Tiger's Chance

by H. V. Elkin

  ‘Then which is it?” Cutler persisted.

  “Which is Anna, you mean?”

  Cutler stared at Hansen for a moment. Then he said, “It’s none of my business. We don’t have to talk about it at all if you got some reason ...”

  “No, no, that’s all right. Anna wasn’t trained before. She came straight from the jungle, somewhere in India. I trained her myself.”

  “And you never had trouble like this before?”

  “No. Not since this last year. Last couple of months, actually.”

  Inside the band could be heard striking up a loud march. The ticket seller came out. “Eric, Molly,” he said. “Hurry up. It’s time for the finish.”

  “Oh, very well,” Hansen said. “You’ll have to excuse us, Cutler. We have to finish the show.” He went on into the tent.

  Molly hesitated. “Will you wait?”

  “Got to,” Cutler told her. “Man I want to see’s in there. Got to wait for him to come out.”

  “I mean, will you wait until I come back? It’s only that I think you and Eric should finish your conversation.”

  Cutler shrugged, indicating once again it was none of his business.

  “Please,” she said and gave him a sidelong look that made him feel funny inside.

  He cleared his throat. “Okay, sure. But it’s up to Hansen, not me.”

  “But you’ll be here, won’t you? You won’t go off with whoever it is you came to see?”

  Cutler nodded. “Okay.”

  She gave him a big smile. “Thank you!” Then she bolted off before he could change his mind. She caught herself rushing, then slowed to a slow, purposeful walk. She did not want to trip herself up again in front of Cutler.

  After she had gone, Cutler pulled out his pack of Bull Durham and rolled a cigarette. He lit it, puffed on it awhile, shook his head over a couple of things he could not figure out, then went to check on his rig and animals. Red, the Airedale, looked down at him from the wagon seat. Cutler could tell the dog was still eager to get in on the excitement he had heard earlier. But, of course, after Red had been told to guard the rig, the only thing that would get him to leave his post was a need to attack someone who tried to interfere with it. “It’s okay, boy,,, Cutler told him. “Stay. Guard.”

  In a moment, he heard applause and cheering from the tent. Then the sound of people moving out, the murmur of men’s voices, the excited chatter of children, one of the babies still crying—the kind of sounds you hear from a crowd after a big event. Cutler took a last puff on his cigarette, then crushed it out on the ground. When he looked up, Molly was standing at the corner of the tent, looking as if she had been running and had just come to sudden stop. She looked as if her momentum, suddenly arrested, was going to carry her forward into a fall, but she caught herself in time.

  “Oh!” she said. “I was afraid . . .”

  “Show’s over?” Cutler asked.

  “Yes. Will you come?”

  Cutler nodded and followed her. They found Maroney, Hansen, Bean and his son in the menagerie tent near Anna’s cage. There were also twenty others milling about in there, getting a last look at the animals before they went home.

  “John!” Maroney said as he broke away from the others, moved to Cutler and shook his hand. “We owe you a debt of gratitude, sir! One we can never repay. But I did do one thing on your behalf.”

  “What’s that?” Cutler asked.

  “Well, in truth, I should say I did not do one thing. I did not announce to the audience the identity of the man who saved the day. Based on what you said earlier, I thought you would want it that way. No?”

  “Yes. And I appreciate it.”

  “I assume, however, you do not mind if the judge knows who you are?” He looked back at Bean. “Your honor?”

  Bean was staring at Molly.

  “Your honor?” Maroney repeated.

  Bean looked at Maroney.

  “I’d like you to meet John Cutler, sir,” Maroney said.

  Bean looked at Cutler. Then he held out his hand. Cutler had to take a couple of steps to shake it.

  “‘Pears like you might’ve saved me a few voters,” Bean said. “This here’s my son, Sam.”

  “We met,” Cutler said.

  Bean was looking at the six-gun Cutler wore. “Ordinarily, I’d have to do something about you carryin’ that gun, but I guess we’ll make an exception under the circumstances. Make you kind of deputy while you’re here, just like Sam.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Seems like I’ve heard tell of a John Cutler,” Bean said. “You the one who gets a thousand dollars a shot for bringin’ in rogue animals?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Yeah.” There was a touch of admiration in Bean’s voice for anyone who could command that kind of fee. “Yeah, I heard about you.”

  “I heard about you, too, Judge.”

  Bean shrugged as though his own fame went without saying. “We’re obliged to you, Cutler,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m lookin’ for a man named Mike McKay.”

  “What would you be wantin’ with him?”

  “Got to ask him a few questions.”

  “You’re not marshallin’ anymore, are you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “If I knew about a man named McKay,” the judge scratched his belly, “I wouldn’t want to lose him right now.”

  “He’s not wanted for anything that I know of.”

  Bean stared hard at Cutler a moment. “Okay then. Come on into town tomorrow, and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Suppose I come tonight?”

  “That’d be all right, too. But McKay’ll be busy tonight. Best time to talk to him’s in the mornin’.”

  Sam chuckled. “That’s for sure.”

  “You get on back,” Bean told his son. “Go out and check up on some of my pastors ‘fore it gets dark.”

  Sam nodded and shuffled out.

  “Now then.” Bean turned to Maroney. “Some show you folks put on here today.”

  “We are obliged to you for the audience,” Maroney said.

  “After what happened here today,” Bean said, “I figure you can do another show tomorrow.”

  “Oh, but that is impossible. We have a schedule to maintain. We were to leave with the morning eastbound train.”

  “Don’t you worry none about that. I’ll take care of it with the railroad. They usually listen when I talk. They figure they owe me.”

  “But we are expected ...”

  “Now, I don’t want to hear another word about it,” Bean said. “You stay another day and I’ll waive the entertainment tax.”

  It was the first Maroney had heard about it. “What?”

  “I believe there’s a precedent for it,” Bean said. “Why only last year, I believe it was, Texas was chargin’ the Cole Show something like a thousand dollars.”

  Maroney looked to the sky for divine assistance.

  Bean pursued the matter, now that he had Maroney on the defensive. “Yes sir, a thousand dollars a show it was. The circus tried to get out of it, too, I hear. Hear they tried to get around that license fee by chargin’ to see the menagerie and makin’ the show free. Then when they saw that wasn’t gonna work, they just took off at night—had their own train, I guess—and they got away. The law was waitin’ for ’em at Denison where Cole was supposed to show next. Had posters all over the place and people waitin’ to see the show. And what did they do but chug right on through that town into Oklahoma without so much as a howdy. Not very neighborly, was it?”

  Maroney said nothing.

  Bean went on. “And you tell me you got some place you got to get to, when Cole went right on through the next place he had to get to. And his show’s a lot bigger’n yours, ain’t it?”

  Maroney nodded.

  Bean said, “So I figure circus folk owe the State of Texas some money, thanks to Cole, and I might just be the one to collect it. It’s in my power, that’s fo
r sure.”

  Maroney still thought silence the best answer.

  Bean said, “So here I am invitin’ you to stay over another day without chargin’ you a license fee, and there you are sayin’ you got to be gettin’ on. There’s just no figurin’ some people.” Bean shook his head slowly. He could not understand what the world was coming to.

  “If you put it like that, Judge ...” Maroney said. “What do you think, Eric?”

  Bean shot a challenging look at Hansen.

  Hansen shuffled his feet, looked at the ground a moment, then straight up into Maroney’s eyes. “Don’t look like we have a choice, Fred. Does it?”

  Maroney sighed. “I guess we could send word on ahead . . .”

  “’Course you can,” Bean said. “I’ll take care of that myself. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m probably doin’ you a favor. Another day here and you’ll be the talk of Langtry. Might be good for three or four days next year. Guarantee it!”

  “Very well,” Maroney said. “One more day.”

  “Good man!” Bean nodded vigorously. “Well, I’m glad that’s settled to everybody’s satisfaction. Now, Cutler, you come on into town whenever you’ve a mind to, tonight or tomorrow mornin’, and you’ll find me at the Jersey Lily. You can’t miss it, right on the north side of the railroad tracks.”

  “Be seein’ you,” Cutler said.

  Bean bowed to Molly. “Miss Barrie,” he said, “it’s been a special pleasure to see you perform. Has anyone ever told you you bear a striking resemblance to Miss Lily Langtry?”

  “No,” Molly said. “Who’s that?”

  Bean scowled at her a moment, then a slight smile lit up his face. “Maybe we can talk about that another time.” He looked around and called, “Boys!”

  Five men clustered around him.

  “Don’t know about you,” Bean said to them, “but I’m headed back to where there ain’t no lemonade.”

  The boys seemed to think that was a good idea, and the entourage left the menagerie tent.

  Molly asked Maroney, “Can we really afford to stay here another day?” She was looking at the way he stood with his shoulders slumped and an unhappy expression on his face.

  He smiled. “Of course.” He stood straighter. “And if there is an audience ... all the better. I do not like being at the mercy of such a man as Roy Bean, of course, but sometimes, as the world goes, we must swallow our pride to survive. Is that not so, John?”

  “That’s so,” Cutler said.

  “We can take a lesson from our animals, can we not?”

  Cutler nodded with conviction. Earlier that year he had been called to Utah to capture a notorious mustang stallion. Men liked to identify themselves with the free spirit of the mustang, with his bravery, with the way he defended his territory and his mares. But the stallion would hold his ground against another stallion only up to a point. When the chips were down, the losing stallion relied on his speed as his best defense, and he would run away with as much determination as he had fought. He was not burdened, like some men, with the kind of pride that made escape an act of cowardice.

  Hansen said, “Well, Cutler, I guess you’ll be going on into Langtry then. Again, thank you for what you did.” He forced a smile, then started to walk away.

  “Wait, Eric,” Molly called to him, then ran after him. They stopped near the entrance in conversation.

  “You are welcome to stay to supper,” Maroney told Cutler.

  Cutler shook his head. “I guess I’ll get on into town so I’ll be there in the mornin’.”

  Molly brought Hansen back.

  Hansen said, “Cutler, Molly thinks we’ve got something to more to talk about.”

  “Don’t know,” Cutler said. “That’s up to you.”

  “You know,” Molly said, “before we had to go in for the finale, you two were saying some things about Anna, about her coming from the jungle and so forth. I just thought John was on to something that got interrupted.”

  “We don’t want to bother Cutler with our problems,” Hansen said.

  “If John does not mind,” Maroney said, “and he has any advice to give, we would be foolish not to listen. After all, he knows animals well, and he makes his living from them just as we do.”

  The back of Hansen’s neck stiffened, but he forced a smile. “Of course, I have no objections. If you wish ...” He shrugged.

  Cutler proceeded as though this were somewhat distasteful to him. It was not, after all, as if he had been hired to do a job, and he got no particular pleasure from stepping on Hansen’s toes. But there was that appealing look in Molly’s eyes, so he reluctantly picked up the thread of what they had been talking about earlier and what Cutler knew Hansen would just as soon let drop.

  “So this tiger was trained by you from a wild cat.”

  Hansen nodded. “As I said.”

  “And she was trained good until a month or two ago.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t know what’s got into her all of a sudden.”

  “No.”

  “I noticed the lions share a cage, but the tigers are separated.”

  “These two lions get along together. But you never know about tigers. You can’t always say why they do what they do.”

  “If a tiger has its own cage, does it sort of look on it as home?”

  “Yes. They’re very set in their ways. If you put their pedestal just a few feet off in the performance cage, they won’t want to get up on it. They like their routines. And you’d have trouble getting one tiger to go in the other’s cage, even if it was empty.”

  “Then after they’ve finished their act, they probably are glad to get back to their own cages where somebody isn’t crackin’ a whip over their heads.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. That all makes sense so far. Animals are creatures of habit. Once they know what their territory is they get possessive about it. That’s normal behavior.”

  Hansen said, “Of course.”

  “How many times has the tiger done that act with the horse?”

  “Hundreds of times,” Molly said.

  “Just routine now.”

  “Until today.”

  “The routines aren’t workin’ anymore.”

  “That’s right.” Hansen said. “What are you getting at?”

  “Just a minute. When I saw the act today, I figured something was wrong the minute I saw the tiger. She was standin’ in the door of her cage, or her wagon. She didn’t want to go into what you call the performance cage where she was used to performin’. And she didn’t want to go back into her own cage that’s her home and where she feels safe.”

  Maroney asked, “Do you mean something has happened so she does not feel safe in her own cage anymore?”

  “I can’t say there’s always a reason for what happens to an animal like this. There might be and there might not. But if you were askin’ my opinion, I’d say every day you try to get Anna to do her act from now on, you’re riskin’ Eric’s life. If you put her outside the cage for the act with the horse again, you’re riskin’ other people’s lives like you were today. She ain’t behavin’ accordin’ to her normal patterns, and she might do anything.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Hansen broke it. “But, as you will admit, Cutler, you don’t really know anything about Bengal tigers.”

  “That’s right,” Cutler said. “I don’t know tigers from India, but I do know rogues.” He started out the entrance, then turned. “And that’s what you got on your hands,” he told them. “A rogue.”

  Chapter Four

  It was dusk when Cutler got to Langtry. Night came quickly, and by the time Cutler had found a place that would look out for his animals, a place he could return to sleep in his wagon later, Langtry was nothing but lights shining through windows. Walking along the railroad tracks, he could hear dogs barking and the sounds of raucous men coming from two saloons, one on the north and one on the south side of the tracks by the water tower. C
utler knew the one on the north was the Jersey Lily, and the loudest noises came from it. He had a lot of reasons not to do his drinking there. He could tell from the sounds that, if he went into the Jersey Lily, he would be asking for trouble. It was a small town where entertainment was hard to come by. Any stranger would be automatically elected for the evening’s fun, he figured. And he was not in the mood for a barroom brawl or for competing with Bean as the center of attention. Besides, Bean had made it clear that McKay should be seen there in the morning. Cutler decided things would be a whole lot easier if he could stay on the good side of the judge, and there was nothing much to be gained by showing up early. He would save the Jersey Lily for the morning.

  What he wanted this night was a lot of drinks and a minimum of bother about it. So he went into the Eagle’s Nest saloon on the south side of the tracks. It was definitely quieter, and the sound of the Mexican guitar inside promised that Cutler would not have to be served up as the entertainment.

  He began to wonder if he had made the right choice the minute he got inside the door. It was the way everything stopped at the sight of him, even the guitar. For a moment, the room was frozen like the clowns on the circus parade wagon, a tableau of Mexicans.

  Cutler paused in the doorway long enough to see that no one was wearing a gun. Then he walked up to the bar as if there was nothing unusual about it. A big, handsome Mexican behind the bar eyed him nervously, and Cutler heard a low Spanish murmur behind him. It stopped when the man behind the bar spoke.

  “You are wearing a gun, senor.”

  “Can’t help that,” Cutler said. “It just grows there like my arms and legs.”

  “It is against the law to wear a gun in Langtry.”

  “What law is that?”

  “The law west of the Pecos, Judge Bean.”

  “That’s okay then. Bean says I’m a deputy like his son Sam.”

  The Spanish murmur resumed a moment, then stopped.

  “The Jersey Lily,” the man behind the bar said, “is across the street.”

  “I know that,” Cutler said. “If I’d wanted to drink there, I’d’ve gone there. Now is this a place where a man can have a quiet drink, or ain’t it?”