“It’s too much name, just call me Jesse,” the peerless Morlacchi told us with a flashing smile.
Of course I had heard of Texas Jack, who was one of Cody’s closest sidekicks, both from scouting days and acting days. The two were sometimes rivals and sometimes partners, but no one had told me about the peerless Morlacchi, who would soon become my best friend.
“Excuse my mud,” I said, and it was excused. In no time Jesse Morlacchi and I settled into the kitchen for several cups of tea. Every time Gretchen paraded her belly though the room Jesse smiled.
“Who’s the poppa?” she asked, when Gretchen left the room.
I shrugged—I had no idea who the poppa was—but I was delighted to have another experienced female to talk with me about such things.
Texas Jack, though he was vastly amused by his pretty wife, didn’t hang around long. I think he saw that he might interfere with our girl talk.
“I’ll just slide off down to the saloon,” he said.
“Just drink beer, no whiskey,” Jesse said, at which Texas Jack lifted a fond eyebrow.
“Why do females feel the need to boss grown men?” he wondered. “Bill Cody don’t stay around Lulu because she bosses him so. What if I stayed gone nine-tenths of the time, like Billy does?”
“Then you could stay gone ten-tenths of the time and I would get another husband,” Jesse told him. She did not appear to be joking.
“He told me Lulu tried to poison him—what do you think of that claim?” Jack asked.
“You know the man—wouldn’t you say he has a tendency to exaggerate?” I asked him.
Jesse Morlacchi would sometimes startle the company by flinging her limber leg up beside her head. She did it two or three times, while studying her husband soberly.
“Well, you wouldn’t ever try to poison me, would you, Jesse?” Texas Jack asked.
The question didn’t seem to interest Jesse Morlacchi—she didn’t answer. Texas Jack, looking a little disappointed, went on out the door.
“When he’s drunk I make him sleep on the floor,” Jesse said. Then she grinned at me in her appealing way.
“I met one of your lovers—he is here,” she said.
“One of my lovers?”
“Yes, Zenas,” she told me. “He came on the boat with us. If I were single he would soon be my lover.”
I suppose I blushed from head to toe because Jesse laughed.
“In a place like this what is there but the beds?” she said.
“Where is Zenas? I need to see him,” I exclaimed. Jesse pointed toward the room where she had been practicing. Zenas wasn’t there but I found him in a little study of sorts, down a hall. He was as snaggle-toothed and irresistible as ever—we kissed and kissed. Zenas had been scribbling on a tablet when I rushed in but he soon let the tablet fall off his lap.
“I was just writing up a piece about Texas Jack when you came in.”
“Texas Jack can wait—I can’t!” I told him warmly.
Jesse Morlacchi was right. In North Platte there were mainly the beds.
20
BUFFALO BILL CODY showed up three days later and immediately had a red-faced fit when he discovered that I was bunking with Zenas Clark.
The fit took me completely by surprise.
“You are my majordomo, don’t you realize that!” he said. Then he threw his big hat across the room.
“I’m your what?” I asked. “And even if I am, what’s it got to do with Zenas Clark?”
“Newspapermen are triflers,” he said. “Triflers!”
“Even if they are, that’s not as bad as being a murderer or a horse thief,” I responded. “And speaking of triflers, which of the local no-goods is responsible for Gretchen’s belly?”
Cody ignored the question. He was bound and determined to make me feel guilty for my attachment to Zenas Clark.
I was proud of the job I was doing for the Codys and had been foolish enough to expect praise for the good organization I had put in place—instead I got attacked because I had a cute little snaggle-toothed boyfriend.
Bill finally calmed down, but only because I burst into tears.
“Oh hush!” he said. “You know you are my favorite darling.”
“Favorite darling! I doubt it!” I said, my shoulders shaking.
“Yes you are … you are,” he repeated. “There’s no woman who can hold a candle to you, unless maybe it’s the peerless Morlacchi.”
Bill dropped that in at the last second, because Jesse Morlacchi was standing in the doorway looking at him coolly.
I guess Bill Cody could not stand the scrutiny of two smart women who were not inclined to overlook dubious behavior on his part.
“I see I am outnumbered and am about to get a licking,” he said, picking up his hat. Then he bent over and kissed me three or four times.
“What did I do that was so bad?” he asked, looking as innocent as a lamb.
“My husband better not come home drunk,” Jesse said.
“Good Lord!” Cody said. “Can’t two old pals even bend the elbow a little, for old-times’ sake?”
Neither of us answered. Bill never liked lengthy conversations, so he left.
“What do you think of him, Jesse?” I asked. “When I first met him I didn’t think I could resist him but I didn’t have to resist him. In fact, he resisted me.”
Jesse laughed her lilting laugh.
“Big Billy Cody loves all women—a little,” she said. “He makes time for flirtation, but he don’t make time for love.”
“Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
“Love’s just not his interest,” she told me. “He meets a pretty girl like you and he thinks he’s in love with you for a few minutes or a few hours, but then he gets the chance to chase some Indians or act in a melodrama and he’s gone.”
Jesse Morlacchi was only four years older than me, but she seemed a lot sturdier—or maybe I mean wiser. Maybe her wisdom came from Europe—I don’t know.
“Bill won’t really let himself be loved,” I said. “If you think about it it’s a little sad.”
Jesse vigorously disagreed with that statement.
“Not sad at all,” she insisted. “Bill is a generous man. When we started acting together we had no costumes—he outfitted us and has never let me pay him back. But don’t waste time feeling sorry for Billy. He always does exactly what he wants to do, and he always gets away with it.
“Once he gets his Wild West running he’s going to be a big star,” she added.
“I can act circles around him, but I’ll never be the star William Cody will be—and neither will my husband.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
Jesse shrugged.
“He’s America’s most glorious boy,” she said. “He’s the best rider I’ve ever seen—he just looks right on a horse and he’s handsome as a god. Rich people like him and rich people don’t usually like troupers—we’re too wild for them.”
Jesse went back to her practicing and I sat in the kitchen for a while, drinking tea.
21
WHEN ZENAS CLARK told Cody he intended to make him the main hero in a book he was writing about Western scouts, Bill eased up on him a little—he never objected to being made a hero, which is not to say that he eased up on me to any noticeable extent. What he wanted was for me to stay in love with him, even if he didn’t do much about it; and of course, he wanted me to go on being his efficient, well-organized majordomo.
Before he’d been in North Platte a week I was beginning to wish he’d hurry up and leave. It wasn’t because I didn’t like him, though. It was just he was more than I was up to dealing with on an hourly basis.
When I told him I thought he ought to sell all those half-wild cattle up on the Dismal River he looked startled.
“Why, did they look poorly?” he asked.
“I don’t think so but they’re so wild I mainly saw their rear ends. Why keep ’em?”
“Because then I can say I’m a ra
ncher,” he said, looking at me as if I couldn’t understand the simplest thing.
“Why do you need to say you’re a rancher?”
“Because the public will like it,” he explained. “Being a rancher’s just part of being Western—it goes with being a scout and a Pony Express rider and an Indian fighter. I’ll look good on a poster, surveying my vast herds.”
I suddenly saw the light. What Bill was really interested in was publicity—regarded in that light, everything he did made sense. He had no objection to whatever normal business I was able to do for him—real estate, or stocks and bonds, a part interest in a grain silo, or any improvement I could make in the royalties from the Buffalo Bill’s monthly and other dime novel contracts—but what he really had to have was publicity, and who could blame him? If he didn’t get lots of publicity Bill Cody might never realize his drama, which was to get the Wild West up and running. He had to sell himself, and he had to sell the West—otherwise there’d be no show.
“I understand now, I think,” I told him—we were in his little office, with files piled all around. “You’re a salesman—a pure salesman.”
“That’s me,” he admitted. His hat was off—his hair needed trimming—but then he needed long hair for the posters.
“And you’re the smart woman who’s going to keep me solvent until I can make it all work.”
“I can do it,” I said, “but deep down I’d rather we’d had a romance. I don’t think it would have been a small one.”
My confession didn’t surprise him—I think he may have been really flattered, and also a tiny bit sad.
“I don’t know—maybe I just wasn’t really intended for romance, Miss Nellie,” he said.
“I agree, but I can’t figure out why not,” I said.
In another part of the house Jesse Morlacchi was tinkling a piano and singing a sad Italian song.
“Seems like flirting’s about as far as I usually get,” Bill said.
The two of us were low for a moment, together. Then Bill stomped off to look at some horses he might buy, and I went back to work.
22
BILL CODY WASN’T the only man with a jealous nature—my lover, Zenas Clark, had a powerful jealous streak, as I found out one crisp morning when Zenas caught me chatting with young Warren Earp, who had ridden up from Dodge City to try his hand at riding Bill Cody’s big buffalo, Monarch.
In fact I liked Warren Earp, and was glad to see that he had enterprise enough to leave his surly brothers and strike out on his own.
I suspect Warren was a little sweet on me too, which, from my point of view never hurt—but in Zenas Clark’s mind Warren’s mere presence was tantamount to adultery.
Cody was on the other side of the corrals, watching several cowboys try to get a saddle on the big buffalo. Five cowboys had ropes on him, but so far Monarch was jerking them around at will. If Warren was discouraged by the formidable beast he had agreed to ride, he didn’t show it. He had greeted Cody respectfully and was being perfectly polite to me, when Zenas came running up from the big house, his shirt unbuttoned and his feelings in an uproar.
“What do you think you’re doing out here with these ruffians?” he asked rudely, grabbing my arm. “Get back in that office where you belong!”
I was shocked. Zenas had never spoken to me in that tone before. I suppose we had copulated so much that he must have come to feel that he owned me.
“Hey, you calm down!” I demanded. “You’ve met Mr. Warren Earp before, haven’t you? He’s going to try and ride Cody’s biggest buffalo, and I want to see it.”
“I’ll ride the buffalo, though I admit he is a big scamp,” Warren said confidently.
“I don’t care what Mr. Earp’s going to do with the buffalo,” Zenas said. His face was as red as a red flannel shirt. “You get back in the office and do your job.”
I tried to disarm Zenas by just looking puzzled and shy.
“This is my job, Zenas,” I informed him. “If Mr. Earp rides the buffalo for half a minute I’m to present him with a check and invite him to join the troupe. Besides that, it’s my job to work the stopwatch.”
I thought if I kept my tone mild Zenas would finally calm down.
In the pen the five cowboys, with Cody’s help, finally got a saddle cinched onto Monarch’s back. Warren Earp spat and tightened his belt buckle and was about to climb over the fence and go ride the buffalo when Zenas, his temper at a fever pitch by the realization that I wasn’t going to obey his order, made the mistake of slapping me.
The slap didn’t hurt me, but it was loud. Everybody turned to look, including Warren Earp. I was so embarrassed I froze, but Warren Earp didn’t freeze.
“Whoa, now, scribbler!” he said, and clipped Zenas on the jaw, knocking him flat.
Across the pen Cody had begun to look annoyed. He wanted Warren to come on while they had the buffalo more or less under control, which is exactly what Warren did. Knocking Zenas flat had been the end of the argument, so far as Warren Earp was concerned.
Zenas sat up, rubbing his jaw. He looked surprised. Though he had traveled all over the West, reporting on outlaws and killers, it had probably never occurred to him that someone might actually hit him.
“Someone needs to go arrest that fellow,” he said, allowing me to help him to his feet.
“What kind of fool are you, Zenas, that you’d slap me?” I asked. “I haven’t done anything wrong. Hiring talent for Bill Cody’s show is part of my job. Why would you think you had the right to slap me?”
“Because I saw you were keen on that Earp fellow,” he said, plaintively.
“That’s all?” I inquired.
About that time, with Warren settled into his seat, the cowboys turned Monarch loose. I at once punched the stopwatch I had been entrusted with.
Then I climbed up on the fence and watched the ride.
Warren Earp hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he could ride anything on four legs. He didn’t control Monarch—nobody could have managed that—but he rode him as easily as if he were rocking him back and forth in a rocking chair. Thirty seconds slowly ticked away, and Warren still rode the brute.
Across the corral Bill Cody began to look worried.
“Get off!” he yelled. “I wanted you to ride him, not tame him!”
Warren swung off and just kept his feet.
Monarch continued bucking until he shed the saddle.
I strolled over in my capacity as majordomo and handed Warren Earp his reward: one hundred dollars in cash. I believe the young man had been expecting ten at most—for him riding a buffalo was no exceptional feat.
But he took the hundred and expressed his gratitude to Cody. He even tipped his hat to me.
In the excitement of the ride I had completely forgotten Zenas Clark—when I looked around he was nowhere to be seen. Warren had left his horse hitched over by the saloon. I strolled along with him, enjoying the morning.
But the more I tried to be friendly, the shyer Warren Earp became.
“That scribbler of yours, he’s rude,” he told me. “I expect you can do better, if you’re willing to look around.”
“I may just look around,” I said—and I looked right at him, but he didn’t turn his head.
“Do you read books?” he asked.
“I sure do—I read quite a few books” I admitted.
“I have yet to read a book,” he admitted. “My brothers keep me working most of the time. They prefer free labor.”
“Is there any reason why you have to live with your brothers?” I asked. “I’m sure Mr. Cody would hire you at a fair salary if you’re interested. Mr. Cody’s not easily impressed, but he was impressed with you.”
“Wasn’t much—I’ve ridden plenty of broncs that can outbuck that buffalo,” he allowed.
“In fact I could hire you myself,” I let him know. “I’m the boss here when Mr. Cody’s gone.”
That startled him.
“A girl can hire people?”
&nbs
p; “I sure can,” I told him. “It may be that you’ve worked for your brothers long enough.”
This thought clearly took some pondering.
“I guess I should think on that,” Warren said. “If I do decide to quit my brothers, what’s the next step?”
“My office is in that big house,” I said. “Just show up—I’ll find a place for you.”
Warren Earp smiled a nice smile.
“I’ve never met a girl with an office before,” he said.
“It’s just a room with a desk,” I told him. “I’m not a princess. I just have a job.”
“What would I do, if I came?”
“Be our wrangler. Bill Cody is always buying horses—some for his show, some for his ranch. He needs a professional wrangler to see that the right horses get to the right place at the right time.”
Warren studied me for a bit.
“You’re not mad because I punched your beau, are you?” he asked.
“No, he had it coming. I would have punched him myself if you hadn’t.”
Warren considered the matters.
“I never expected to win no hundred dollars, just for riding a buffalo,” he said. “I’ve sure got a lot to think about,” he said. Then he mounted up and rode away.
“I guess you kissed him!” Zenas declared, when I stepped back in the house.
“No, Zenas—I didn’t kiss him,” I said.
Zenas went on glaring at me for a while.
23
THE NEXT MORNING Jack Omhundro and Jesse Morlacchi had a loud fight. The rest of us were at breakfast when the fight began. It was such a loud fight that those of us at breakfast stopped to listen. Jesse was yelling in Italian and Jack was cussing mostly in the cowboy tongue. Try though we might, we couldn’t figure out what the fight was about, but that didn’t mean we didn’t enjoy listening. The Finnish girls tiptoed about. Cody looked mildly amused.
“It’s lucky Lulu ain’t here, or we’d be at it too,” he remarked.
Then, suddenly, silence fell, and we all went back to our breakfasts. Half an hour later, while Cody was telling us some yarn involving an old Indian named Rain in the Face, Jesse and Jack came down, looking rosy and cooing like two lovebirds. They promptly consumed a breakfast that would have foundered a hippopotamus.
Telegraph Days: A Novel Page 20