Rawhide Robinson Rides a Dromedary

by Rod Miller

  Major Wayne turned and studied the caravan for a moment then told the officer, “As far as I can see, Marshal, my camels haven’t torn up anything. I’m sure you’ll agree they are well-mannered and altogether docile.”

  “Look around, soldier! Them camels might not’ve made this mess, but they sure as shootin’ caused it!”

  “I am sorry, sir, but I cannot be responsible for the behavior of those not under my command. Your citizens and their livestock are to blame, not my camels.”

  “*$&#^!” the marshal said. “I suppose you’re right. But it never would’ve happened were it not for them ugly animals!”

  “Ugly?” Major Wayne bristled. “Ugly?! These animals are noble beasts in service to our country.”

  The crowd’s many members, chortled and chuckled, tittered and tee-heed, giggled and guffawed, snickered and snorted.

  “These camels are owed your respect, sir,” the major said to the marshal, and turning to the crowd, continued as a military officer accustomed to giving orders and being obeyed: “And the respect of every other person in this city!”

  The crowd laughed.

  “Ha!” came a voice from the throng. “They look like somebody’s idea of a joke!”

  “Gangly-legged, ewe-necked monstrosities,” another hollered.

  “Besides that, they stink!”

  “What are they good for, anyway?”

  The major held a gloved hand aloft, signaling for silence. The insults and jibes faded. “The United States Army went to great lengths and considerable expense to acquire these camels.”

  Again the crowd laughed. Again, the major raised a hand for silence.

  “Our intention is to use them as pack animals to supply isolated forts and military outposts in the southwestern deserts.”

  “Pack animals?” someone hollered. “Ha! They look like they’d tip over!”

  The crowd laughed.

  Rawhide Robinson stepped forward and hitched his thumbs into the armholes of his vest. “Now you folks listen to me,” he said. “These here camels is fine animals.”

  The crowd laughed.

  “Get a horse!” an anonymous voice yelled from the throng.

  “I been on more horses than most of you folks have seen,” the cowboy said. “I got nothin’ against horses. I like horses. These camels ain’t horses and nobody expects them to be. When it comes to hauling a load, they’re better than horses. So you-all ought to quit makin’ chin music till you know whereof you speak.”

  The crowd laughed.

  Happy Harry and Major Wayne huddled with Rawhide Robinson for a moment as taunts, mockery, and opprobrium from the crowd continued. Happy Harry stepped aside and signaled Ibrahim to bring Tulu to the front of the line.

  Rawhide Robinson said, “All right, you all, we’ll just see what a camel can do. As I remember, these here cotton bales you got stacked up all over the place weighs about 500 pounds apiece. Is that right?”

  Several voices from the crowd answered in the affirmative.

  “Any of you-all got a horse could pack one of them bales?”

  The congregation replied in the negative.

  “How about a mule?”

  Again, voices from the throng agreed that no mule could carry a cotton bale.

  “I suppose if you had a good, stout horse or mule well-broke to the pack saddle he could maybe haul half of one of them bales. That about right?”

  The crowd concurred.

  “Hey, you!” Rawhide Robinson hollered to a man sitting on a cart drawn by a yoke of oxen. The cart carried two tight bales of cotton. “Drive that cart over here.”

  The curious crowd “oohed” when Ibrahim led the giant camel up and “aahed” when, at his command, Tulu knelt, then squatted, in the street.

  “Now,” the cowboy said, “how about a bunch of you fellers with strong backs come over here.”

  The volunteers grunted and groaned one of the cotton bales out of the cart and hefted, hauled, and humped it to Tulu’s side.

  The crowd watched with bated breath, save a few who expressed concern for the camel. When Rawhide Robinson requested the strong men move another bale to Tulu’s opposite side, the crowd stirred even more.

  Some worried the camel would be injured under such a load.

  Others maintained the camel would not suffer as he could not possibly shift so much weight.

  Still others were amused at the very notion of the demonstration.

  Hurry, meanwhile, acting on her own hook as was her wont, circulated through the assembled onlookers taking bets on the camel’s ability to haul the load. Backed by the money obtained from her sideshow in Jamaica, she took any and all wagers.

  Under Ibrahim’s direction, the bales were secured to Tulu’s pack saddle, one on each side.

  “He ready, Harry?” Rawhide Robinson said.

  Happy Harry and Ibrahim exchanged a few words and Harry said they were ready.

  “Well, folks, you are the first citizens of this here United States to witness the worth of camels,” the cowboy said.

  He nodded at Ibrahim, who spoke to Tulu.

  The intake of breath among the crowd was so pronounced that the air pressure in Indianola dropped; the silence so loud the command from Ibrahim seemed to echo in the stillness.

  Tulu raised to his front knees.

  He elevated his hind quarters and stood on his hind legs.

  He straightened his front legs and stood.

  The crowd exhaled in unison, then, again with unanimity, gasped as they regained the breath held so long. Otherwise, the camel’s ability to rise with the 1,000 pounds of cotton strapped to his back rendered them speechless.

  But when, with a few clicks and clucks from Ibrahim, Tulu walked off with the load as if it weren’t there, exclamations spread through the throng, increased in volume to qualify as cheers, then burst forth full-fledged as hurrahs and huzzahs, ovations and acclamations, exuberance and accolades.

  The caravan fell in and the camels trailed Tulu along the thoroughfare. All, that is, save Okyanus—who followed Hurry back through the crowd and frolicked as she collected her bets.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  * * *

  The caravan made it to the corrals without incident—save the occasional spooked horse or startled pedestrian. Once the camels were cared for and the sailors-cum-camel-handlers dismissed with many thanks and sent back to the USS Cordwood, Happy Harry took Major Wayne aside for a talk.

  “Robinson, Lieutenant Scott—can I have the pleasure of your company,” the major said after the palaver with the Turk. “Ibrahim and Hurry, you may as well join us.”

  “What’s on your mind, Major?” Rawhide Robinson said. “Besides your hat, I mean.”

  “Harry here has suggested we not wait for the cavalry escort from Camp Verde. Rather, we should set out on our own. He says we could be at Camp Verde before the troops get here. We may have to take it slow for a couple of days as the camels aren’t fully fit after laying around on the ship all this time.”

  “They will regain their strength in no time,” Happy Harry said. “With so little to carry, the animals will soon be able to travel more than forty of your miles in a day.”

  “Them camels might walk that far in a day,” Rawhide Robinson said, “but there ain’t no way I can ride shank’s mare that far!”

  “Shank’s mare?” Happy Harry asked. “What is shank’s mare?”

  “Well, it’s a way of saying I’m afoot. We ain’t got no horses and I sure ain’t walking all that way, so we can’t leave here till we find us some mounts.”

  Happy Harry laughed.

  Hurry giggled.

  Major Wayne grinned.

  Even Ibrahim, whose lack of English allowed only snatches of understanding, smiled.

  Rawhide Robinson said, “What’s so funny?”

  Happy Harry waved a broad gesture toward the corralled camels. “Look around, cowboy! We have a wealth of conveyance. There will be no need of horses, or your ‘shank’
s mare’ as you call it.”

  “But them camels is pack animals!”

  “True enough. But they are well trained and can be ridden as well.”

  Rawhide Robinson lifted his thirteen-gallon hat and raked his hair.

  He kneaded his chin.

  He scratched his whiskers.

  He pursed his lips and wrinkled his brow.

  “Well,” he said, “I ain’t never been aboard no camel but for about half a minute, and that was a mistake. But I have often boasted of being a bronc peeler who could ride anything with hair on it, so I guess I am game. How’s about outfits? We can’t ride them pack saddles.”

  “We have a few riding saddles as well as the pack saddles among our furniture,” Happy Harry said. “We will show you.”

  Major Wayne left for town to acquire traveling provender for his small command, with instructions to prepare for a dawn departure. The cowboy and the naval officer watched as the Levantines broke out the riding gear.

  “Why, they look like benches with pillows on top,” Rawhide Robinson said.

  He was right. The dromedary saddles had four flat wooden legs, wider set at the bottom and tapering inward to attach to the seat, which was but a slightly dished platform topped by a thick pad. From the front and rear rose a small horn, or post.

  “There ain’t no stirrups, and that apple ain’t nothin’ I’d want to dally to. But if that’s how you sit a camel I reckon I can do it.”

  “These are but simple saddles for everyday riding,” Hurry said. “Come and look.”

  She led him to Ibrahim’s unpacked tack.

  “Would you look at that!” he said of the contraption the Turk was buffing and burnishing, shining and smoothing.

  Hurry said, “It is a fancy saddle. Very expensive. Only pashas and sultans and rich men like the Grand Vizier who Ibrahim was with can afford such finery. Especially such a large saddle for a camel like Tulu.”

  Tulu’s saddle featured a high backrest and, up front, an equally high extension that flared into three prongs. The upholstered saddle itself and the heap of pads and blankets stacked next to it were exquisitely woven and richly embroidered, with tassels and fringe and other decorations. The cowboy doubted the fancies would be of much use on Texas trails, and Ibrahim must have concurred for he packed most of the finery away and kept only the essentials at hand.

  Happy Harry and Hurry showed Rawhide Robinson and Lieutenant Ian Scott the ropes, haltering and leading out a camel, commanding it to kneel on its belly. They laid a pad atop its hump and hefted a saddle atop the pad, demonstrating proper placement. When the camel stood at their cue, they explained the cinch that secured the saddle.

  “Ain’t much different from a center-fire rig,” the cowboy said. “What do you think, Ensign Ian?”

  “It’s lieutenant. My horseback experience pales in comparison to yours, and my experience aboard a camel is nonexistent. But I am confident I can adapt to the circumstance.”

  “Then let’s saddle us up a couple of these critters and get forked.”

  And so they did.

  While the feel of the seat and the moving camel beneath differed considerably from his accustomed kind of mount, Rawhide Robinson soon adapted to the motion. The most difficulty came with the reins—the camel was not trained to neck rein—to respond to a gentle shifting of the reins in the desired direction—and that required him to saw with both hands as if handling the lines on a harnessed mule pulling a plow.

  The naval officer slopped around a little finding his balance in the saddle, but soon enough gained control of himself and then the camel.

  Ibrahim sat in the shade and looked on without reaction. Happy Harry and Hurry trotted around offering encouragement and advice.

  “Open the gate,” Rawhide Robinson said.

  “Where do you wish to go?” asked a genuinely flummoxed Harry.

  “I can handle this camel-riding business all right, but I can’t countenance my pins dangling down thisaway. Goin’ to town to get me some stirrups.”

  Happy Harry seemed skeptical of turning the cowboy loose on the streets aboard a valuable camel, but opened the gate nevertheless.

  Being a seaport town, no saddlemaker had set up shop in Indianola. But Rawhide Robinson ferreted out a livery stable with a hostler who handled repairs and between the two of them, fashioned a pair of makeshift stirrups and leathers from an abandoned stock saddle. With his feet in stirrups the cowboy felt more comfortable and rode with more confidence. Curious onlookers were treated to a few fancy turns and figure-eights in the street, and with a few clicks and clucks of the tongue and a tap with a quirt, the camel squatted in front of a hitch rail and lay there while Rawhide Robinson wet his whistle in a saloon. Coming out, he again impressed the assembled curiosity seekers when he stepped into saddle and cued the camel to stand, with its unorthodox unfolding of knees and ankles and elbows as it arose.

  As had happened earlier, the presence of the camel on the streets scared the horses and mules, upset the chickens and dogs, and frightened more than a few of the people. In consideration of their safety, he did not linger longer, and set out for the temporary dromedary domicile at the edge of town.

  Riding a camel differed from forking a horse in more ways than one, the cowboy soon learned. Unlike the clip-clop-clip-clop-clip-clop of horseback hooves, the dromedary’s footfalls were all but silent given its padded two-toed feet. Urging the animal into a mile-eating trot as he was accustomed to do with horses, Rawhide Robinson discovered the camel knew no such gait. Instead, it set to pacing—a rolling gait altogether unlike a trot. Rather than fore and rear legs striding opposite one another, the limbs on either side of the dromedary worked in unison. Horses could be taught to pace, and the cowboy had ridden such, but with the camel it was the natural way of moving. As he swayed from side to side atop the pacing ship of the desert he could almost imagine he was back aboard the ship at sea.

  Major Wayne was back when Rawhide Robinson arrived at the corral, and all hands were at work emptying supplies from a merchant’s wagon and dividing them into piles for packing. Only a few of the stronger camels would have a load to carry, and that a light one. Most would be weighted only with empty packsaddles.

  Happy Harry outlined the next day’s order of march.

  “In an unfamiliar place, the camels will not attempt to stray from the caravan,” he said. “They will follow the camel ahead wherever led. In our country, caravans are divided into groups of fifteen to twenty animals, with a handler assigned to each group. We are six, with only thirty-four camels, so each must watch over only the camel we ride and perhaps five or six others. It will be easy. Major Wayne knows the path we must follow so he should take the lead. Six camels will follow, then myself, then five camels ahead of Ensign Ian—”

  “—Lieutenant—”

  “—followed by six, then Huri, then five ahead of Mister Robinson—”

  “—Rawhide—”

  “—then six camels and Ibrahim at the rear. Such an arrangement, I do believe, will prove comfortable.”

  The end of the discussion revealed the fly in the ointment in the planned march. For while Major Wayne had laid in supplies, no one among the party had any experience beyond the rudiments of camp cooking. Other than kindling a fire and boiling coffee, they could do little more than stare at the sacks of flour and corn meal, bags of beans and spuds, slab of bacon and pack of jerky, airtights of tomatoes and peaches.

  The ever-resourceful Rawhide Robinson recommended they gnaw on jerky and open cans of tomatoes for supper. He, meanwhile, would saddle up and head back to town for a more permanent solution.

  He soon returned with a wobbling, wiggling, whooping woman behind him, her arms wrapped so tight around his waist his backbone made ripples and ridges on his belly. When the camel knelt, she slid off to the rear, staggered a step or two and sat down with a whump that raised a billow of dust. She moaned and groaned, fussed and fretted, and fanned her florid face with flying fingers. Her strawbe
rry hair was mussed, her bonnet askew, her apron awry. One sock was bunched around the ankle and even the freckles on her face seemed out of order.

  Ensign—Lieutenant—Ian Scott hurried over and helped her to her feet. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  “Well I declare! I never! I swan!” she stammered and stuttered and sputtered. “To think a proper lady like myself would be aboard such a beast! And astride, no less!”

  The woman caught her breath and regained her wits and lit into the provisions with a vengeance. As the major, the lieutenant, Happy Harry, Hurry, Ibrahim, and Rawhide Robinson looked on in slack-jawed awe, she magically turned a good share of the groceries into pre-cooked food that would travel—pots of boiled beans and stew, sacks of corn dodgers and biscuits, slabs of fried bacon and roast beef, all packed and wrapped and stored and stowed for the trail ahead.

  During the hustle and bustle, Rawhide Robinson drew Hurry aside and watched a smile spread across her face when he lifted the lid of a wicker basket he brought back from town, revealing a generous stash of tamales.

  “Well, ma’am, I reckon I had best be gettin’ you back to town,” Rawhide Robinson said when all was in order and the major had generously compensated the cook with currency courtesy of the United States Army.

  “Not on your life! You lured me aboard that monstrosity once before but you’ll not do it again!” She hiked up her skirts and said, “I’ll find my own way home, if you please!” and stomped off toward town.

  Ever the gentleman, Ensign—Lieutenant—Ian Scott trotted off after her, escorted her safely home and returned to find everyone asleep, with more than a few of his companions serenading the stars with snores. He rolled himself in his blankets and drifted off to dreamland, knowing that dawn would arrive all too soon.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  * * *

  The road out of Indianola northwest to San Antonio was a well-traveled trade route, linking the seaport to the old city and then far into Mexico and the city of Chihuahua. The camel caravan traveled without incident—if you don’t count the hysterical horses, maniacal mules, runaway wagons, and aggravated travelers they encountered along the way.