by RJ Krause
Chapter 18
Clowning Around
Of course, Paniolo Pete also had his serious side, especially when it came to work. He was a strong believer in never asking a man to do a job he wouldn’t do himself. If the job was dangerous, he would most likely do it himself.
One of the neighbor ranches was having some financial trouble. Pete decided we should all get together outside of Hilo and put on a big rodeo event to help raise money for his neighbors. Now, you city folks might not realize that of all the jobs in a rodeo, the clown has the most important and most dangerous job of all. He is the one responsible for saving the cowboy if trouble arises. It is the clown who distracts the wild bull after a rider is thrown off so he can get up and get to safety. He’s also there if a foot gets stuck in a stirrup or a rope tie doesn’t come loose. Many a cowboy owes his life to a rodeo clown.
Paniolo Pete volunteered to clown for the Hilo event. With the help of Noelani and Pua, they dressed him and painted him up to look outrageous. Most kids love clowns and Pete was playing his role with all his boyish charm up until the time the rodeo began.
Everything started out well and all of the events were going smoothly. There was a sizable crowd, and so far no one had been hurt. Between the entry fees, food sales, and some side amusements for the children they would make enough money to help their neighbors hold off the bank for awhile.
The final event was the bronc riding and as usual, it had the biggest turnout. Pete, the clown, was stationed off to the side of the chute and was there immediately when the accident occurred. One of the youngest riders, a fifteen year old boy, got tied up in his stirrup when he was thrown from the bucking horse. His spur had gotten twisted around the leather covering, and as the horse continued to buck, the boy was thrown about with his leg hung up in the stirrup. Pete was there as soon as it happened, but the horse was in such a panic he couldn’t get a good hold.
One his first attempt, Pete was thrown behind the horse and kicked in the ribs as he fought to free the young man’s foot. His second effort was just as bad, and this time one of the horse’s sharp hooves caught him in the leg. The young rider had been awfully lucky so far. Except for a few minor cuts and bruises he was still unhurt. But Pete knew it was only a matter of time before one of those pointed hooves landed on the boy. Forgetting about his own sore ribs and bleeding leg, he rushed the horse one more time. This time, Pete got his hand around the neck of the frightened horse and locked his arm. After a few moments he was finally able to free the boy’s foot. But as the boot slid free, that spur raked across Pete’s hand leaving him another gash for his efforts. Pete fell to the ground as all of his injuries caught up with him. He could barely move, but he knew the boy was safe.
The horse, however, wasn’t through yet. Seeing Pete lying on the ground in all those bright colors made a perfect target for the panicked horse to vent its fear and anger on. The bronc rushed to where Pete lay and was rearing up to trample him. Pete was so dazed he didn’t realize the danger he was in. Just as it looked like those hooves were going to land on Pete, a lasso landed around the neck of the rearing horse and pulled it backward. Standing at the other end of that rope was a sight that first shocked, and then awed the crowd of onlookers. Holding the rope was a man who was well over six feet tall. He was lean with muscles rippling and his body covered almost entirely with tattoos. It was a sight to see. This was one of the scariest men I’ve ever seen, and judging from the stunned silence of the crowd, I wasn’t alone in my astonishment.
The horse regained his footing but had the fight knocked out of him. He stood for a few moments to regain his balance then trotted off to the other side of the arena. Standing there looking down at Pete with a tatooed face and body was a man who looked like he dropped in from another planet. He in fact had, as we would learn later.
“Much obliged to you neighbor for roping that horse,” Pete said as he looked up in a daze at the stranger. “I figured I’d be meeting my Maker for sure when that horse reared over me like that.”
Pete was still trying to stand when Keala, Noelani, and a bunch of other people rushed over to help him. Everyone began talking at once, asking if he was alright, if he was hurt and so on. When Pete regained his footing he brushed himself off and looked around for the man who had saved him, but the man with the tatoos was nowhere to be seen. Only then did Pete realize how badly he’d been hurt. His leg was gashed open, his ribs mighty sore, and his hand was dripping blood all over the dirt.
“Braddah, better we take you to get sewed up. You make one big mess on all this clean dirt,” Keala said grinning.
As his friends helped Pete toward the medical tent to get patched up, the wild man appeared in their path. A lava-lava was the only piece of clothing he wore and his head was shaved on both sides with a long mane of unruly hair cascading from the top of his head all the way down his back. The tattoos on his face were perfectly matched on each side and ran over a good portion of his body. The design was one that Paniolo Pete had never seen before.
Now remember, Pete had spent many years at sea and was familiar with people from all over the world, but he had no idea where this man had come from. One thing that was clear, he was a warrior born and raised, evidenced by the scars all over his body.
The stunned little group came to a sudden halt, and as they stood there watching, the man pulled out a long bone-handled knife. Keala immediately stepped in front of Pete to meet the challenge, but Pete stepped around the big Hawaiian and stood facing the warrior. As they locked eyes, the man lifted up his own hand and drew the blade across it. The blade was so sharp and the cut so deep that at first, there was no blood. But it soon started flowing and ran down his arm. Pete never took his eyes from the man’s face and to his astonishment, the man never once flinched. There was no doubt in Pete’s mind that this was a formidable opponent, or a lifelong friend, depending on your position.
The warrior took two quick steps toward Pete. Everyone around them took a few steps back. Even Keala, who outweighed this man by at least 100 lbs. and was somewhat of a warrior in his own right, took a tentative step back. There seemed to be an unseen force in the air. The crowd watched as the tattooed man thrust out his bloody hand. Without hesitation, Pete grasped the warrior’s hand in his own torn one and looked deep into his eyes. In those eyes, Pete saw what it must be like to live in the wild—free to hunt when you’re hungry, roam the plains, and have no responsibilities other than survival.
“Brother,” said the warrior.
“Brother,” replied Pete.
Those were the only words spoken as the two men stood there in silence, hands clasped together, staring into each other’s souls.