The kids should have scattered when they saw him, should have run back to the barn and wished themselves home. Instead, they stared.
Why?
They couldn’t help it. He was fascinating. This man was like nothing they knew in their world. Big and menacing, he chewed a cigar and scowled. They’d never seen anyone leer like that or sneer like that. He looked like a fairy-tale ogre, a villain from a cartoon or a nightmare, and he held a rope. At the end of the rope, surrounded by a second cloud of dust, was the biggest, brownest dog they’d ever seen, just as the man was the biggest man they’d ever seen. Slowly, man and dog passed, trailing the stench of unwashed criminal, dog, and smoke.
That the man did not register their wide stares is some indication of how self-absorbed a murderous villain can be. That the dog did not see them is some indication of her fear. As the kids watched, longing to liberate her, Wichita Grim turned and pulled the rope to him, hand over hand, so fast that the animal flew along the ground, despite her great size. If you think of how a piece of spaghetti flies into your mouth when you suck it in, you will have some idea of how the dog flew.
Wichita coiled and tied his end of the rope tightly to the front of a building that said saloon and disappeared through the swinging doors. The dog sat down to lick her paws.
When the fearsome man was out of sight, Susan crept back to the little yard beside the house. “Psssst!” she whispered, motioning for the others to follow her. This time they complied without argument.
Emma asked in a shaky voice, “Is that dog going to be okay?”
Nobody answered her.
“I said, is that dog going to be okay?” When nobody answered her a second time, Emma knew the answer. “I think we should help her,” she said.
“I don’t see how we can do that,” said Susan. “I wish we could, but I think we just need to go home. This is a bad place to be.”
Just then, in perfect punctuation to Susan’s fear, a gunshot rang out in the street. The kids jumped and glanced back to see what was happening. When they did, they found that the giant man was once again standing beside the dog, but now he was holding a dark brown bottle. He’d shot off the stopper. He spat his cigar to the ground and took a long, noisy swig from the jagged neck of the bottle. Then he leaned down, pried open the dog’s mouth, and poured whatever was in the bottle down her throat.
“Ain’t you thirsty?” he roared as the dog choked and dribbled out a pale brown liquid. The terrible man smacked her on the head and laughed cruelly. “That’s what anyone’ll get who don’t do what I says,” he shouted in a sloppy growl. “Or my name isn’t Wichita Grim!” He shot the gun into the air again, just in case there was anyone who didn’t understand exactly what his name meant.
The street near the saloon had cleared completely by now. The kids huddled where they were beside the house, still as statues in their borrowed dresses. They peered out at the dog, whose eyes looked desperately afraid.
“We’d better go if we’re going,” whispered Susan, heading back in the direction of the barn and the prairie beyond it. “While we still can.”
Henry scowled.
“I don’t know,” said Roy. “We saw him in my vision. Don’t you think that means we’re supposed to do something?”
“I think,” said Susan, “that I have to draw a line at guns and murderous criminals. I’m supposed to be watching you guys, remember? I know I’m not the most experienced babysitter in the world, but I’m pretty sure I’ll get in major trouble if anyone ends up—” She didn’t finish the sentence. “Come on!”
Her tone was firm, so Henry and Roy finally turned to shuffle quietly after her, heading in the direction of the barn. But for Emma, who turned and took one last long look, the dog’s sad eyes were like a magnet. She heard Susan’s words, and though she saw the others turning to leave, she couldn’t follow them. She was very afraid, but ran back into the street, trailing her good sense behind her.
Emma found herself completely alone in the street, facing down the gigantic man. Every single townsperson had found a porch to cower on or a wagon to hide behind, but not Emma. She stared deep into the villainous eyes before her. “Hey, you!” she shouted in her loudest voice. “Hey, you big, giant man—leave that dog alone, you—you—dirty SAXON!”
The man narrowed his eyes and peered at her with interest, as though he could not believe that such a little girl existed. He shook his head and looked again.
Emma ran even closer, right up to where he stood. She slipped past the giant man’s feet and draped herself over the dog, who tensed but didn’t move or bark.
Susan, Henry, and Roy turned and stared at Emma with their mouths hanging open. The townspeople standing on their porches froze, wondering whose unfortunate child this was. Wichita Grim, unused to being defied by anyone, much less small barefoot girls, peered down at her curiously.
He nudged her with his gun, a twisted smile at the corner of his mouth. “Aw, how sweet. Her likes the puppy.” To Emma he said, “What’d you call me, little mutt-lover?”
Without raising her head to look at him, Emma said in a surprisingly firm voice, “Saxon! I called you a Saxon, and that’s what you are, but I won’t let you hurt this dog anymore. Untie her!”
“A Saxon?” Wichita rolled the word on his tongue, tasting it. “What’s that?”
“A bad man,” said Emma into the dog’s matted fur. “A killing kind of man.”
Wichita tossed his broken bottle aside and raised his gun. “Heh! I guess I can be a Saxon. I’ve been worse. I’ve been called Brute and Brawny and Murderer and Lout. In Wisconsin, they knew me as the Stench, and one summer in Old Mexico, I was El Diablo. Guess it won’t hurt to switch it out again, keep the people guessing. Sure, call me the Saxon.”
He called out to the people in the town cowering behind their doors and wagons. “You hear that, town-folk? Good people of Quiet Falls? I’m the Saxon now, and anyone who forgits it has me to reckon with. Me, the SAXON!” Then he nudged Emma roughly with his foot. “Okay. Fun’s over. Get up, girl!”
Emma didn’t move.
Wichita roared, “Get UP!”
Emma squeezed the dog tighter.
The dog trembled in response and made a tiny whine that only Emma could hear.
“How dares the child? This child!” roared Wichita. “Who claims this child?”
Nobody said a word, but doors began to crack open. People were watching. From where she stood beside the house, Susan reached out a hand in Emma’s direction.
“You cowards!” shouted Wichita Grim into the street. To Emma he said, “People think they’re better than me. These settlers all think they’re the good ’uns. Go to church on Sunday, wear clean, pretty clothes, farm their fields, but when a child, a child is in danger, nobody speaks.”
He shook a fist at the crowd and said, “Yer all criminals too. Everyone is a criminal. It’s a bad, bad world we live in and I’m just part of it.” Wichita seemed to like this idea. “Criminal world! Right, kitty?” he called out to the orange tabby sitting on the windowsill.
The cat turned away. She apparently had no opinion on the matter.
Susan, Henry, and Roy were at a loss. What could they do as long as Wichita held that gun? How could they possibly rescue Emma in the face of that gun? Every second felt like a year. Susan thought that probably she should run up and throw herself onto Emma the way Emma had thrown herself onto the dog. She wanted to but couldn’t seem to unstick her bare feet from where they were rooted beside the house.
The giant man bent over and tousled Emma’s hair roughly. “Brave, stupid little girl. She’s just a dog. A mangy cur. Let go of ’er and I’ll spare you.”
Emma shook her head and clutched the dog more tightly.
“You’re such a brave one, a temper, a glorious fool. The world needs more fools. Maybe I’ll just take you home with me, let you cook my beans?” He waited for her to answer, but Emma just buried her face in the dog’s fur.
When she didn’t a
nswer him, Wichita reached down and grabbed her curls in his meaty fist. He pulled, and she cried out.
As soon as Susan heard Emma’s cry, her feet came unglued, and she tore into the street to the very spot where Wichita stood.
“YOU!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “You are a coward. She’s six! SIX! Pick on someone your own size!” Wichita was so astonished, so thrown (and also perhaps so drunk), that he stumbled backward. In doing so, he not only let go of Emma but also let go of his gun. The gun fell and a noise exploded into the air near Susan’s head.
This was just enough to finally wake the frightened townspeople of Quiet Falls. With Wichita momentarily disarmed, they ran from their homes, their porches, and the safety of their wagons. They filled the street around Susan, creating a muddle, a throng, and just enough distraction as Wichita roared and kicked his giant boots at the dog and the legs of the people for Susan to pull Emma to her feet, pick her up, and run, run, run. Hauling Emma, she dashed back to Roy and Henry, darting through the street to where they stood, still frozen beside the house.
“Run!” she shouted as she bolted past them. “Go!”
At last they turned and dashed back to the barn, tearing after Susan and Emma, who was really too big to carry and was squirming in Susan’s arms.
They couldn’t think about the dog anymore. Things had gotten out of hand, and they all raced past the house and clothesline and barn, and into the yard, through the barn door, and straight to their wall. There was no time to worry or breathe or return the clothes or collect their shoes.
“Wall,” shouted Susan as they ducked inside, “please take us home. Home!”
It did.
In the cornfield, the kids collapsed onto the ground, panting and tangled in their long skirts. Emma finally let herself cry. She was limp and sobbing with heartache but she was also furious at Susan. “The dog!” she sobbed. “The dog. I was going to save her. How could you?”
“Gosh,” Henry couldn’t help saying. “Gosh, that was crazy!”
“How could you all just leave her?” cried Emma. “We aren’t going to just leave her there, are we?”
Susan sat up and reached out an arm. “Em, we can’t—just can’t. She’s only a dog. There were guns. Real guns.”
Watching all of this, Roy had a sudden thought. With the others distracted, he quietly skootched over to the wall, reached out his fingers, and whispered a few careful words.
Immediately, he was back in the heart of the brawl! Only now he was on a mission.
None of the townspeople noticed him, what with all the guns firing, the hapless sheriff arriving, the yelling and the shoving, and the fainting of one large woman in a too-tight corset. None of them noticed as he blinked into view at the very front of the saloon, right next to the dog.
Roy moved quickly. In his long skirt, he knelt down, one hand still on the wall of the saloon, and stroked the dog’s ear, which felt like velvet. The dog looked at him and made a tiny sound, a little moan. Roy put a finger to his lips as he pulled his pocketknife from his pocket and sawed through the thick rope.
Then he tugged on the dog’s tail until a few long hairs touched the wall. The dog whined softly.
“It’s okay,” said Roy calmly. “We’ll be home soon.” To the wall he said, “Home. Home, NOW!”
And then he was back!
It had been unbelievably easy! The dog was with him and safe. He could hardly believe that it had worked, but it had, even without any planning. He grinned.
The others were all staring when Roy and the dog blinked into view. They barely had time to notice he was gone.
“Roy!” said Emma, running over. “Oh, Roy, thank you, thank you!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he shifted uncomfortably at the embrace but didn’t stop smiling. Then Emma knelt down to pat the big bewildered dog.
“Jeez,” said Henry. “I feel like a wimp. I’m the only one who wasn’t a hero today. Good job, Roy!”
“No kidding,” said Susan. “That was amazing.”
“Thanks,” said Roy. “It was actually pretty easy.”
“I don’t suppose you had time to get our shoes?” asked Susan.
Roy shook his head. “No, I didn’t think of it. You want me to go back and—”
“No way,” said Susan, laughing. “I’m sorry I brought it up. Nobody is going back into the gunfire.”
“Wow, yeah, gunfire!” said Henry, shaking his head in disbelief. “That was crazy, huh?”
Roy grinned. “Yeah, it was, wasn’t it? So, Henry, now what do you think of American history?”
“I stand corrected,” said Henry. “I was wrong.” He elbowed Roy.
“Had to happen someday,” said Roy, and they both laughed.
NOW THAT THEY WERE ALL SAFE, they turned their attention to the dog, who was making a small but terrible sound. The dog seemed to be saying “Stay away! Help me? Stay away! Help me? Please?” Her eyes were scared. Her tail trembled. Then she looked straight at Emma and seemed to settle.
“Oh!” said Emma again. “She’s big.”
“Big and hurting,” said Susan. “She must be, to make that noise. She looks really scared.”
The dog licked one of Emma’s fingers and tried to smile. She nudged a nose at Emma’s knee.
“Her name is Bernice,” said Emma, “and she’s my dog. I know Roy rescued her, but she feels like mine.” She looked to Roy, and when he offered no argument, she continued, “And now we have to fix her.”
As though in agreement with Emma, Bernice let out the smallest whimper you ever heard. It was a mouse of a sound.
“Such a tiny cry for such a giant dog,” said Susan. “I wonder what the matter is.” She reached over to inspect Bernice more closely, and the dog seemed pleased with the attention. But when Susan stroked one of the dog’s hind legs, she accidentally pushed aside a clump of matted fur, and Bernice gave a sharp yelp. Susan flinched and pulled back her hand, but Bernice didn’t nip or growl, so Susan gently pushed aside the clump of fur again.
When she did, she sucked in her breath. The leg was a mess. There was a long, jagged rip six inches long down the side of the dog’s leg, clumsily mended with what looked like old string. Susan could smell the sweet ick of infection. It made her think of dirty Kleenexes.
Emma cried when she saw it, “I wonder what happened to her—”
“Wichita Grim is what happened to her,” said Susan, standing up and starting to wheel her bike over to lean against the wall. “But don’t worry, because now we have happened to her too. Come on, everyone, line up and grab your bikes. I have an idea for how to get home. I don’t know why we haven’t thought of this before.”
They all wheeled their bikes over and reached out to touch the wall, and then Susan wished them back home to Henry and Emma’s house, because it was less likely that their parents would be there—or show up unannounced—in the middle of the afternoon. And so it was that they all found themselves on the floor of Emma’s bedroom wearing calico dresses and sun-bonnets, with four bicycles and one gigantic dog.
After they’d taken off their pioneer finery and hidden it in Emma’s dress-up trunk, Henry ran to the kitchen for a bowl of sudsy water, a pound of lunch meat, and a bag of gingersnaps (kids need sustenance too). Emma raided the bathroom for towels and Susan dashed next door to get shoes for herself and Roy and to ransack their mother’s medicine cabinet (she was a doctor, and still is). Roy just sat and stroked Bernice’s ears until the others got back, marveling a little at his impulsive rescue.
When they were all back, Bernice made short work of the lunch meat (it was roast beef) and drank about half the sudsy water (it was delicious). She seemed to be feeling better, and while none of the kids was especially looking forward to it, the time had come to inspect her leg more closely.
Susan organized her armload of gauze pads, tubes, and bottles and took charge. “Emma, your job is to pet Bernice’s head and keep her distracted, but if she starts to growl, I want you to sit back, ok
ay?”
Emma nodded, her eyes wide and wondering.
“Henry, I want you to hold her leg really still. Is that cool?”
Henry was impressed that Susan seemed to know what she was doing. He nodded his head obediently.
“Roy, you need to hold her body absolutely still, in case she wiggles. Got that?”
Roy agreed, and Susan set to work.
First she cut back the clump of matted hair so that they could see a big bald patch of white skin where the stitched and festering wound stood out like a bumpy red (and a bit yellow) mountain on a relief map. There were gobs of dried gunk all over the cut and lots of dirt sprinkled into everything, which made it hard to tell where the skin stopped and the hurt began. Susan took a towel and dripped sudsy water over the cut. With the edge of the towel, she wiped gently until the dirt and gunk began to wash away.
Bernice’s leg shook, but Henry held it firmly while Emma sang softly to comfort her. “You are my sunshine….”
Bernice seemed to like the song a lot.
When most of the nastiness was gone, Susan wiped the leg clean, and the rest of the yellowish gunk came off. Although the puffy wound still looked bad, with its tangle of old string, it looked much less bad. At least you could tell it was skin. Bernice wiggled, but only the littlest bit.
Susan took a deep breath and pushed some hair out of her face. The others stared at her in admiration. “I think it’ll help just to get it clean and keep the fur out of it,” she said. “That way, it can scab over in a healthy way. The big question is whether we should cut out the stitches and tie it up tight with a bandage, but honestly, I’m scared to try. I’m not sure I know how to do that, and the string is pretty tangled. I don’t want to pull the knots and hurt her.”
Bernice looked over at Susan as if to say “Better leave it, don’t you think?”
Susan poured some peroxide onto the hurt leg. It foamed and foamed, and Bernice whimpered, but Susan kept pouring and the wound kept foaming. When the peroxide ran clear, Susan gently dried Bernice’s leg. She slathered the wound with ointment and wrapped the leg tightly with an Ace bandage. Finally she stood up and went into the bathroom alone. There was the sound of running water and Susan retching.
Any Which Wall Page 10