“I didn’t ask you if you heard of it, I said I bet you know where it is.”
“I never been there.”
“Sure you have, all you Injuns have, you been all over this country. You know that lake’s up there someplace by the Yuba, you know men been digging around that country for a long time now, trying to find that lake with gold glowing up from its bottom.”
“I never been there.”
“That’s too bad for you Injun,” the Bummer ground his cigar in the can in front of him. “You know Injun, I seen sights like that in my day. I was down in Trinidad country in ’52 when old Mama Ocean herself was tossing up cartloads of golden nuggets on the sand. I seen it once and I aim to see it again. Everyone is shouting silver now, but that gold had just barely begun to be touched. It’s still there where it always was and I’m cashing in. What do you think Injun? You think I’m going to cash in?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“No,” the Bummer looked at Captain Rex, his eyes riveted on the scar that slashed his cheek. “I guess you wouldn’t. Then again,” he winked, “maybe you would. What was it you said you did?”
“Nothin,” Squirrel answered, setting his glass down. “We don’t do nothin but lie round in the sun all day.”
“I told you to shut up,” the Bummer smiled his lips in a tight curve. “So shut up! You going to answer my question or not Injun?” He turned back to Captain Rex.
“Odd jobs.”
“Is that a natural fact, odd jobs. Most Injuns can’t even speak let alone learn how to do an odd job.”
“We learned.”
“I bet you did. What kind of odd jobs is it you do?”
“The odder the better,” Squirrel laughed.
“I told you to shut up!” The Bummer jerked around. “If you make one more sound,” he placed his hand lightly on the glistening handle of the cane, “I’m going to ram this right through one of your beady eyes, then you can have a glass one put in like that elk hanging up there on the wall; you’ll see real good then.”
Squirrel gulped the rest of his drink, his eyes rising to the elk.
“What kind of job is it you do Injun? You trying to play funny games with me? Make me repeat everything twice?”
“For the Iron Road I work,” Captain Rex looked straight at the Bummer.
“What could you ever do for the Railroad?”
“Odd jobs.”
“Don’t get smart with me Injun boy, this little stick here can go through your eye as quick as it can through your sidekick’s, it’s not too choosy.”
“I take the people on the Iron Road so that they can pick pigweed along the iron tracks.”
“Pick pigweed, what the hell would someone want with a weed that only grows out from rocks and railroad tracks? What the hell could somebody do with it, let alone an Injun?”
“Eat it.”
“You sure you’re not playing games with me Injun boy?” The Bummer laid his gloved hand on the cane.
“You asked. I told.”
“Now I’m going to ask again. What is it you do?”
“Odd jobs.”
“Lookit you lying Injun,” the Bummer leaned across the table. “You don’t come in this barroom where they don’t give a redman a drink for less than three dollars American. You don’t come in this bar with gold jingling in your pockets an expect me to believe you just saved it up doing odd jobs. I ain’t green Injun, so just you suppose you tell me where you and your sidekick come running into all those coins? If what you say the first time out don’t set right with me I’m going to put this stick right through your head, sabe?”
“John.”
“Where?”
“Back in behind the place called Emigrant Gap.”
“That’s true,” the Bummer nodded. “John has been up in that part of the country. I done a little tax collecting myself, but you don’t have the right to tax John, Injun boy. What you did was an illegal act. John has a claim on that land and he doesn’t have to pay out one cent to you. You and your partner here could be hung up by your necks right outside in just a matter of minutes if I was to announce to these honest gents in this room that you tax collected off a legally deeded mine. You’re in a pack of trouble Redman. You’re in more trouble than you ever thought you could get in outside of your T-pee. Let’s just examine your case. One, I could declare right now what a lawbreaker you are and you would be put to quick justice in short time, and the fairest I might add. Two, I could go for the district marshal who just happens to be in these parts right this moment over at Dormer Lake and turn you over to him to atone for your sins against our mountain society. Three, you could ease your conscience and relieve yourselves of that burden of packing all that money about and simply transfer it to me to make certain it is transported back to the lawfully wronged owners. At last, number four, being a sportive man, I could invite you two boys outside and down the street for a little gambling. What do you say Injun boy, pick a number, anyone a winner.”
“What kind of gamblin is your number four?”
“Ah my good fellow,” his trim eyebrows raised high up into his forehead. “I should have known you were after my own heart itself, fair as I tried to lay it out, a true sport you are. Badger,” his eyebrows came down, the smirk on his face melted by a scowl, “Badger baiting.”
“In a box or barrel?”
“Barrel.”
“What’s the stakes?”
“Ten to one, on the dogs of course, dear boy.”
“Do we get to throw our own bet?”
“Now don’t be silly Injun boy, sport is sport, and you good fellow, have the badger. If you don’t think it’s right choose number one, two, or three. Hang or get yourself a chance at earning five hundred dollars American.”
Captain Rex took a drink of whiskey, swishing the liquid around in his mouth with his tongue, the taste of alcohol rising in his nose.
“Make up your mind quick Injun boy.”
Captain Rex swallowed, looked between the Bummer’s eyes, at the delicate bridge of the nose. “Mister,” he spoke slowly without moving his eyes, “your bet is on.”
They made their way from the bar into the dust of the street, the man with the goldhandled cane walking jauntily in front, his stovepipe black hat tilted top his head at a truculent angle, the two Indians trotting behind. The man strode regally through the mob of noisy men flowing in hard dirty currents along the high boardwalk, streaming into others, islands of bodies back to back, with faces in newspapers, noses almost touching the printed words. He picked his way nimbly through the forces, adroitly darting in and out at a moment’s opening, riding with this wave and that; a sleek racing boat, the two Indians in tow. He steamed down an alley, simply navigated through a squall of galloping horsedrawn wagons, drifted onto another boardwalk, a calm one, and proceeded down to the end where the town ceased, suddenly broke off, the mountains towering up in all directions. The gambling party made its way up a short rise to a small box of corral with men sitting around on the rooting planks like bears on a branch, dogs leashed beneath them, tugging at the sagging boards.
“John C. Luther!” One of the men dropped from his perch with a thump, the club of hand held out in greeting. “Where you been? We been sittin round here since before noon seein who could collect the most slivers in his behind.”
“Very good, very good,” the Bummer shook the offered club warmly. “I was fortunately detained up at the Silver Elk, couple of boys begged me to be let in on the proceedings. You know me Elliot, what a puddle of pudding I am beneath it all, never one to refuse a couple of boys some fun.”
Elliot looked at the two Indians, his gaze going right between them. “One body is good as nother I spose, make for higher stakes.” He turned back to the Bummer. “Why don’t you come over with the men and have a snort. The badger ain’t here yet.”
“It’s not!” The Bummer slammed the butt of his cane against the ground. “What’s hold up Ike!”
“Caint find a b
arrel big enough to get the badger in,” Elliot grinned. “He’s a big un.”
“Well then,” the Bummer took the neatly folded silk handkerchief from his vest pocket, swirled it over the metal cane handle and replaced it. “We do have time for a bit of refreshment before the festivities. Boys,” he nodded to the Indians. “Would you care to join us gents?”
“It would honor us,” Squirrel accepted politely.
“He has a voice,” the Bummer looked at Elliot in surprise. “He’s been silent so long I was beginning to wonder if someone had slit his vocal cords, poor boy.”
“I’m surprised he speaks English at all,” Elliot’s face grew into a sour mask of disapproval.
“Now you shouldn’t go judging every creature by the color of its skin and the way it smells Elliot,” the Bummer touched the end of his cane to the man’s chin. “Don’t be too hard on our boys here. They’re educated, no longer simple heathens, coming up in the world.”
“How bout that drink John C.?” Elliot shifted impatiently.
“That we must Elliot, first why don’t you collect ten dollars apiece from these two boys for the privilege of refreshing themselves with us and for the advancement of their education.”
Captain Rex reached in his pocket, put his hand around some coins and closed his fist, they felt hot, heavy like stones, he could feel the sweat on his face, beneath his arms, trickling cool down his sides, the sun burning through the trees on the back of his neck.
“Are you or are you not going to pay this gent for a privilege Injun boy,” the Bummer asked loudly, looking down as he swirled the handkerchief on the metal again.
Captain Rex kept one of the coins in his palm and held it out. The man took it.
“I said ten dollars apiece,” the Bummer glared at Squirrel. “You pay too. I thought you boys were smart, now it turns out you’re proving me wrong, that’s something I don’t like.”
Squirrel handed over his money.
The Indians walked up to the corral, the barking dogs tugging at their ropes, yanking their necks as they lunged at the intruders.
“Curious,” the Bummer smiled. “Canines are not partial to Injun scents.” He mounted the corral and sat rigidly, the two Indians getting up at his side. “Nice little gathering of spectators,” he beamed, scanning the men sitting on every available space around the wooden box, their mouths opening only to jam in another bottle neck. Elliot handed him a filled brown bottle. “Pardon me,” he held the bottle in front of the Indian next to him. “Would you be so kind as to free the opening of this decanter.” Captain Rex yanked the cork with his teeth and spit it out “Thanks very much,” he took the bottle back, wiping the opening with his handkerchief then taking two swift gulps, he emptied half the contents. “Your turn, I believe,” he offered the whiskey to the Indian who tipped it and drained it, tossing the empty glass to the dirt.
“What bout mine,” Squirrel jabbed Captain Rex in the arm. “That was for the two of us.”
“Nobody said nothin bout two. I just drank my share.”
“Who do you think you are? Just what do you think you are?” Squirrel’s tight eyes faded in his face, he grabbed the front of Captain Rex’s jacket and tumbled him from the fence.
The laughter around the corral whirred through his head, pressuring, closing like a vise as he stood up. He could feel the sun, could feel it burn as his fist shot out, knocking Squirrel in the chest, toppling him over backwards. He watched Squirrel fall, it was as if he himself were falling, spinning, smashing into the dirt, the blood pounding in his head, the Birds singing their songs, primitive, antique sounds smouldering in his chest, welling up through his throat, tearing from his mouth in ancestral fury, the air of the corral conquered in the winging beat of feathered relics, his head swung back and he sang in the Sun.
“It’s the badger!” The words split the sound in the corral, piercing the man who sang from dreams, submerging the echo of time, the sound escaping into trees.
The buckboard slammed in by the man, the horses’ hooves throwing up dirt digging into the ground and stopped. Two men struggled the large barrel off the back of the wagon, working it to the ground, then turning the team of horses around and riding out of the corral. The men cheered, waving their hats in the air. The Bummer strode to the middle of the clearing, put one gloved hand on the barrel lid and held up the other for silence.
“Gents! If you please,” he coughed into his gloved hand and continued. “The game will now begin.” The men fell silent. “The rules are, as you know, that the game is divided evenly into three sections. You may bet on all sections, or just the one of your personal choice. The first section is that of drawing the beast out of the barrel, you bet on whether the hounds will or won’t. The second section begins when the beast is out, if the dogs can’t bring him out we’ll kick the barrel over; this section will be individual fights only, if you think you have the dog to beat him then go it with him. The last section, if the beast survives, will be against all dogs left. The odds in all sections are three to one on the dogs. Mister Franks is going around presently to collect and record all wagers before the match; no verbal bets will be taken while the game is progressing. Remember you are at your honor in all occurring debts.”
“What’s your bet Injun?” the little man demanded, his swollen eyes staring at Captain Rex behind thick glasses.
“I’m going with the dogs.”
“House odds?”
“House odds.”
“What’s the name?”
“Rex, Cappin Rex.”
“Last name?”
“Don’t have none.”
“What do you mean, don’t have none,” the little man’s eyes jerked from his scribbling, his pencil poised over the black book. “You got to have one, ain’t legal if you don’t.”
“Mister Franks,” the Bummer appeared behind the little man. “I think I can speak for our friend here, he is with my party.”
“Oh Mister John C, I didn’t know,” the little man apologized, his gaze dropping from the Indian. “I wouldn’t have bothered him if I had known he was with you.”
“You did right Mister Franks, all men here bet, now what’s the problem with the Injun boy?”
“I was just recording his bet but he don’t have a last name to go by, you told me to put down first and last names, no exceptions.”
“That’s right, I most assuredly did, a man must have two names, first and last, it’s only Christian.”
“Yes sir, it’s certainly natural, even for an Injun.”
“Most certainly so Mister Franks,” the Bummer patted him on the shoulder. “Now then Injun boy, tell the man your name so he can put it down.”
“Cappin Rex.”
“Rex what?” the Bummer leaned against his cane.
“Rex nothin, that’s all of it, that’s all they gave me, that’s all they’ve ever called me.”
“They must of given you a full Christian name.”
“I’m not Christian.”
“We’re all Christians here bud,” the little man poked a finger in the Indian’s face. “Injuns or not.”
“Just put it down as it is, Mister Franks, the men are anxious for the game, we’ll attend to it later.”
“But Mister John C, I think we should get his full name,” the little man licked the lead of his pencil nervously.
“I don’t give a damn what you—”
“Birdsong. Call him Birdsong,” Squirrel leaned over the corral fence, pointing his finger at Captain Rex. “Birdsong his name should be. Hah. He’s always singing like some wild bird beast, like some crazy loco Injun!”
“Like some drunk Injun you mean,” the Bummer smiled. “Put it down that way Mister Franks, Rex Birdsong. What’s his bet?”
“House odds on the dogs.”
“You lying cheating Injun,” the Bummer’s face filled with red, as he aimed his cane at the Indian’s throat. “Ten to one Mister Franks, that’s what this filthy Injun’s bet is! Ten to one on the b
adger! Mark that down, and this one too,” he poked the cane at Squirrel. “The same odds. Get their money.” He swung the cane again at Captain Rex, “And I’ll settle with you later.” He turned his back and moved to the barrel, holding his hands up, “Gents, all opening bets have been covered! Mister Elliot, would you please commence!”
Elliot came to the center, “Get all those dogs in here pronto!” He shouted at the men standing by the tied dogs straining at their ropes. “They smell that cute lil badger,” he laughed.
The men brought the dogs in, unleashed them and stepped back. Elliot flipped the lid off the barrel and leaped away as the dogs lunged at the large wood tub, surrounded it, pressing their noses against the wood and barking, their tails slicing through the air behind them like flags. A long red dog leaned up on his hind legs against the barrel and stuck his head over the opening. A claw swished up, slashing for an instant, ripping the dog’s nose, sending it flying back and yelping off. The other dogs circled faster, their barks blurring into one fierce threat, building to a point. They charged, hurling their bodies against the barrel, trying to break through the barrier, knocking it over, rolling it to its side and scrambling for a position at the opening. “Go em dogs,” one of the men on the fence yelled. “Go em all the way!”
“Get them damn dogs out of here!” Elliot jumped off the fence, waving the men to hurry up as they ran to their dogs, grabbing them behind the neck, dropping nooses over the heads and pulling them away.
“Who wants to go first!” Elliot shouted.
“My dog’ll take it on,” a man in a red flannel shirt rolled to the elbows stepped forward, his dog tugging at the leash in front of him.
“He’s all yours,” Elliot jumped on the fence.
The man slipped the noose from the dog’s neck, it sprung across the ground, disappearing into the barrel. The only sound the men heard was the gnashing of teeth and a long hiss, then a howl blasted the dog from the mouth of the barrel, the badger’s teeth clamped on a front leg. The dog ran, spinning his body, but the badger held onto the dog twice its size. The man in the red shirt rushed forward and kicked the badger in the head, knocking him from the dog. He picked up his losing entry and hurried out of the corral.
Rabbit Boss Page 8
