Code of the West

by Aaron Latham

  Fiddle put his instrument under his chin and pretty soon Froggy the Frog was jumping over a log. The groom took the bride in his arms and whirled her around the dirt dance floor. Actually, he realized that “whirled” was a bit of an overstatement, for he didn’t dance very well, not the Writer dances anyhow. He had grown up war-dancing rather than ballroom-dancing. But he tried to remember what his bride had taught him back in Boston, and he didn’t think he was doing too bad. Anyhow, nobody was laughing. But the main thing was that he was happy, really very happy, and he believed she was happy, too. He told himself that this was the happiest moment of his life.

  To help him keep time to the music, Goodnight sang softly in Revelie’s ear: “Froggy the frog, hop-hop, hop-hop, jumped over a log, hop-hop, hop-hop . . .”

  When the music finally ended, all the cowboys actually clapped. Goodnight knew he hadn’t beenthat good, but he appreciated the applause anyhow.

  “Now ever’body join in,” he said. “Choose your pardners and don’t be shy.”

  Suckerod made an elaborate bow and asked Simon for the pleasure of this dance. Simon thought it over a moment and then coyly accepted. Black Dub asked the lovely Tin Soldier to dance. Loving had already asked Too Short. And Revelie was pledged to Goodnight.

  “Now you boys feel free ta sing along,” said Fiddle.

  Then he started fiddling.

  “Put yore liddle foot,” sang Black Dub, who had the prettiest singing voice, “put yore liddle foot, put yore liddle foot right cheer.”

  The “couples” danced side by side, hip-to-hip.

  “Your little foot ain’t so little,” Suckerod grumbled to Simon. “I thought ladies was supposed to have charmin’ little ol’ feet.”

  “Just don’t put your big foot on my little foot,” said Simon.

  Soon less gifted voices joined Black Dub’s, and they all sang together.

  “Take a step to the left.”

  They all stepped to the left, kicking up a storm of red dust.

  “Take a step to the rear.”

  When they stepped to the rear, some of the couples collided with other couples who didn’t step quite quickly enough, but that was part of the fun.

  “Take a step to the right.”

  They all lumbered to the right.

  “And forever stay near.”

  When the music stopped, the cowboys and cowgirls milled about on the dance floor. Soon the fiddle played a polka.

  “Change pardners,” Goodnight said.

  Before long, Black Dub was dancing with Too Short. Loving whirled Tin Soldier around the dance floor. Goodnight tried to keep up with Simon, who loved to polka. And Suckerod danced with the bride in her wedding dress. They kicked up more red dust than ever dancing this spirited dance. The groom noticed that the bottom of his bride’s gown was almost blood red.

  “Nice sawin’,” said Simon, out of breath, when the music finally stopped.

  Fiddle played the schottische and the boys and girls danced side by side again. Goodnight paired off with Too Short. Suckerod selected Tin Soldier as his partner. Loving chose Simon. And Black Dub danced with Revelie. The groom loved this particular dance because the motion was much the same as riding. He imagined that they were all riding a circle in pairs. He was a better dancer when he danced this dance. All the cowboys now seemed more graceful. They were back on familiar ground. Goodnight wished he could have danced this dance with Revelie, but it hadn’t worked out. Oh, well, he would have other chances.

  The fiddle fell silent. Then the cook spent a few minutes tuning it. He plucked and tightened. When he was ready to start again, he played “After the Ball Was Over.”

  Goodnight asked Tin Soldier for the pleasure. Black Dub took Simon in his arms. Suckerod asked Too Short. And Loving danced with the bride in her flowing white and red gown.

  As he watched the man who had become his best friend dance with his wife, Goodnight thought what a handsome couple they made. She was beautiful and he was not only handsome but unmarked. Nobody had robbed Loving of an eye or scarred him in any other way. Goodnight was proud of them, proud of their looks, proud of their grace, proud of being so intimately attached to them both. But he wondered fleetingly why Loving had said that he had never danced very much. He had certainly left the impression that he couldn’t dance very well, and yet Loving now guided Revelie around the dance floor with skill and assurance. He danced the way he rode, the way he did everything, with an economy of motion that had a special charm. And Revelie in his arms mirrored his economy and matched his charm. They seemed made to dance together. Goodnight figured he could watch them all night. They were so lovely.

  When Goodnight and Tin Soldier danced close to Revelie and Loving, the groom smiled at them warmly. The bride smiled back, but Loving looked in another direction. He either didn’t care to return the smile, or else he hadn’t seen it. Probably the latter. Goodnight felt all the clumsier on the dance floor as he watched Loving’s easy elegance. He asked himself if he was jealous, but he found that he wasn’t. He didn’t particularly mind that Loving could dance so much better than he could. Goodnight’s self-esteem did not lean heavily on dance steps. He was just happy for his friend and happy for his wife to have found such a partner. He was sorry when the fiddle played the last notes of “After the Ball Was Over.”

  “Thanks for the dance, Miz Goodnight,” Loving said. “I reckon I’ll be turnin’ in now.”

  “Why so early?” asked Goodnight.

  “I gotta work tomorrow,” said Loving.

  He turned and headed for his half of the log house.

  43

  That night Goodnight made love to his new wife on a mattress stuffed with the feathers of wild geese, wild turkeys, quail, and a few doves. He was surprised once again that Revelie made no objection to taking off all her clothes. He had imagined that a Boston girl would want to remain as well covered as possible even when making love.

  Goodnight was also surprised at Revelie’s passion. He had known passion before with Wekeah, but she had been a wild, uncivilized, untamed Human. He had supposed that a Writer woman, especially a Writer woman from Boston, especially a Writer woman from Boston who had such a mother, would be different. But she wasn’t. This was a wild Writer woman. He could scarcely believe his luck.

  Suddenly, Goodnight realized that Revelie was screaming. Well, it wasn’t actually a scream. It was more of a moan, but it was a loud moan. Very loud. The cedar-log walls were thick, but not thick enough to be soundproof. What in the world were his cowboys thinking? That he was killing her? That they should ride to her rescue?

  “Shhh,” Goodnight whispered. “They’ll hear us.”

  “I don’t care,” Revelie almost shouted. “I’m loud. I don’t care who hears.”

  Goodnight couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She didn’t care who heard. She didn’t mind that the whole outfit was listening to them while they made love. Even Wekeah, the wild Human, had been wild in a modest and discreet sort of way. But this Writer woman from Boston wanted everybody to know exactly what was going on. He wondered if he had misjudged Writers or just Revelie. Would she behave this way if her fancy mother and father were next door? He wasn’t sure. Maybe. He couldn’t believe that so much noise could come out of such a delicate female. And the racket seemed to be getting louder rather than softer. He imagined her grunts echoing up and down the canyon for miles and miles, frightening buffalo, stampeding cattle, causing landslides. She made more noise than that train that had carried him back to Boston—and then back West again—and she seemed as tireless.

  Goodnight was especially worried about what Loving would think. He was different from the other men, made out of a rarer and more expensive fabric. He even had good-looking handwriting. He wouldn’t be accustomed to hearing such immodest sounds. He would think less of the lovers after this night. Goodnight realized he didn’t want to lose stature in Loving’s eyes.

  Then Goodnight felt as if he were falling. The sensation was similar
to what happened when you were climbing down a steep trail and lost your footing and at first you thought you could save yourself but you kept falling faster and faster and couldn’t stop. So you reached a point where you didn’t even try to stop and just went with the fall. Falling, he heard himself scream. He screamed louder than she had ever moaned. He knew Loving and all the others heard his scream, but he didn’t care. He bellowed his happiness to the whole echoing canyon. He was normally such a soft-spoken man that he surprised himself.

  Then Revelie screamed and screamed again and again. Her screams burst out as his huge scream was dying away. Their screams mingled for a moment and then parted. He wasn’t falling anymore. He had come to rest.

  44

  The next morning, the whole outfit gathered around the cook shack the way they had once gathered around the chuck wagon. The shack itself was just big enough for Coffee’s supplies and a wood-burning stove, which Tin Soldier had built out of scrap metal. The boys were seated outside on rocks and logs.

  Alone, Goodnight emerged from his side of the double cabin and headed for some breakfast. He had decided to let Revelie sleep late. When he reached his cowboys, the bridegroom felt quite shy, even sheepish, which was a hard thing for a cattleman to admit to himself. He hoped his men didn’t think that—by making so much damn racket last night—he was flaunting his good fortune. Scanning their faces, he couldn’t read them, which did not make him feel any easier. He seemed to be separated from them now by the high wall of marriage.

  Goodnight was especially puzzled by the expression on Loving’s face. His lips were pursed. His black eyebrows arched. His forehead was lined. But what did it all mean? Was he embarrassed? Was he disapproving? Was he disgusted? Was he envious? Goodnight, who the day before had been a big man with a small voice, felt smaller today because he had raised his voice. As he stared at Loving, and Loving stared right back, he felt himself shrinking. And yet he did not wish he could go back, relive last night, and make it different. But he was beginning to realize that even out here in his own canyon—cut off from the snares of citified civilization—it was still a complicated world. Well, he would just have to learn to live in it.

  Goodnight saw all his cowboys turn their heads to look past him, over his shoulder, so he turned, too. Revelie had just emerged from her bridal chamber and was now making her way toward the circle of men. Goodnight was proud of her and anxious for her at the same time. He hoped she wasn’t feeling too self-conscious. In the clear morning light, she must be embarrassed about all the racket last night.

  When Revelie reached the circle, Suckerod was the first to get to his feet, his whole body shaking, almost spilling his coffee. Then the others got up, too. After a moment of indecision, Simon took off his hat and then the others followed suit, doing circus acts to balance their food and drink. Tin Soldier dropped his tin hat.

  “Please don’t get up,” Revelie said after it was already too late.

  “Mawnin’, ma’am,” said Tin Soldier. “Sleep well?” When he heard the others laugh, he realized his blunder. “No, I didn’t mean. I mean—”

  “Good morning, Tin Soldier,” Revelie said. “I slept very well. Thank you for asking.”

  Goodnight was surprised at how well she pulled it off. He was beginning to think she was going to fit in pretty well around here. He smiled a still–self-conscious smile.

  “Good morning, Black Dub,” she said. “How did you sleep?”

  “Mawnin’, Miss Revelie,” Black Dub said nervously. “Good. I did good.”

  “Black Dub,” she said, “I’m not a miss anymore.”

  She didn’t say but only implied that he must have heard the proof of that fact last night. All the men smiled except Black Dub, who coughed.

  “No, ma’am,” Black Dub said.

  “Good morning, Suckerod,” Revelie said. “How was your night?”

  “Mawnin’, ma’am,” Suckerod said. “I done okay.”

  “Good morning, Too Short,” she said. “How are you this morning?”

  “Mawnin’, ma’am,” said Too Short. “Purdy good, I reckon. How’re you?”

  “Very well, thank you,” she said. “Good morning, Simon.”

  “Mawnin’, ma’am,” Simon said.“Mazel tov.”

  “Thank you andshalom,” she said. “Good morning, Jack. Did you sleep well?”

  “Good mawnin’, Miz Goodnight,” Loving said. “Truth is, I had a restless night.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Revelie said with genuine concern in her voice. “What disturbed you?”

  Goodnight thought she might be overdoing it. He didn’t like the idea of her confronting the disturbance issue in quite so forthright a manner.

  “I was turning somethin’ over in my mind,” Loving said. “I figured I’d wait around till after breakfast to bring it up. But mebbe I better just spit it out and git it over with.”

  “Please do,” Revelie said.

  “Well, I reckon I’m more of a drifter than I reckoned on. See, I been here in this here canyon for the whole winter. It’s a purdy canyon, all right. ’Specially when it fills up with snow. But it’s spring now an’ I reckon I best be movin’ on.”

  “No,” Goodnight said, alarmed.

  He felt as if he had been punched. Then he found himself wondering if all that immodest carrying on last night was driving Loving away. He had been worried that the noise might have made him uncomfortable—might even have offended him—but he had never imagined it would lead to such a breach. Goodnight told himself he was being silly. After all, Loving was a grown-up. He knew what husbands and wives did in bed. Maybe he had something else on his mind. Perhaps he just wanted to be asked to stay.

  “Don’t go,” Goodnight said. “We need you here. If you think the canyon was purdy in the snow, wait’ll all the wild flowers come out. You cain’t go now.”

  “I got to,” Loving said. “I promised myself I’d stay put till you got back. Sorta take keer a the place while you was gone. But you ain’t gone no more. So the time’s come to turn it back over to you and be on my way.”

  “Stay another month. Wait till brandin’s over.”

  “That’d just be puttin’ off.”

  “But why?”

  “Like I said, I’m a drifter. Drifters drift. It’s my nature.”

  “That ain’t no reason. You cain’t go for no reason atall. I won’t let you.”

  Loving looked down at the red earth. He shrugged his shoulders. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other, then back again. He took off his hat, ran his fingers through his dark auburn hair, and put the hat back on again.

  “Revelie, tell him he cain’t go,” said Goodnight.

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Go on, tell him.”

  Revelie took a step forward. “Please don’t go, Mr. Loving,” she said. “Mr. Goodnight has told me so much about you. I’ve been looking forward to getting to know you. And now you’re leaving just when I arrive. I almost feel I’m driving you away.”

  “See,” Goodnight said, “she don’t want you to go neither. If’n you won’t stay for me, stay for her.”

  “I cain’t.”

  “I been lookin’ forward to all of us bein’ here together. You. Me. Revelie. The boys. Buildin’ somethin’ new together. I was countin’ on it.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Well, there’s gotta be more to it. Somethin’ you ain’t sayin’. I just don’t understand.”

  Loving just stood there. He rocked back and forth. He seemed to be about to say something, but then he stopped himself. He looked up and then down and then up again.

  “You’ll laugh,” Loving said.

  “No, I won’t,” Goodnight said. “Just tell me.”

  “How do you know you won’t laugh? You ain’t heard it yet. Huh?”

  “I promise.”

  “Well, I heard an old girl I usta know done turned up in Tucson. You found yours. You give me a good example. Now I gotta find mine.”

&nbs
p; “How romantic,” said Revelie, “the quest for love.”

  “Revelie, please, don’t go talkin’ no Eastern double-talk,” said Goodnight. “Just convince him to stay.”

  “Please stay, Mr. Loving. You see how much it means to my husband.”

  “And you too.”

  “And to me as well.”

  “I’m real sorry, but I gotta be goin’. Git an early start.”

  Then Loving disappeared into the south room of the two-room house. Goodnight followed, then stood in the open doorway and watched in pain as his friend packed what few possessions he had into saddlebags. What wouldn’t fit in the bags, he rolled up inside his bedding and tied the bundle with a short piece of rope. While he worked, Loving glanced up from time to time at Goodnight. Their faces were pinched, but neither one of them spoke. It didn’t take long. Finished packing, the drifter picked up his saddlebags and bedroll and headed for the door. Goodnight got out of the way and let him pass.

  Loving headed for the corral made of chinaberry trunks stacked in a zigzag pattern. Again, Goodnight followed behind, saying nothing, just watching. The pen held the outfit’s remuda. Loving caught his horse, bridled it, then put on the saddle, moving as always with a graceful economy of motion, which Goodnight admired. Then the good-looking cowboy led his horse out of the corral and tied on his saddlebags and bedroll.

  “Thanks,” Loving said.

  “For what?” Goodnight asked.

  “Ever’thin’.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you.”

  “For what? For shootin’ you? I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t say you’re—oh, never mind.”

  “So long.”

  “See ya.”

  Loving swung gracefully into the saddle and rode away. Watching him go, Goodnight was in pain. He was losing a loved one all over again. He “felt-missing” his lost loved ones with an agony that made him lose his balance and stagger. Revelie’s soul might have been a dark forest, but Goodnight’s felt like a waterless plain that was now burning with searing grass fires.