
“Just pleasantly,” Slim told him with a small grin. “Not enough t’ make any shameful scenes or nothin’.”
“Hell,” Mushy went on, “we ain’t g
ot nowheres near that much bourbon.”
“They’ve got booze in Vladivostok,” Shad said. “We’ll roust ’em out and if need be buy every bottle in town.” Then he started telling us what to do.
CHAPTER FOUR
A BUNCH of curious Russians who lived on the outskirts of Vladivostok had begun to gather just outside the light of the fire to look us over. While the other hands, working under Slim, started hauling gunny sacks of grain up closer to the fire, four of us went over to talk to them. There was Shad and Old Keats and Shiny Joe and me, and we were leading two pack mules to take on into town.
These Russians were mostly short and stocky, and all of them were timid, shying away as we came closer to them. But Keats called out a word that sounded like “Tuhvaritch” a couple of times and that sort of settled them back down.
Old Keats was carrying a lantern in one hand and his book on Russian in the other. Shiny and I brought up the rear, leading the mules.
“Ask them if they talk American,” Shad said.
Old Keats thought hard and then said, “Gahvareet Amerikansky?”
Those in front stared at him like he was crazy, and a couple of them toward the back snickered slightly.
“Stupid bastards,” Shad grumbled. “Not one of ’em talks American!”
But then one broad-shouldered young man near Keats answered something in a low voice.
Old Keats was as excited as a kid. He almost yelled, “I understood him! He said he speaks Russian!”
“That’s a godsend,” Shad said dryly. “We found a Russian who speaks Russian. Tell ’im what we want, an’ that we’ll pay for it.”
It was an uphill job for Keats, but he finally managed to explain to them, mostly through the young man, that we wanted all the tubs or big pots or kettles we could get. He used his hands a lot to describe the biggest size possible.
The Cowboy and the Cossack (Nancy Pearl's Book Lust Rediscoveries) Page 4
