by Denise Dietz
“How dare you apologize for me?” Taking small measured steps, Dimity walked from the room, and soon McDonald heard the slam of a door.
“I forgot about her temper,” he said ruefully.
“It don’t signify, Mac. The only thing that matters is your son. He’s a fine boy.”
A few days later Black Percy and Cat left for New York City.
*****
Cat stared through the slats of a gate leading to the chutes. He had groomed Percy’s horse, Snowball, a cream-colored gelding too light to be considered palomino. From a distance Snowball looked very white, given that his rider was clothed in black from boots to hat.
Snowball’s mane and tail had been braided with red ribbons, and his saddle gleamed from careful polishing. Now Cat watched the horse dip his foreleg in the semblance of a bow while Percy raised his Stetson, saluting the audience.
A cowboy opened a chute and prodded a steer through. The steer eyed Percy and tossed his head, flinging clumps of mucus toward the arena fence.
Then all hell broke loose.
Percy’s steer lumbered across the arena and jumped a gate, knocking off the top boards, landing in the grandstand. Atop Snowball, Percy jumped the same gate, intent on bulldogging the steer.
Trapped at the other end of the arena, Cat shouldered his way through spectators and ran toward the fracas.
Will Rogers cut across the middle of the main ring, riding at a fast canter.
Amid the screaming audience, Percy rode the steer down and leapt upon its back. A riderless Snowball jumped the fence and returned to the chutes.
Will Rogers cleared the gate. Using his spinning rope, he picked up the steer’s heels and dragged the frightened animal, with Percy on top, down the stairs.
Avoiding hooves, Cat added his own wiry strength and helped pull the steer from the stands by its tail.
Later, Will Rogers was asked by newspaper reporters why he wouldn’t let the steer stay in the grandstand.
“He didn’t have a ticket,” Rogers drawled.
*****
Sunset bathed the ranch. Cat thought the landscape looked like the inside of the kaleidoscope he had once pressed against his eye. Loose bits of colored glass had shifted in endless variety, and this evening the setting sun was doing the same thing with its descent through the mountains. Leaning against the corral, Cat said, “There was no talk.”
Percy said, “How come?”
“Didn’t need talk. Bandits tie up the telegraph man and jump the train. They stop the engine and rob the mail car and ride away. A pretty lady unties the telegraph man and he tells the cowboys and they ride after the bandits. They all meet in a field and shoot each other. The guns have smoke coming out from their barrels. One bandit shot at the people watching. A lady swooned and some men yelled, but I wasn’t scared. Well, maybe a little.”
“You were scared of a picture?”
“The man who shot looked real.”
“Guess the next time we travel to New York City, I’ll have to watch your moving pictures,” said Percy, setting a cloth-covered plate atop the mounting block.
“You said how you didn’t want to pay five cents for what you can see for free.”
Percy waved a howdy to John McDonald, who was strolling toward them. “Cat here was tellin’ me ’bout his visit to a Nickelodeon, Mac. He watched a moving picture called The Great Train Robbery.”
“Don’t tell your mama, son. She wouldn’t cotton to the waste of money on a New York theater show.”
“It wasn’t a theater show, Papa. The actors weren’t alive. Well, I guess they were, but they had their pictures taken by a camera and they moved. They even chased each other on horses but some didn’t ride good.”
McDonald chuckled. “Your moving pictures will never last, Cat. Folks’ll tire of paying good money for what they can read about in newspapers and books.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“What did you learn from your trip, aside from your Nickelodeon?”
“The first night of the rodeo, when Percy’s steer jumped the stands, Colonel Zack said half his tickets weren’t sold. On the second night there was a line out into the street with folks waiting to buy tickets.”
“Why do you think that happened?”
“I suppose folks like to watch others put themselves at risk. Too bad Percy’s bulldogging went off without a hitch. Still, crowds seemed to cotton to the danger of his face so close to the horns.”
“Speaking of danger.” Percy uncovered the plate and handed Cat a slice of blueberry pie. “I hefted this from Tonna’s window. Careful. It’s still hot.”
“Like Tonna’s gonna be when she sees her pie’s been stolen?” McDonald elbow-nudged Percy.
“I can always kiss her into a better humor, Mac.”
Cat said, “Is it kissing that makes a girl smile?”
“It sure helps.” Percy grinned.
“There’s somebody I’d like to kiss.”
“Get on! Could you be noticin’ Rosita’s young ’un already, and you only ten?”
Cat swallowed the last bite of pie and licked his fingers. “No, it ain’t her. It’s another.”
“Who’s caught your heart, boy?”
Percy and Papa had the look of grown-ups waiting for a child to say something stupid. Cat tried to think up an answer. Inspiration struck. “I’d hanker to kiss the pretty lady in the moving picture.”
Percy winked. “Maybe you and me should visit a Nickelodeon, Mac.”
Cat gazed toward the mountains. I want to kiss a girl I met a long time ago and will probably never see again. She had a mane of black hair down her back, and her eyes were as blue as the berries in Tonna’s pie. I’d sure hanker to kiss her and make her smile. She said she lived at Little Heaven, a squirrelly name for a house. The girl had a funny name, too.
Thirteen
“Fools Gold Smith, get dressed!” said Minta.
“I am dressed. It’s you who’s wearing a chemise.” Flo stood before the vanity, watching the jewelry-box ballerina twirl.
“Run down to Hummingbird Lou’s room and change into that gown I stitched up last month for Madam Robin’s Fourth of July shindig.”
“Why?”
“Snuffy bought tickets for the bullfights.”
“Bullfights?”
“Don’t stand there all agog. Nobody’d guess you watched the parade down Bennett yesterday.”
“Sally Marylander’s white stallion led the parade, but a strange man rode him.”
“Joe Wolfe. He’s the owner of the Joe Wolfe Grand National Spanish Bullfight Company, the first company to ever give a show here in the United States. Did you see who waved from their carriages? They looked the same as on their posters. The great matador, José Marrero, and his wife, Señora Marrero, ‘the only lady bullfighter in the world.’ Then came the bandilleros and picadors.”
“How do you know the names? Pick-a-doors and such?”
“Snuffy mentioned them. Now scoot, child.”
“I’m not a child. I’m ten.” Flo turned to see Madam Robin knock and enter.
“You ready, Min?” Robin wrinkled her beaky nose. “Snuffy’s carriage is waiting by the door, and the dear man is smelling up the front parlor with his stogies.”
“Is Mr. Snuffy to go with us, Madam?”
“No. We’ll leave him off at Johnson’s.” Robin winked. “Perhaps our Min will have herself a new negligee this very evening. Make haste, Min.”
“A moment, Madam. I have to button my bodice, and Flo’s about to change clothes lickety-split.”
“That’s a beautiful gown, Min.”
“Thank you, Madam. I sewed it myself. The pattern came all the way from Paris, France.”
“Better make sure the bulls don’t see you. They cotton to the color red.”
“So do I, Madam. God gave me red hair on purpose.” Minta smoothed the folds in her scarlet gown and added a string of pink pearls.
“Why do I have to wear white, Mama Min? God d
idn’t give me white hair.”
“Not another word, child. If you’re not ready in five minutes, we’ll leave without you.”
Flo’s glossy dark curls bounced from her swift scurry through the doorway.
“They say Joe Wolfe hit a snag.” Robin dabbed scent behind her ears. “He was to bring ten Cazaderia bulls with him from Mexico, but the bulls were refused entry at the Texas border. After yesterday’s parade, Wolfe sent Alonzo Welty in search of Colorado bulls. I heard he begged them off Whart Pigg and John McDonald, then boxed them at McDonald’s ranch for their trip to Gillette.”
“That ain’t no snag, Madam. Bulls is bulls.”
*****
By mid-morning, the road out of Cripple Creek was clogged with people heading for Joe Wolfe’s Corrida de Toros.
Minta sighed with relief when Robin’s carriage reached Gillette’s broad valley, resting four thousand feet below the Pikes Peak summit. Surrounding the amphitheater’s main entrance were rows of gambling and saloon concessions.
“I could set up a tent with my Angels and make a fortune,” Robin said as she descended from the carriage. “After the excitement of the bull killings, men would flock—” She paused when Minta shook her head and pointed at Flo.
But Flo was too absorbed by the sight of Sally Marylander, astride her white stallion, to hear Robin’s words.
“May I say hello to Miss Sally, Madam?”
Robin nodded. “There’s Fishbait,” she said, mopping her face with her handkerchief. “He’s one of Denver’s bunko kings, Min. We’ll wait for our Flo in the shade of his tent, and maybe he’ll make us the offer of an iced drink.”
“Don’t you be getting yourself lost or your dress dirty,” Minta snapped.
Flo grasped the hem of her ruffled skirt and ran toward the white stallion. Sally had seemed so close, but now people blocked Flo’s path and her vision as well. Estimating the distance, she lowered her head and butted at bystanders. Most moved out of her way, but one didn’t. The top of Flo’s head met resistance. She rebounded backwards and fell, landing on her behind.
“You looked like a billy goat,” said a tall, dark-haired, green-eyed boy. “Ain’t hurt, are you?”
“You’re nowhere big enough to hurt me.”
“Grab my hand, Fools Gold.”
Ignoring his offer, she rose and brushed the dust from her dress. She glanced about, but Sally and the white stallion had disappeared.
“Spit,” she said. Then, “How’d you know my name, boy?”
“We’ve met.”
“When did we meet?”
“I’m surprised you don’t remember.”
“Better answer me or you’ll be—”
“Puking up teeth? We met three years ago. Papa drove his buckboard to Cripple—”
“Cat McDonald!”
“Howdy, Fools Gold.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Same as you. I came to see the fights. They’re using Papa’s bulls.”
“You fibbed last time we met and now you’re doing it again. The bulls hail from Mexico. I read it on the posters.”
“Black Percy says the United States government wouldn’t allow Mexican bulls to cross the border. And I didn’t tell lies when last we met. It was you who said you’d grow your hair yellow.”
Flo felt her cheeks bake. “Who’s Black Percy?”
“My papa’s friend and my friend, too.”
“Is he black of soul or skin?”
“Skin. Percy dogs bulls and takes me with him to New York when he rodeos.” Cat retrieved a leather pouch and a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket. He smoothed the small square of paper and spilled some tobacco on top, but most landed near his boots.
“What are you doing, Mr. McDonald?”
“Rolling a cigarette. Papa’s hands taught me how.”
“Snuffy smokes cigars.”
“Who’s Snuffy?”
In an uncanny mimic of Cat’s voice, Flo said, “Mama Min’s friend and my friend, too.”
“When I visited New York last November, I saw myself another motion picture show. Hang it!” Cat dropped the paper and tobacco, pocketed the pouch, and brushed his hands alongside his trousers.
“What’s a motion picture show?”
“Ain’t you heard ’bout moving pictures? You sit in the dark and watch scenes flash onto a big screen.”
“When I’m rich I’ll buy me a motion picture show.”
“You don’t buy them, Fools Gold. You pay to watch.”
“Then others will pay to watch me.”
“Black Percy and me saw a live play. It was called Sunday and starred a lady named Ethel Barrymore.”
“Ethel.” Flo tasted the name. “I think I’ll name my new puppy Ethel. Brown Mollie raises bulldogs and she gave one to me ’cause I read her some stories when she was laid up with a stomach ailment. Mollie can’t read. Can you read?”
“Sure. I’ve been reading books since I was two years old.” Cat inwardly cursed himself. She wouldn’t believe that. Why hadn’t he said five years old? “I’ve got some coins, Fools Gold. Can I buy you a lemonade?”
“I’m not allowed to accept gifts from gentlemen.”
“Are you still living at Little Heaven?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where ladies of the half-world live, ain’t it?”
“No! That’s where Angels live.”
“What’s the difference between what I said and Angels?”
“Angels don’t accept lemonade from nasty, ugly boys.”
“No, they earn coins from bedding men. Papa’s hands call it ‘saucing the clam.’ ”
“Oh! You take them words back, Cat McDonald!”
Cat saw tears mist her dark-blue eyes. “Sorry, Fools Gold. Guess I went and lit all my kindling to start a fire.”
“When I’m older I’ll pleasure men, too.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will, and they’ll buy me negligees from Johnson’s Department Store. And motion picture shows.”
“No, you won’t,” Cat repeated, wondering why her angry words hurt so bad. “When you’re older you’ll marry me.”
“Never!”
For a moment he just stood there. Fools Gold was prettier by far than the skinny ladies in the moving pictures he’d seen. Leaning forward, he planted a kiss on her quivering lips.
“You villain!” Fools Gold stamped her foot. Then she twirled in a blur of lace petticoats, sprinting toward the concessions.
Percy’s wrong, Cat thought. Kissing don’t always make a girl smile.
*****
Flo found Minta and Robin, whereupon they joined the three thousand other spectators inside the amphitheater.
“There’s Joe Wolfe,” said Robin, pointing toward a specially raised box where Wolfe stood at attention. He wore a black sombrero and a green velvet suit dotted with silver buttons. Next to him stood a flute player from Cripple Creek’s Butte Opera House.
“Bullfights always have a bugler,” Minta told Flo. “Señor Wolfe couldn’t find one, so he hired that there flute man.”
The show was called to order with a spirited passage. Matador Marrero, his wife, two banderillos and Los Picadores lined up in the bull pit. Wolfe threw the matador an iron peg, the signal to begin.
The banderillos plunged darts into the neck of the first bull while the audience stamped their feet and cheered.
“I don’t like this here bullfight,” Flo said, but her voice was lost amidst the crowd’s noisy adulation.
The picadors aimed lances, and the amateur bull soon reached a state of professional anger.
Matador Marrero, clothed in black and gold, strutted to the center of the ring. He stood motionless, watching the bellowing animal. When the bull charged, the matador didn’t move away. Instead, he passed the bull around him with a scarlet cape.
After several charges, Joe Wolfe blew his silver whistle.
Matador Marrero received his rapier from a pic
ador.
Flo stood with the rest of the audience.
“No!” she screamed. “Stop him!”
The bull, very weak, made his last charge.
“Somebody stop him!”
Marrero thrust his rapier from above to the heart, and the bull keeled over, dead.
Flo scrambled across toes until she reached the narrow aisle. Covering her ears to drown out the sound of stamping feet, she pitched forward.
An arm captured her waist and halted her plunge.
“Fools Gold, it’s me, Cat McDonald.”
“Make them stop, Cat.”
“It’s over. My papa’s bull is dead. Are you gonna throw up? It’s okay if you do. I puked when one of Papa’s palominos got lost and picked by buzzards.”
“Buzzards,” she echoed.
“Yep. I found him before he was bones. The birds had pecked out his eyes.”
“Eyes, oooh . . .”
“Untie my bandanna, Fools Gold. You can puke into that.”
“No. Dizzy.”
“Percy, help me!” Cat shouted.
Flo felt large hands lift her as if she weighed nothing, and she nestled against a shirt that smelled of soap chips.
“They killed the bull for no good reason,” she said, staring down at Minta, who’d made her way to the aisle.
“No good reason? He was attacking the matador.”
“But they stuck him with knives. If not, he would have trotted back to his pen.”
“The bull wanted to kill the matador, Flo. Didn’t you see those sharp horns? I know you love animals, darlin’, but a bull’s just a dumb beastie. He’s got no soul.”
From Black Percy’s arms, Flo cried, “It’s the men who have no souls.”
Fourteen
“Have you seen our Flo, Madam?” Minta shivered, even though the kitchen was warm as toast.
“Goose walk ’cross your grave, Min?”
“No, Madam. I recollected Blueberry, that’s all. Tomorrow will be the fourteenth year since her passing.”
“Flo’s getting dressed in your room.” Robin pulled the cork from a champagne bottle. “Wait till she sees her birthday present. Think she’ll faint?”
“Not hardly. She didn’t faint when she had that awful cough and the doc spread hot oil, turpentine and leeches all over her chest. Dangfool worms sucked worse than vampires.”
