Crows and Cards (Houghton Mifflin Stereotype Editions)

by Joseph Helgerson

  That elixir of his sold for a dollar and ten cents a bottle, with refills promised at half price. What with all the dangers roaming this world, it sounded pure bargain.

  "What about boils?" a doubter called out.

  "Wallops 'em without mercy!" answered Dr. Buffalo Hilly.

  "Pinworms?"

  "Mortifies 'em with a slug."

  "What if you're healthy?"

  "Makes you healthier."

  By then I'd crept close enough to add my own question. "How about cheaters? What would it do for them?"

  "Son," Dr. Buffalo Hilly said, sweeping off his plumed hat and covering his heart with it, "I'm sorry to report it can cure most everything but dishonesty. Why, it's even been known to work on Mormons."

  That earned a round of catcalls, seeing how unpopular Mormons had lately become in the state of Missouri, but even if that elixir could have cured the pope of being Catholic, as my pa was known to say of something first-rate, I didn't have a dollar ten to spare. All I had me was a nickel left over from buying Chilly's telegraph wire, and Dr. Buffalo Hilly didn't look the breed to hand out discounts, no matter how desperate the need, not with bottles fairly flying out of his mitts at full price. So I hung around, mostly fretting about poxes and fevers and every once in a while remembering to check up above for crows.

  ***

  After Buffalo Hilly and his assistants had wrung out every sale they could manage from the crowd, the doctor spread his arms wide and started yapping again. "Some of you've got ailments and infirmities that can't be cured by anything that comes in a bottle. I know that and so do you. A bottle can only hold so much. But don't think I've forsaken you, 'cause now comes the time to introduce you to the most amazing oracle this side of ancient Thebes. I'm talking 'bout a man who can look so deep into your very soul, it'll make your heart flutter. He can separate the wheat from the chaff and advise you with the mystical, otherworldly seeing powers of his people. I've seen him listening to owls and conversing with catfish. I'm talking about none other than the noblest of savages, Chief Standing Tenbears, who's visiting your fair city for a short spell only."

  Right then that Indian princess, the one with the swimmingest eyes, came leading Chief Standing Tenbears around the medicine wagon. Good thing she hadn't picked me out of the crowd yet, 'cause I was blushing like a spring rose just to see her. Don't ask me why. What with all my sisters, girls weren't anything new, but this one sure was different. Maybe it was the way she carried herself so proud-like, without looking to either side. Or it could have been the way her hair was black and shiny as the river at night. And then there was

  them eyes of hers, which didn't seem to have no beginning nor end.

  The chief rode with his arms crossed over his chest. His war bonnet was still dragging its bottom feathers in the dust, and this time I was close enough to notice a few other details of his outfit. His leggings had fancy bead and quill work up and down the sides. His moccasins had more of the same on the top. A staghorn knife was tucked under a red sash wound around his waist, and a fur bag, bulging with tobacco, was riding on his hip. He dressed up real handsome, but all the regalia paled before the power of his eyes, which were whiter than cream and quivered as though searching everywhere and nowhere at once.

  The sights he'd seen with those eyes had turned the rest of his face to stone. There wasn't any more expression to his mug than to a clock, and the similarities to a tick-tocker didn't stop there either. Something about looking at the chief's blank face set you to thinking of vast stretches of time. As many years as was packed in the Bible seemed buried beneath his cheeks. Nobody standing in that crowd doubted that old chief had himself some powers, especially when a crow swooped down out of nowhere and landed right on his shoulder! Everybody gasped and ducked, but the chief stayed still as a tree limb.

  That crow looked us over pretty good and croaked some too. Everybody had the idea it was talking to them. I know that's what it felt like to me, and I could see others stepping out of sight behind the handiest tall person. I began to understand why a gambler as pernickety as Chilly might object to having such a pert bird around. There wasn't any telling what such a creature might do.

  'Course, all the while everybody was eyeballing the crow, Dr. Buffalo Hilly never shut up. Not once. If that man hadn't been born talking, he must have taken to it soon thereafter. He carried on about the powerful medicine the chief had inherited from his tribe and how he was willing to part with some of it at the bargain-counter price of two dollars a consultation. (Naturally the doctor took a lot more words to say it than that.) He went at it so long that the crow decided he had business elsewhere and took his leave.

  "In case you're thinking two dollars is a steep price to fork over, let me tell you about the missing child who got returned to the bosom of her family thanks to the chief's visions," Buffalo Hilly said. "Happened just last week, off west a ways."

  And he was off and running, talking up what a precious young thing that missing child was, taking after her loving mother in every possible way. I caught every word of it as I watched the crow flapping across the river.

  "One morning, shortly after chores," Buffalo Hilly was saying, "that sweet young thing went missing. She wouldn't come for calling or nothing. Days went by and her folks had about given up hope when they heard of the chief's powers and come to see him. To make a long story short, which all of you know how much I hate doing, the chief sent them poking around a mossy old cabin deep in the woods. And there the child was, being tended by an old granny who'd lost her senses and mistaken the child for her own."

  Don't think that news didn't turn some heads.

  And according to Buffalo Hilly that was just the beginning of the chief's powers. Broken hearts, misplaced heirlooms, lost relatives, next season's weather, general all-purpose sage advice, horns of a dilemma, buried treasure, unexplained griefs—the chief was willing to take a crack at all of them and more for as long as he was in St. Louis, which wasn't going to be forever, only until he'd wrapped up some personal business. How much time that would take, Buffalo Hilly couldn't say. A day or two, maybe longer if they were lucky, but nothing was guaranteed, not in this life. Pretty soon the chief would be pushing on, headed out West for his own people with a message from the king of France, which was where he'd just come from.

  "What I'm trying to tell you," Buffalo Hilly pledged, "is that this golden opportunity won't last forever. I don't think I can say it any plainer."

  People were getting ready to be convinced. You could see it in the way they was whispering to one another and tilting their heads this way and that for a better look-see of the chief. A glint of wonder swirled in their eyes, as if they wanted nothing more than to believe the chief could predict where to dig for gold. I caught some of their excitement and found myself leaning forward. But still the crowd hung back. Seeing that we needed one last little nudge, Dr. Buffalo Hilly took a gamble.

  "To show you what can be done," he called out, "we'll take a volunteer from the audience. Free of charge. Then you be the judge if the chief's powers don't confound and amaze."

  That brought one fellow to life, but when he stepped forward, everyone could see it was the same cross-eyed plant who'd earlier bought the first bottle of tonic. Having him pop up again set off enough jeers for Buffalo Hilly to wave the man away with a secret little shake of his head. There things stalled, as nobody else was brave enough to step forward. Otherworldly as the chief sounded, everybody shrank back the tiniest bit, which left me standing closest to the chief and princess 'cause I'd weaseled my way up front during all the fast talking. When I saw that nobody was going to do 'er, I seen my chance and grabbed it.

  "I got me a question," I said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DR. BUFFALO HILLY PRETENDED HE COULDN'T SEE who'd spoke up, though I was standing right before him. The Indian princess ignored me likewise. The two of them peered all up and down the crowd, skimming over the top of my head every time. Standing on tiptoe didn't buy
me anything. Same for clearing my throat. Little as that made me feel, I could barely manage to raise my hand above my ear to get their attention, but in the end they couldn't ignore me forever, not with everyone else shying away. When the doctor finally got a bead on me, he acted surprised. "You're not still fussing over cheating, are you, son? That kind of question might not be worth troubling the chief about."

  But right then the chief spit out something in Indian, and the princess, who'd been keeping him current on everything that was happening, now translated for us. "He's the one my father wants to talk to."

  "I stand corrected." Buffalo Hilly made a lordly bow that the crowd ate up. "What's on your mind, son?"

  "Can he tell me," I asked, feeling my way, "is it all right to cheat?"

  "First off," Buffalo Hilly protested, "you wanted to know if I could cure cheating, and now you're asking if it's all right to cheat?"

  "That's about the size of it, sir."

  "Figure if you can't lick 'em, join 'em?" he guessed, playing to the crowd.

  "Something like that."

  "Why, I'm ashamed of you, son. Any fool can tell you it ain't seemly to cheat. We don't need to be bothering the chief with nonsense so simple as that, do we?"

  "It don't stack up so simple to me."

  "I'm thinking we can all see that," the doctor agreed, earning a hearty chuckle from most everyone. "Maybe what you need is some of my tonic after all. It's been known to smarten men up quicker than universities."

  "Guess I ain't asking it right," I sort of mumbled.

  "Speak up," Buffalo Hilly urged. "So we can all hear and profit from your miseries."

  "Maybe I should ask the chief this," I rallied, feeling inspired. "Is it all right to cheat a rich cheater? Maybe that's what I'm driving at."

  "Now you're only fixing on cheating someone with money?" Buffalo Hilly shook his head kind of groggy-like, as if he was trying his darnedest to keep my questions straight.

  I told him that was the case.

  "It still don't seem like much to bother the chief with," Buffalo Hilly cautioned, joshing me along and drawing the crowd closer at the same time.

  "Seems like plenty to me," I said. "I've got some big decisions to be making. Decisions that could change my whole life."

  Soon as I said that, I saw it was true as an oak tree. I'd reached a kind of crossroads, and a rutted, muddy one at that. All this talk about cheating had got me wondering if maybe I didn't still have time to hunt up my Great-Uncle Seth. Even big as St. Louis was, there couldn't be that many tanning yards around its north side. If I was honest with him and handed over whatever money Chilly would refund me, maybe he'd still take me on. If he needed more convincing, I could grovel up a storm and promise to work an extra year's worth of apprenticing for free. That ought to show him I meant business.

  If being a tanner was the way I wanted to go...

  But wouldn't you know, I still wasn't won over to it. Even after seeing how small my telegraph office was and hearing about the cheating, I couldn't quite let go of the idea of being a gambler and living by my wits and being so dashing whilst I rained good deeds down on the needy and shipped gold bullion back home. I clung to the simple-minded hope that I could somehow or other become a riverboat gambler without drowning or becoming a rapscallion along the way.

  "Well-l-l..." Dr. Buffalo Hilly dragged the word out while casting one last glance over the crowd in hopes of bigger fish. "All right, let's see what you got. Guess there ain't no law saying the young can't have terrible afflictions too." Then, gruff-like, he added, "Stand in front of the chief, boy, where he can see you proper."

  "Thought he was blind," some joker called out.

  "To the natural world he is," Dr. Buffalo Hilly answered without missing a beat. "But the natural world ain't where he does his seeing."

  With that, the doctor lined me up before the chief's pony and none too gently either. Above and beyond the pony floated the chief's milky whites, and if that wasn't enough, off to the side the princess was watching me with them perfectly brown peepers of hers. With all those eyes peering into me, there wasn't anywhere to hide. I could feel emotions and stray thoughts and such swirling around inside me faster than I could name 'em.

  "Speak up," Dr. Buffalo Hilly said, giving me a rough nudge.

  "Is it okay to cheat a cheater?" I asked. "One who's rich."

  After the princess switched that into Indian for the chief, me and him faced each other for a couple of years' worth without a stir, reminding me of how long Pa used to say grace over Sunday victuals. It went on so long that latecomers kept asking what was happening. People up front whispered back that there didn't seem to be much of anything going on, while those in the middle were shhhing the others for all they were worth. Finally even Dr. Buffalo Hilly got impatient and raised his voice to say, "Wants to know if he can sleep nights after cheating a cheater."

  Once the princess had shared the doctor's words with her father, the chief answered something back that the princess translated. "This boy needs a lot of looking."

  Another couple of years hung fire, solemn as a courthouse.

  Finally the chief seemed content that he'd looked over everything there was to see inside me, and he lifted his eyes away and cocked his head a touch, as if listening to a voice from clear across the river. He even cupped a hand around an ear to help hear. But I couldn't catch nothing, even though Ma and Pa always claimed my ears were too keen for my own good.

  Satisfied at last, the chief lowered his hand and proceeded to rattle off a flood of Indian talk. The princess took it all in, asked a question or two, and got another long answer from the chief. When convinced she'd got all her father's meaning, she turned to me and said, "That's not your real question, is it?"

  "I sure thought it was," I answered, blinking fast.

  The princess relayed that to the chief, who snorted, then asked her something back. Leaning toward me so that no one else could hear, she whispered briefly. Her voice swished around and around in my ear, tickling like moonbeams. But slowly, one by one, her words drained into my head, and I realized she was quizzing me hopeful-like, saying, "Did Birdman send you?"

  "Sorry," I whispered back, and I was. "Don't know any Birdman."

  "So what did you come for?"

  "To, ah, find out about cheaters?" I answered lamely.

  That made her puff out her cheeks as if I was a lost cause. By then the crowd behind us was growing restless about our huddle, so the princess quieted them by raising her voice to ask, "You're far from your folks?"

  "I reckon so," I admitted, still racking my brains over this Birdman, though nothing come of it. With such a name as that, I figured him for an Indian, but I hadn't met up with any other Injuns, except on the Rose Melinda, and I hadn't talked to a one of them.

  "Missing them?" the princess asked, still talking about my folks.

  "Guess so," I said, my voice getting squeaky without my permission, especially with the chief gazing over the crowd and kind of upriver, in the general direction of my home. After a bit, he spoke some more.

  "Don't worry about your family," the princess translated, all serious. "They're fine. But they worry about one thing."

  "What's that?"

  "Are you getting enough to eat?"

  That sounded so much like Ma that I couldn't speak for a bit.

  "Especially hot, buttered biscuits," the princess added.

  I found me enough voice to answer like a week-old kitten. "That's my favorite."

  Those words came out so low and soft that most everyone in the crowd was buzzing, "What'd he say?"

  Regaining my footing, I said loud enough for all to hear, "I ain't losing any weight."

  "Good," the princess said. "The chief will tell your ma."

  And somehow or other I trusted he would find a way to do it too. He hadn't done anything but name what could have been said 'bout anyone freshly cut loose from home, but I gobbled it all up, especially when he stared upstream a bit more an
d again cupped a hand around his ear as if catching some far, distant message. I guess it's fair to say that I wanted what he said to be true.

  When he spoke again, the princess relayed, "He also wants to know if your mother will sell her picture of the two-humped horse."

  "Beg pardon?"

  "He'd like to buy it. To show his father."

  Huh? At least this answered what a blind man wanted with a picture, though it was a stretch to believe the chief's father was still among the living. Rather than ask about that, I said, "She don't have a picture of a two-humped horse, not so far as I know."

  "He's seen her looking at it," she insisted.

  "Okay," I answered, figuring it might be best to jolly them along. "If she's got one, I'd guess she might part with it."

  When the princess relayed that, the chief looked real pleased.

  "As for your father," the princess said, moving right along, "he thinks you're worth every dollar he gave you and's prouder of you than his mule."

  I almost asked if Pa had come down with a fever, 'cause that mule of his had won every pulling contest he'd ever been in. Pa had been offered good money for that critter and had people show up from clear over in Illinois just to take a look at him. But in the end, I couldn't get a word past my lips on account of a new suspicion that overtook me. Pa hadn't acted so bright and sunny when he'd had to sell off half his livestock on account of my apprenticeship. Why so cheery now? The only answer I could dredge was that he was happy to be rid of me. That'd explain his change of heart, all right. What spared me from hitting myself over the head about it? A new notion that reared up and bit me on the toe, right through my boot. How could the chief have known about Pa's prize mule? Or the money my folks had given me? They both could have been lucky guesses, I supposed, but what if he really did have visions? That was a possibility filling every head around me. A gent in back called out cautious-like, "Your pa got a mule?"