“Because the rest a us cain’t git that lucky,” Homer said.
That set us to chucklin’ a little bit. We all set for a spell, watchin’ folks walkin’ or ridin’ by. After a few minutes, Homer stood up.
“Let’s git this over with,” he said, an’ went inside.
We all went in with him an’ took the same chairs as the first time. Sheriff Hickman stepped into the back an’ brung Craig out to where we was. He was lookin’ a little humble, but not as much as the last time we’d seen him. Homer stood over him an’ smiled.
“Mister Craig,” he said, “is yer new diet we’re gittin’ for ya makin’ you feel a little better?”
Craig was some suspicious.
“A little,” he said.
“We’ll that’s good. This kinda situation can go several different ways. I’m glad yer doin’ better. Them ground beef sandwiches is some tasty, ain’t they?”
“They’re fine,” Craig said.
“I just got a few more questions for ya, then we can all put this mess behind us. You tolt us about three fellers that live up in that house where they keep them Chinee girls. Any other men hangin’ around that place?”
“There are a couple more that show up from time to time I think,” Craig said. “I believe they go with that Chinese man out a little north a Pierre when they need a new shipment.”
“A new shipment ya say.”
“Yessir. When they git low on stock, those men take a big wagon with some wood crates in the bed an’ come back with more girls.”
“How old would ya figger them girls to be?”
“I’ve seen ‘em as young as six or seven.”
“That’s some youthful. They a market for children that age?”
“Some folks in the city like ‘em young so they can be trained into house workers.”
“What cities might those be, sir?”
“Omaha is one of them that I know of. I hear there’s a fair market in Chicago, but I haven’t been over that way.”
“But you have been to Omaha.”
“Well, yes. I have.”
“How many times ya reckon?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Craig said. “Two or three.”
“Good profit sellin’ girls in Omaha?”
“Pretty good.”
“You take young’uns there for market do ya?”
Craig stopped to take a swaller, then looked at Homer.
“I have, yes,” he said.
Homer smiled.
“Mister Craig,” he said, “you ain’t tellin’ me the whole truth, sir. As far as I’m concerned, that ain’t no better than lyin’. I got more use for a three legged mule than I do a liar.”
Right then, an’ just so fast a fella almost couldn’t see it, Homer’s left hand shot out an smacked Craig’s right ear. Craig’s chair fell over from the strength of it an’ dumped him to the floor. He laid there, curled up into kindly a ball, an’ wailin’ some. Homer kneeled down beside him.
“Hurts don’t it?” he said.
Craig laid there for a spell, his body shakin’ some, an’ cryin’ a little bit. Homer picked him up by the collar an’ his hair while I set his chair back up. Homer slammed him down in it an’ got in his face.
“You panty-waist, baby cryin’, sonofabitch,” Homer growled at him. “I ain’t gonna cut on none a yer fingers. I’m gonna blow yer fuckin’ head off.”
Homer pulled his Colt then, put the barrel agin’ Craig’s ear, an’ thumbed back the hammer.
“Wait, wait,” Craig kindly screamed. “Don’t shoot me, I’ll tell ya. I’ll tell ya everything!”
“Ya damn right you will,” Homer growled.
Over the next few minutes, between his times a beggin’ an’ cryin’, Craig confessed to a fair bit more information than any of us expected from him. After he finished, Homer stood him up by liftin’ on his throat, drug him to the back, an’ throwed him in his cell. When he come out, Ol’ Homer was lookin’ fair pleased with hisself.
“You hear all that, did ya Sheriff?” he asked.
“Ever word,” Hickman said.
“Then I reckon you got all ya need for the judge when he gits here.”
“Yessir, I speck I do. Craig has been runnin’ little girls for years. He could easy git hung for all this, but I hope he don’t. If he goes to prison an’ the word a what he’s done gits out, his life is gonna be et up in more misery than even that chicken shit bastard can think of.”
“You think the word’ll git out?” Marion asked him.
Sheriff Hickman smiled.
“I’ll see that it does,” he said.
That set all of us to thinkin’ some, an’ things got real quiet.
“Well sir,” Homer said after a spell, “we gotta be throwin’ our feet over the Jervis way an’ discuss things with Fannie Marie.”
“That there is a discussion I’d like to hear. I’ve knowed ol’ Fannie for a spell. A discussin’ to her is just another chance for her to git her way. It has been a pleasure boys, it truly has. When you git back from yer mission, be sure an’ come by afore ya leave town. I bet they’ll be a few stories I’d like to hear.”
We headed for the door then, but Homer stopped an’ spoke up.
“Forget about them food receipts I brung in,” he said. “Consider it on the house an’ my pleasure.”
Sheriff Hickman grinned real big.
“Egg sandwiches from now on, boys. I bet that sonofabitch loses fifty pounds afore the judge gits here.”
Homer was the last one a us to git to saddle. He had to take a minute to put the cartridges back in his revolver.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
We loafed along some on our ride, talkin’ about Craig an’ such, an’ it took us about a half a hour to git over to the Jervis House. We rode up the lane, tied our horses, an’ stepped up on the porch. By that time that Carlton fella was standin’ in the open door smilin’ at us. He durn near filled the whole doorway.
“Good day to ya, Mister Carlton,” Marion said. “We was lookin’ to git a few words with Miz Jervis if she’ available.”
“Carlton is just fine, Marshal,” he said, “no Mister is necessary. I saw you men coming up the lane. Missus Jervis is waiting for you in the first living room. Follow me, please.”
He led us down a short hallway with walls was durn near covered up by a mess a photograph pictures of a couple of construction sites an’ a bunch a important lookin’ people dressed up in suits an’ such. We made a right turn then an’ come into a big room with lots a chairs an’ davenports settin’ around. Miz Jervis was settin’ by a table next to a winda an’ drinkin’ coffee. They was a half a piece a white cake on a little plate next to her. She smiled at us.
“Thank you, Carlton,” she said, “and good day to you, gentlemen. Please come in and sit. It is good to see you. Do you have some news?”
“We have a little more information,” Marion said. “We have been talkin’ to that Craig feller that brought Miss Lotus to town. He’s quite a bit deeper in this mess than he first let on. He’s been buyin’ and sellin’ Chinee females for quite a spell from them ol’ boys up by Huron. Thanks to him, we know where the place is that them girls are kept. Craig claims they have as many as ten to twelve there at a time, a few as young as just five or six years old. He said that some folks like to buy the real young girls to train ‘em on how to be servants. I guess that’s a nice word for slave.”
“Does that surprise you?” Miz Jervis asked him.
“No M’am, it don’t.” Marion said.
“It doesn’t surprise me either,” she went on. “What else?”
“Craig claims there are three men who stay there most of the time, includin’ a Chinee feller. Because he speaks the language, he goes with a couple a other men they hire to travel out to near Pierre to pick up new girls that have been brung in from Deadwood or Rapid City. He says that them girls are kept separate in tiny little cribs until it gits near time for ‘em to be sold, then they git more
food an’ are made to exercise.”
“Livestock,” Miz Jervis said, an’ give herself a little shake.
“Yes M’am,” Marion said.
Carlton showed up then totin’ a big ol tray with coffee, cream, sugar, an’ little plates with pieces a white cake on ‘em. He set it down on the table next to Miz Jervis an’ went off. She smiled.
“Ah, Carlton,” she said, “bringing sweets to help with such a sour situation.”
“There are some concerns about this,” Marion went on, takin’ a saucer a cake Miz Jervis helt out to him.
“And they are?” she asked.
“Well for one,” Marion said, “we gotta figger a way to move mebbe eight or ten girls at the same time, plus be able to git ‘em outa the place safely an’ carry enough food an’ such for ‘em on the trail.”
“I think I can save you from havin’ to go through a long list,” Miz Jervis said, kindly smilin’ agin. “First off, as I originally mentioned, I am coming with you, and so is Carlton. He’ll drive my carriage.”
“Yer carriage?” Homer asked.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “my carriage will easily seat six adults and, with the help of four stout bay horses, also pull a covered cart behind it that can store enough food and necessities for all of us, as well as a large canvas cover for the girls and Carlton to sleep under in case of rain. I will get my nightly rest inside the carriage. We will also have an extra passenger on the trip.”
“And who might that be?” Marion asked her.
“Miss Lotus,” she said. “When we go to get the girls, she can hide beneath one of the seat cushions on the carriage. They lift up for storage space that will easily be enough room. Her ability to speak with them will ease the girl’s minds and make the trip back here much simpler for all of us.”
“We ain’t figgerd how we’re gonna git them girls outa that place yet,” Homer said.
Miz Jervis nodded.
“That’s simple,” she said. “I am going to purchase them. That will eliminate a great deal of any danger factor in removing them from the area. Once that is done, you men can do whatever you feel is necessary without having to concern yourselves about their safety.”
“M’am,” Marion said, “that could easy cost you three or four thousand dollars. Mebbe more.”
“Price is not the concern here, Marshal,” Miz Jervis tolt him. “Life is. The money means nothing to me. These young women do. The concern I have is that there may not be many young women available when we arrive.”
“Accordin’ to Craig,” Marion said, “the market is good an’ them fellers try and keep a fair number a girls on hand all the time. He said they was fixin’ to build more cribs in a barn on the place.”
“Good. I’d like to take away as many as possible, even if some have to ride up top with Carton or share horseback with you men. I will guarantee good living quarters an’ a new lease on life for as many as we can get.”
“I just hope you have a awareness a what kinda men we’re likely to be dealing with, M’am,” Marion said.
Miz Jervis come to look some fierce.
“If it were totally up to me,” she said, “I’d leave those sonsabitches face down in the dirt for the coyotes,” she said.
“Mebbe you do have an awareness,” Marion said, smilin’ some.
“The whole situation makes me angry,” Miz Jervis went on. “When I get angry, I try to do something constructive with that anger. This has become my mission, gentlemen. I feel very privileged to be a part of the venture.”
“Yer a lot more than just a part of it, M’am,” I tolt her. “It seems to me that you are the life blood of it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we’re the ones who feel privileged.”
I think she actually blushed some from my comment. I meant it. Ever word.
“Well,” Miz Jervis went on, “I’ll finish my lists and begin stockpiling the things I feel we might need on the journey. You men decide what specifics you’ll need, if any, and we’ll meet again day after tomorrow to work everything out. Please come around midday for a nice lunch.”
“I can tell ya one thing we’ll need right now,” Homer said.
Miz Jervis smiled. “And that is?” she asked.
“Couple a cans full a kerosene, M’am. If I git my way, they won’t be nothin’ left standin’ once we’re done.”
“I admire your commitment, sir,” she said.
Homer smiled.
“An’ I admire your white cake,” he said.
Miz Jervis laughed then, an’ we went on our way.
We was about halfway back to Rafferty’s when Homer made a turn an’ headed west.
“Where the hell are you goin’, Poteet,” Marion asked him.
“I just thought a somethin’ else I admire,” he said. “Jenson’s Café.”
Me an’ Marion follerd along.
We et some more a them ground beefsteaks an’ teased Miss Lucy some, as was normal for us. We was drinkin’ coffee after the meal when Marion smiled an’ shook his head.
“What’s the matter with you, ya ol’ plank?” Homer said.
“I was just thinkin’ how lucky we are.”
“How lucky are we?”
Marion kindly chuckled a little bit.
“Damn lucky that Fanny Marie Hopeshell Jervis ain’t pissed off at us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
We got back to Rafferty’s a little afore suppertime but with how much we et at Jenson’s Café, I figgerd we’d survive an’ make it to breakfast. We was all settin’ out on the porch when I come to thinkin’ about our trip to git them slave girls. It come to me then that I didn’t have no idea what we could feed them girls on our trip back to Sioux Falls. I was studyin’ on it when Mister Rafferty brung some coffee out to us. It kindly startled me a bit when he set that tray on the table beside me. He chuckled, patted me on the shoulder, an’ went back inside.
“Where you been, Ruben?” Marion asked me.
“Somethin’ just come into my mind that I doan know nothin’ about,” I said. “What are we gonna feed them Chinee girls on the trip back here?”
Marion studied on me for a little bit.
“Damn, boy,” he said, “I ain’t got one thought on the subject.”
“Me either,” I tolt him. “I just know that them Chinee folks doan exactly eat the way we do. I mean, we cain’t just expect ‘em to eat rabbit an’ fry bread or jerky an’ beans, can we?”
“I doan reckon we can,” Marion said. “Damn, boy. We got to figger this out afore we take to the trail. Them girls gotta eat.”
“Miz Jervis said that Carlton is gonna do the cookin’ for ‘em. You reckon he knows somethin’ about all this?”
“He comes from up in Chicago,” Marion said. “They is a lot more to choose from up in the big city I guess. Mebbe he knows what to feed them girls.”
“Doan you fellers overtax yer brains,” Homer said, gittin’ up to head out back. “Yer answer’ll be here in just a minute. Miz Lotus is comin’ down the way.”
Lotus give me an’ Marion a big smile when she got close to the house, back to wearin’ her new blue dress an’ lookin’ about as purty as a clear sky at sunrise. She was steppin’ along right smart, more used to her new shoes I reckon.
“Good afternoon, Ma-re-on. Good afternoon, Ru-bin,” she said as she come up the steps. “It is good for me to see you.”
“It is good for us to see you, too, Miss Lotus,” Marion tolt her, grinnin’ quite a bit.
“Lotus,” I said, “I got a question for ya. What do Chinee people eat?”
She kindly studied on me for a bit.
“Chinee people eat much rice,” she said. “We eat rice soup, we eat rice noodle, we eat wheat noodle. Noodle all size and shape, some very small, some round and fat, some flat and wide. Dry noodle last very long time and get soft when cook. Sometime noodle soup have carrot or pea or bean in it. Sometime with green onion in it and pieces of chicken. Sometime pieces of fish in soup, or eat soup
with fish cook on fire. Sometime rice cook then fried with bit of carrot and pea and egg in it. Always with Shoyu sauce.”
“Well, what’s yer favorite?” I asked her.
Miss lotus smiled real big.
“My favorite is flap jack with maple syrup and bacon.”
That set me to grinnin’ real big, an’ Marion chuckled some.
“Please to excuse me,” she went on headin’ for the door. “I must change my clothes. This dress for work only.”
Marion looked at me. “You et much rice in yer life, have ya?” he asked me.
“I recall eatin’ some when I was little,” I said, “but with cream an’ sugar all over it. They can make noodles outa rice?”
“I’ve heer’d a rice flour,” Marion said, “I just reckon I never understood a fella could make noodles an’ such out of it just like regular flour. Now that I’m thinkin’ about it, I guess they probably just grind it down to dust like, then treat it like they would wheat flour to make noodles or whatever they like out of it.”
“I wonder what it tastes like?”
“Probly not like much a anything. Wheat flour ain’t got a lot a taste, and rice is kindly bland. It is what goes with it that gives it a flavor, I reckon.”
“It kindly vexes me some,” I said. “We may have a passel a young girls on a four or five day trip home, Marion, an’ we’re gonna havta figger a way ta keep that bunch a girls fed.”
“No, we ain’t,” Marion said. “Now that I think about it some, feedin’ them girls ain’t our business. That’s up to Miz Jervis to take care of. Our business is getting’ them girls away from where they are and down thisaway, and keepin’ ‘em safe ‘til we git here.”
“I just wonder if Miz Jervis knows about the kinda foods them Chinee folks eat an’ how to git what they need an’ such for them girls.”
“I’ll just bet she’s a half a mile ahead a us on that kinda thing. That ol’ gal is a planner and a trooper, boy. She ain’t gonna do nothin’ if it ain’t all worked out in her head and if she ain’t got all the tools she needs to git it done.”
Dakota Trail Page 16
