Crows and Cards (Houghton Mifflin Stereotype Editions)

by Joseph Helgerson

  By then the two other games had broken up and the players stampeded over to catch the show. The Professor even came out from behind the bar, followed by Venus and Aphrodite. In nothing flat everyone was crowded around Chilly's table, all winking and elbowing one another, probably figuring the chief didn't stand no more chance than a grasshopper in a snowstorm. Not with Chilly Larpenteur. What they couldn't figure out, and what they all had a hankering to find out, was what was inside the pelt that the chief had set on the table. On that point, I guessed I was one step ahead of things, but that didn't make me want to see it any less.

  "I told you I'd take something in trade," Chilly said, nodding at the beaver fur, "but if you're after your medicine bundle, I best warn you I ain't taking no trinkets."

  "Du ska," the princess told the chief.

  She must have said it was time to open the bundle, 'cause the chief laid his wrinkled old hands on it. His fingers were knobby and bent, and it took him upward of a year and a day to unwrap the thing. Nobody blinked the whole time. When he got the job done, a puff no stronger than a baby's breath could have knocked over every man and chicken in the place.

  Lying atop the glossy fur pelt was a solid gold crown. Looking at it pretty near started angels to singing in my head—that's what a something it was. It had spikes like a castle's turrets, and right smack dab in the middle of the tallest spike was a red stone the size of a sparrow egg. I figured that for a ruby. The way it gleamed in the lantern light didn't hardly seem possible. There weren't any diamonds or emeralds stuck in the crown, but there didn't hardly need to be, not the way that ruby set off all the gold around it. The whole thing blazed away bright as a Christmas tree lit by a hundred or more candles. You could tell right off it had been custom-made to sit on some grand nabob's head.

  The chief pushed it to the center of the table. For a blind man, he had a pretty good idea of what people wanted to see. I know my eye was pressed up tight against the peephole.

  Chilly sat there gaping, looking dumb as a salamander about fire. You kind of got the idea that he was picturing himself wearing that crown and having people all the time bowing and scraping before him. I'd never seen a grown man look so dreamy. With all my heart I wanted to be long gone before he came back to earth. There wasn't any telling what he might do if he didn't get his hands on that crown.

  "That real?" Goose Nedeau asked, breaking the spell.

  "If it ain't," Chilly blustered, rushing to the crown's defense, "I don't know what is. Chief, I'd say you got yourself a hand of cards."

  Chilly tore himself away long enough to dash upstairs to collect the chief's sacred medicine bundle. Soon as he took off, I found my right hand grabbing the pouch holding that crow's leg. Somehow it made me a smooch more confident to feel it in my palm, though when I held it up to my ear, it was quiet as midnight. Maybe it was still taking in the crown too.

  The old deerskin bundle that Chilly brought down was the one I'd spied stashed atop the wardrobe many a time but had never been brave enough to peek inside. Naturally, it couldn't hardly compete with a beaver pelt for pretty, and though the two bundles were about the same size, whatever was inside the deerskin was twice as lumpy, with bulges all over the place.

  The princess accepted it from Chilly as if handling something alive and passed it on to her father, who ran his fingers over the bundle as if knowing its every bump by heart. He talked to it some too, and, using both hands, lifted it up, sniffing deep as my ma did when burying her nose in my hair after bath night. It didn't look as though he'd ever get his fill of the smells inside that hide, and all the while he sniffed, his shoulders went up and up, got straighter and straighter, till he sat there tall as the young man he'd once been. I guess it's safe to say that as far as the chief was concerned, that sacred bundle was worth a whole wagonload of gold crowns from Europe. Seeing him shed years like that—it gave me the grit to go on.

  When his nose finally had its fill, the chief set the bundle down gentle and spoke to the princess, sounding satisfied but impatient all in one breath.

  "My father asks," the princess relayed, "what's taking so long."

  "Professor," Chilly called out, his eyes still on the crown, "bring us a fresh deck."

  The Professor brought over an unopened box and set it before Chilly, who cracked the seal and pounced on them cards, shuffling and twirling them for all he was worth. He couldn't help showing off his skills, even if he was dealing to a blind man. Watching him carry on so shameless brought to mind how little I'd seen when I'd first met up with him.

  The chief, he sat there patient as moss. I didn't have any way of knowing for sure, but I liked to think there was a faint little something of a smile tickling his lips as he thought of me curled up behind him. He wasn't the only one trapped in amber either. Every gambler gathered round that table seemed struck dumb by the sight of the crown, especially Chilly, who seemed to drink deepest of the sight before us. Maybe that's why he got his fill first. Rousing himself, he looked around and didn't take kindly to having all those grubby eyes gawking at his crown. He broke the trance by wisecracking, "Boys, I learned everything I know from my ma."

  "She must have been quite a lady," remarked Goose, who was so desperate to get a view of what had made everyone quiet that he'd fumbled out his specs.

  "Oh, she was," Chilly said, making the cards fairly hum. "The only reason she married my pa was 'cause he had enough sense to let her do all the voting."

  The banter earned a mean laugh or two, though not from me. I had a chore to do. Quiet as stardust and with my heart whirring as if it had wings, I tucked the pouch in a vest pocket below the one holding Chilly's watch and slid off my shelf to the floor. Running my fingers across the floorboards, I lifted out the ones that Ho-John had loosened up and leaned 'em against the wall. I wasn't real fond of opening up a hole in the floor again, 'cause there wasn't any telling what might slither up through it, but I didn't see any way around it either. When the time came for skedaddling, I didn't want to be fumbling with boards. I'd have lifted 'em out earlier except that till now I couldn't be sure that Chilly might not decide to pay me another visit to rattle me by the neck some more. But once the chief had pulled in, I knew Chilly wouldn't risk coming anywhere near me, not even if he discovered his pocket watch was missing. That's how I had told the chief to play her too. Let Chilly shuffle those cards to his heart's content, I'd said. It'd give me a chance to set things up on my side of the wall.

  With the boards removed, I climbed back onto my shelf as careful and quick as could be. Only trouble was, I put more muscle into the quick than the careful and brushed against some crockery. One that was full of pickles crashed to the floor.

  The voices out in the parlor hung up as if expecting a large timber to fall atop them. Chilly covered up by declaring, "Goose, you've got the clumsiest rats I've ever heard."

  Tense as everyone was wound, that little joke set them to slapping their knees and roaring with laughter, which gave me a chance to settle onto my shelf, this time paying more attention to the careful than the quick.

  The way Chilly went right on talking could have charmed swifts out of the clouds, so it wasn't long before the crowd forgot they'd heard anything smash at all. Back at the peephole, I could see that Chilly had the cards marching around fancier than a Fourth of July parade. All the while he shuffled, he talked, and all the while he talked, his eyes stayed glued to the chief's crown.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  AFTER CHILLY HAD HEATED THE CARDS UP to his liking, he slapped the deck on the table to be cut, but the chief shook him off with a wag of his head. The way he stuck up for himself cheered me no end, though my smile went flat fast as the princess spoke out, saying, "My father doesn't want new cards."

  My head snapped back and my tongue went all thick, 'cause this didn't fit any plan I'd laid out. Go for a new deck, I'd advised. Less likely to be marked, I'd said, though around Chilly there weren't no guarantees about such things. But the chief didn't play it that way
at all, which blew to smithereens any chance I had of helping him. An old deck threw all the advantage to Chilly, 'cause he wouldn't even need me to work the telegraph but could read the back of the marked cards himself. The chief's request paralyzed everyone else in the place too, with nary an eye stuck anywhere but on Chilly.

  "Why's that?" Chilly's smile had frosted up on him. "Don't he trust me?"

  Or me? echoed inside my head.

  Chilly's question was full of gunpowder, but the princess answered real level, "Of course he doesn't trust you, but this has nothing to do with that. My father had a vision that said the cards shouldn't be new. They feel too stiff."

  Grabbing up the new deck, Chilly flung it over his shoulder hard enough to break glass. Next he leaned forward to take a good squint into the chief's eyes. It appeared to be hard work, staring down a blind man, though Chilly kept at it till satisfied that he'd done it up good and proper. Sitting back down, he turned huffy.

  "Who am I to go against a man's vision," Chilly reasoned, amused-like. "Professor, bring us some used cards. I like a deck that's been limbered up some myself."

  So the Professor ducked over behind the bar and brought out the satchel stuffed with the decks that Chilly and Goose spent their afternoons marking, and all I could do was stay curled up in the dark, praying for the best. What's more, the chief surprised everyone by grabbing the top deck in the bag and tossing it toward Chilly. He never even lifted it to his nose for a sniff.

  "You're acting like a man who's had himself some vision," Chilly said, opening up the deck. "Would you like a shot of whiskey to help it along?"

  "No whiskey." The princess didn't bother to ask her father about how to answer. "That's how you got the medicine bundle the first time. And no shuffling," she added. "Just deal 'em."

  She spoke up extra loud on that last bit, as if talking to someone outside the room, which she was—me. The time had come to let loose some caws.

  A twitchy silence grabbed hold of the parlor as Chilly let the cards fly, so there wasn't going to be any trouble over my being heard, provided I could find the strength to do what needed doing. What took care of that was dragging out the chief's leather pouch once again. The instant I touched it, a jolt shot up my arm to the back of my mouth, knocking loose a "caw-caw-caw" as high and crisp as any of the chief's.

  Chilly stiffened up as if snakebit, not knowing whether the crow had come calling for him or the chief. The feverish red covering his cheeks flashed white, and he crimped the corner of the cards without even knowing it. Low and ghostly, he pleaded, "Not now. Not here."

  Eyebrows went arching all over the place, but nobody but me, the chief, the princess, and maybe Goose, who was turning ten shades of pale himself, had any idea of what had grabbed hold of Chilly. But we knew he was afraid his luck had been shot through the heart. Growling low, he reached for his lucky pocket watch, to ward off whatever the crow was up to. And that's when everything he'd ever done wrong his whole life long caught up to him, 'cause of course all he found was an empty pocket.

  When he realized his watch wasn't where he expected, his fingers brushed over his back pockets, side pockets, and hidden pockets. The quicker his hands dodged around, the farther I shrank from my peephole, until finally he lurched back from the table as if scalding water had been dumped on his lap. By then he was searching all over himself, kicking his chair away from the table to check the floor and bellowing for all he was worth, "Goose! A man can't gamble proper with all this noise. Do something!"

  Right away Goose passed the buck by shouting, "Ho-John! You know we don't tolerate crows around here. Do your job and get rid of that blame thing!"

  Men and chickens were bumping and stumbling backwards from the table fast as they could, not knowing what to make of Chilly's contortions. The only ones to hold their ground were the chief, who pulled the crown closer, and the princess, who kept a firm grip on her father's shoulder.

  "Ho-John!" Goose screamed.

  There wasn't any answer from Ho-John, except for the clanking of his chains as he left the kitchen to scare off the crow. The back door creaked open and woke the dogs, who commenced to yipping and baying the instant Ho-John laid into a skillet with a wooden spoon. After a minute or so of deafening bangs on that pan, Ho-John took a rest. Not the dogs.

  "I can't concentrate with such a ruckus," Chilly declared loudly, still patting down his coat and pants pockets.

  "Ho-John!" Goose shouted above the din.

  A half minute later the dogs fell quiet without a yelp. Plenty of men believe a good swift kick is the best way to learn a hound some manners, but Ho-John put his faith in lullabies. As soon as the dogs hushed, you could hear him singing low and scratchy.

  "Finally," Chilly muttered. To get ahold of himself, he crossed his chest three times and drained his whiskey. That settled him some, after a shudder. Sitting back down, he scanned the faces of the men hanging back from the table. They were as pasty faced and round eyed a bunch of rabbits as could be imagined. One loud clap could have sent 'em all scampering back to their burrows.

  Well, Chilly may have been in a tight fix, but he was still Chilly Larpenteur, which meant he knew how to bluff when he had to. Scowling, he said to the room at large, "Ain't we putting on a show tonight?" Then he laughed and added with a wave of his hand, "Come on back, boys. I think a wasp or something crawled down my shirt, but I'm all right now. Raring to go. Hold on to your war bonnet, Chief, 'cause here they come."

  After all that, Chilly didn't bother arguing about shuffling, nor did he even try to sneak something into the deck. He just launched into flinging cards as if someone had stomped on his toe. But he slowed down right fast. You see, the chief wasn't picking anything up, nor even letting the princess handle 'em. Laying his hands atop the pile, he hid what Chilly had dealt out from everyone including me. It appeared that the chief wasn't satisfied with any part of my plan and had ideas of his own about getting back his sacred bundle. I nearly wore my neck out, fast as I was shaking my head no, but there wasn't much I could do to stop him, other than caw again, and all of a sudden I felt too weak to manage it. About all I had the strength for was leaning closer to the peephole to see what came next.

  "They won't bite," Chilly teased, 'cause he wanted the chief looking over those cards worse than anyone. Without that, the telegraph was a bust and he was high and dry, couldn't even read their markings, not with the chief's hands covering them.

  "My father likes them where they are," the princess declared.

  Hearing that made me feel as though I'd swallowed a tack.

  "Ain't he planning on even giving them a sniff?" Chilly asked.

  "No."

  "I guess a man's entitled to lose any way he wants to," Chilly grunted, his good humor going threadbare fast.

  Without another word, Chilly scooped up his cards and got busy admiring them. Any other day he would have held his hand tight to his chest and sighted 'em up by squinting down his nose. But not now. Today he fanned his cards so that the gents behind him could study his hand as if they were playing it. I'm bound to think that Chilly sort of invited their attention to create a little diversion, 'cause while everyone was craning to see what he held in his left hand, his right hand was busy dipping down his boot and up his sleeves for hold-out cards that he slipped on top of the deck, smooth as silk.

  "Cards?" Chilly sounded pleasant as Sunday dinner.

  "We'll play these," the princess stated.

  "You can have some new ones if you want 'em," Chilly offered, all generous. "I wouldn't want these gents to think I was taking advantage of you."

  "My father's happy with these."

  Chilly raised his eyebrows some at that, straining to act amused, but it was a fainthearted job. You could tell he was more than half sunk by my caws and his missing watch. Any satisfaction I'd taken from his predicament was dwindling fast—not that I felt sorry for helping to put him in such a tight spot, but just that it didn't seem smart to gloat on it. We weren't out of the wo
ods yet.

  "Pleased you like 'em," Chilly huffed. "I'm not quite so fond of mine. But I think three new ones ought to do me fine."

  Discarding three, he dealt himself the cards he'd sneaked atop the deck.

  I opened my mouth to try cawing again, but nothing came out, not even when I squeezed the chief's pouch. What made me so mute? Maybe the way Chilly flashed a look at my peephole that could have sizzled bacon. Desperate, I lifted the leather pouch up to my ear, thinking it might tell me what to do. I had the right idea there; the pouch did try to tell me something. But whatever was inside that bag spoke Indian, which I couldn't understand a word of. I shook it some, to try and wake it up, and pleaded with it silent-like to switch over to English, but that didn't get me anywhere. To block out the jabbering, I tucked it away again. And all the while, Chilly was sliding his new cards into his hand and fanning them apart. One of the gawkers behind him whistled low in appreciation of what handsome additions they were. I felt a bead of sweat trickling down my armpit.

  By rights, the chief should have shown his hand first. As the dealer, Chilly should have gone last, but he must have still been rattled by my cawing 'cause he couldn't be bothered to wait. With a coarse laugh, he announced, "Sorry, Chief." And he spread his cards face-up on the table, which meant he couldn't go making any changes to them once the chief showed his. At least I'd helped the chief out that much. Though if you'd asked me, I would have said it was an outstanding case of too little, too late.

  Chilly had packed his hand with three kings on top of a pair of eights, which made for a full house. Those three kings were some of his favorite royalty, as a matter of fact. I'd seen them come visiting Chilly's hand a half-dozen times this past week alone. He leaned across the table to collect the chief's crown, cackling all the way. I nearly called out "No" to stop him, but someone else beat me to it.