by Chuck Buda
Sarah smiled at James. She straightened the sleeves of her dress while carefully choosing her words. “I promise you, James. Someday you will be old enough to strike out on your own and see the world. But we just ain’t got money enough for you to go off on a quest. And you are still too wet behind the ears to be on your own. There is a lot of danger out there and I can’t hardly risk your precious soul to all that is bad in the world.”
James stood and kicked at the pile of shavings on the rug. He stood slightly taller than his mother. Their eyes met and he read the worry in hers. He knew she could see the disappointment in his. But he couldn’t hide his feelings. She raised him to be an honest young man and he never lied. Truth was all he spoke, even when it would get him in trouble like that time that Mr. Peters stole a bottle of rum when Filler wasn’t looking. James told Filler and he had George put a whooping on Mr. Peters something serious. To this day, Mr. Peters was always very cold towards James. It bothered James because he wanted everyone to like him but he knew he did the right thing by tattling.
“James!” The distant hollering of Filler traveled up the stairs from the saloon. “Where is that confounding boy?”
Sarah licked her fingers and matted down a few stray hairs on the side of James’ head. She plucked the errant shaving of wood out of his scalp and dropped it to the pile on the rug. “You best be getting downstairs before he bursts himself.”
“But what about the wood shavings? George yelled at me to clean it up.”
“I’ll sweep it up. You get going before Filler comes upstairs.” She brushed his shoulder to flatten a wrinkle in his shirt.
“Thanks, mom.” He kissed her cheek and headed towards the staircase. Then he paused and turned. “Uh, George missed the spittoon again.” He shrugged his shoulders in apology for getting away with another mess, even though he didn’t make it. Sarah shook her head in resignation of adding to her chores. James smiled and went down the stairs.
As he started down he overheard his mother sighing out loud to herself. “Such a sweet boy, and thank God he is nothing like his father.”
“James!”
“Coming, Mr. Filler.” He hurried down to the saloon.
Chapter 3
James finished wiping down all the tables and chairs in the saloon. The dull oak wood was stained with the aroma of wild nights. The smell of spilled beer and musty cigarettes permeated the first floor of the building. It used to disgust him to breathe in the stale air but after a few years he had become accustomed to it. His job was to clean up the previous night’s remnants and then prepare the bar for the upcoming evening. A repetitive job that added to his frustration of familiarity and further urged his longing for adventure.
He picked up the broom and started sweeping all the filth from under the tables. As he swept along his buddy Carson came flying down the stairs. Carson looked excited to catch up with his “best friend in the whole wide world.” That’s what he called James. James liked spending time with Carson because he showed fascination at all of James’ tales of adventures and shared his dreams for fighting bad guys. Carson was twelve years old and lived with his mother in the brothel just like James. The only difference, besides age, was that Carson was born with an illness which stunted his intellectual growth. He was slow and when he reached the age of five, his mother pulled him out of school. She was afraid that it just brought Carson down not being able to keep up with the other children. Plus, she didn’t like how the kids treated him. They knew he was not like them and they made him pay for it.
“James. James. Need help today?” Carson pleaded with wide blue eyes. He reached out a thin arm to take hold of the broom.
“No thanks, Carson. Filler is sore at me today so I don’t want him getting madder if he catches you working with me.” James stopped sweeping and looked around the bar to make sure the coast was clear. “Check this out. I tore this out of the morning paper on account that it was all read through and nobody else wanted it. Wyatt Earp did it again.” He took a flimsy piece of newspaper out of his pocket and unfolded it in front of Carson. The boy’s eyes grew wider and he leaned over the paper like it was a newborn in a crib. Carson couldn’t read so James began to paraphrase the article while using his finger to point to sections.
“Oh, boy. He sure is gooder at taking care of business, huh, James?”
“Good.” James corrected him. “He’s good at taking care of business. Yeah, he sure is. I bet that rascal never saw it coming when Wyatt brought the butt down.” James acted out the scene and the broom dropped to the floor. “Someday I’m gonna give it to them the same way. I’m going to clean the world of bad men, one town at a time.”
“And you’re gonna take me with you, right James?” The boy was beside himself with kaleidoscope eyes dreaming in his adventures. He still hadn’t combed his hair from sleeping and a shock of blond hair stood straight up in the back of his head.
“You betcha.” James patted Carson’s shoulder and then picked up the broom. He continued to sweep while spinning a tale of traveling and fighting and winning across the plains. Carson followed James closely, sometimes bumping into the back of James if he stopped short to sweep better under a table. James didn’t mind at all. He loved Carson like a brother and kind of enjoyed the little guy looking up to him. Carson was all James had in this town. Well, he had his mother but she was always busy working and she didn’t buy into his ambitions. Carson did. Carson would follow James anywhere.
George walked through the door and sauntered over to the bar, never once taking his dark eyes off the pair. The boys stopped and watched George. They were always unsure if they could carry on in his presence or if they should stay out of his way. Most times they would stay out of his way. George spat a wad of tobacco juice in the general direction of a spittoon but missed. As always. He licked up the brown spittle from his lower lip and nodded down at the splatter on the pale wood floor.
“Supposing yer gonna need to clean that up.” He stood straight up and adjusted his vest. George was extremely large. He was tall and full of muscles and most men turned the other way when George was in the area. He was good at his job of keeping the place under control. And everyone knew it. Except the occasional drifter who had to learn the hard way.
“Whatter y’all stand around for?” Filler lifted the counter and walked behind the bar. He just came in from the back door. “I don’t pay you to stand around gawking like a jaybird. And I certainly don’t need you to be wasting my time with that retart.” Filler was always ornery. James didn’t especially like the bartender and owner. He was really skinny and had a pinched nose between beady eyes. Lots of lines wrinkled the sides of his eyes and waved across his forehead like an ocean.
“He ain’t a retart. Don’t call him that.” James straightened his back and maintained strong eye contact with Filler. He found himself shocked that he talked back to an adult, especially a grumpy adult who controlled his pay and his mother’s job. But he never allowed people to get away with picking on Carson. In the past it was always the children that he dealt with. This time he was against a man.
“What didja say ta me?” Filler placed both hands upon the bar and leaned over in James’ direction. He shot a glance at George who smirked and then looked down at his boots. “You best mind yer manners, boy or I’ll put a hurt on you that will land you in Doc’s place.” He pulled his handlebar mustache out to the side.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I just get madder than a badger when somebody does harm to Carson.” James glanced at Carson who was standing with his hands on his hips in defiance of Filler.
“Well, I’ll let ‘er slide this time but you get back to fixing things up and get that boy back to his mama. The saloon ain’t no place for a baby to be moseying about.” Filler picked up a mug and spat into it then stuffed a rag to the bottom and twisted. He stormed out the back door in a huff. James just looked down at Carson and ruffled his hair. Carson beamed up at his hero. George walked over and towered over the boys.
“You got stones, kid.” George winked at James and then went out the swinging front doors.
James looked around and the boys were alone again.
“Don’t think nothing of it, Carson. We won’t have to deal with this much longer. Real soon, we’re gonna walk on out and get ourselves some adventure. If the criminals were smart, they’d start running now, before we get started.” He smiled confidently and started sweeping again. “But first I gotta work.”
“Back to square one.” Carson followed James as he worked.
Chapter 4
“How do you do it? You win every time we play.” James had gotten better at playing cards but not good enough to whip Carson. Carson was something of an expert and he never got tired of winning. In a world where Carson seemed to lose at everything else, this was fine by James. He tried to learn all he could from playing with Carson. He envisioned himself beating a card sharp in a game of five card stud, sending the con-man packing out of town.
“It’s not magic, James.” Carson looked up at him and blinked profusely. “You just have to pay attention.” He rubbed his small fist across his mouth to remove some invisible tickle.
“But I do pay attention. I always pay attention.”
Carson giggled and collected the cards again. He started to shuffle the cards, his hands moving adeptly like a seasoned dealer. While he studied Carson’s hands, James continued to share his fantasies.
“Just think what we could do out there. Gamblers scamming people out of their hard-earned money and then we sit at the table. The crowd would gather around, hanging on every card as its put down. The women gasping and the men wishing they was us. Then we scoop up the money and go have a time or two, doing whatever we want. That would be something, huh, buddy?”
The younger boy kept shuffling with a wide grin upon his dirty face.
“And then we wouldn’t have to sit outside every night while the adults carried on like they do.” James turned his head so that his ear faced the back door to the saloon. Loud roars of laughter and shouting beat against the closed door.
As with everything else, James had tired of this routine each night. They were the only youngsters who lived in the brothel so they had to stay out all night until the parties died down. Most nights the boys played cards until 3 or 4 a.m. before either falling asleep on the back porch or walking to their favorite “hiding spot.” The hiding spot was a great place to not only hide but also to catch some sleep. They had discovered the spot one summer afternoon when they went exploring just outside of town. In a wooded lot nearby, there was a gully and at the bottom of the gully was a huge, tangled tree root exposed above the surface. The boys burrowed a nest of sorts beneath the roots and they planted lots of chickweed around the roots. The growth formed a thick green cover to further hide their location. Every few months the boys would line the earth below with squares of moss so they had nice, cushy and cool bedding.
James turned his attention back to Carson who was dealing out another hand.
“I like sitting outside every night. My mom said that only big boys get to stay out late so that means I’m fine.” His tongue jetted out to hold his upper lip up while he finished dealing.
“No, that means you’re fine with it, not you’re fine. Anyways, I like to play cards with you so I guess it ain’t all that bad.” James picked up his cards and frowned at the hand he was dealt. He looked over at Carson who was smiling back at him.
“What’s the big idea?”
“You aren’t paying attention and it’s funny.” Carson put a hand over his mouth and giggled. Then he looked back at his own hand with serious concentration.
“Am too paying attention. I paid so much attention that I’m getting all the worst cards. That must be how you beat me all the time.” James furrowed his eyebrows and leaned toward Carson. “If I didn’t know any better I would say you was cheating. But I ain’t saying that on account of you being my friend and on another account of I wouldn’t want to make you sore for accusing you of such.”
The show of respect elicited another giggle from Carson as he felt that James was afraid of him dishing out a beating on the much bigger boy.
“Now...pay...attention.” Carson ordered James with strong emphasis on each word.
The boys went through the cards without a word. Each boy raised the other by adding a few buttons to the pile. Carson called. James laid down two pairs. Carson beamed as he laid down a full house. James scratched his head and looked at the cards and then at Carson and back down at the cards again. He whistled.
“I’ll be.”
“I told you to pay attention.”
“I did pay attention, dang it.”
“No you didn’t.” He smiled.
“Just deal another round so I can learn more.” James exhaled some frustration.
Carson started shuffling the deck. “Back to square one.”
Chapter 5
James scooped another heaping mouthful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. He loved breakfast because it was the only meal of the day that he got to sit at a table and eat like a normal person. Lunch was always served while he worked in the saloon and dinner was eaten on the back porch, well out of the way of “paying customers.” Filler was clear about his priorities and profit was right up there at the top of the list. Feeding James and Carson was an added expense that he begrudgingly accepted, only because Sarah and Minnie, James’ and Carson’s mothers respectively, were two of his best earners.
Carson forked around his eggs without any intention of eating. His eyes were half-closed and he yawned as he leaned his head on one elbow. Carson was not a morning person and he usually passed up breakfast. Today he accepted it but continued to play with his food.
James looked at Carson’s plate with a huge lump of eggs in his cheek. He chewed and looked down at his plate. “You gonna eat those eggs?”
Carson opened one sleepy eye and shook his head no to James. He put the fork down and pushed his plate across the table. With no hesitation, James lifted the plate and funneled the food onto his own. A mountain of eggs sat in the middle of the dish, some spilling over onto his bacon.
“Thanks.” James smiled at his windfall. He scooped another large mouthful and shoveled it in. “I wonder if Wyatt made the news again today. We should git over to the barber shop to scrounge for used papers.” He chewed, paused for a burp and then continued chewing.
“Okay.” Carson was clearly not enthusiastic yet.
A loud yell carried in through the swinging doors of the saloon. Apparently, somebody in the street was angry and was taking it out on another citizen. The yelling quickly turned into a roar as the sound of a crowd raised the noise level. James dropped his fork in mid-chew and pushed back his chair. Carson’s eyes finally opened wide and he followed James to the door.
In the street a few yards from the saloon a crowd of about ten people formed a circle around two men in a dispute. One man was the town drunk, Wilson. The other man was an Indian. James looked down at Carson who returned his glance. Both boys pushed through the swinging doors and approached the crowd. James politely squeezed in between a few onlookers. Carson just brushed his way through without awareness that he elbowed one man and stepped on another’s boot.
“Ain’t no place fer Injuns here, man. Best be on yer way ‘afore I give you a whatfor. Now sket atta here.” Wilson wobbled upon his non-stop drunken legs. He was drunk at all times of the day even though he only drank at night. Folks knew that he put enough whiskey down each night to keep himself in a constant state of inebriation.
The Indian glared at Wilson in silence. He shifted on his feet to take inventory of the crowd and the circle which seemed to be closing in on him. But he stood his ground in defiance. It was clear he wasn’t going to run.
“I said git a mosey on, ya red-bellied heathen. Er I’m gonna paint yer nose with yer blood, boy.” Wilson put up his fists and teetered left, caught himself, and then faltered back a few steps. The crowd shifted around Wilson al
lowing him room to get settled.
James overheard one man tell another that the Indian wandered into town and Wilson stopped him before he started any trouble. James didn’t think the Indian was looking for trouble. For one thing, he was alone so he wasn’t coming to raid the town. For another, he didn’t appear to have any weapons so it was clear that he was in need of help. No Indian in their right mind would stroll into a settled town alone and unarmed unless they were itching to be corralled and tossed in the jail.
James stepped into the circle. “Hey, wait a minute.” He surprised himself that he took center stage. “Can’t you see he ain’t got no guns and he’s alone? Why would he come here like that if he was aiming to start trouble?” James’ questions spurred a fresh uproar and one man shoved James in the chest. The crowd wanted blood and they were in Wilson’s corner.
Wilson leaned into James and breathed whiskey breath into his face. James’ eyes watered and he coughed as he swallowed hard to gasp for fresh air. “Ain’t no place fer a boy ta stick his’n nose where it ain’t berlong. Mebbe I should teach ya a lesson with this here Injun.”
James pushed Wilson aside. The crowd immediately stopped shouting, shocked with the young man’s bravery. James was surprised himself but couldn’t stop the train from rolling now that it was moving. “Don’t call me a boy, Wilson. And this Indian ain’t doing nothing wrong. So back off before I get George out here.” The crowd shifted uneasily. “I know you don’t want George to clean up yer mess.”
Wilson staggered back and forth, blood lust danced in his hazel eyes. His overly-wild eyebrows skittered up and down as he worked hard to get his temper under control. A bead of sweat sheened on his bushy mustache. “I ain’t gonna fergit this’n here tribulation. You better watch yer back when I come near.”
