I caught up with them about the time the second vaquero made the sign of the cross, and whipped off his flat-brimmed hat.
The man who had fired the two shots was saying a prayer. He held his sombrero in his left hand.
I nudged Sad Sarah around to get a better look. And wished I had stayed right where I was.
The major arrived, furious as all get-out. “What are you boys doing firin’ a shot like that. Jim Springer’s herd bolted last night. You want to cause another stampede. Now what ... good God Almighty.”
Tommy arrived. The next sound I heard was Tommy retching.
Major Canton swung off his horse, handed the reins to the praying Mexican, and walked down into the old buffalo wallow, his boots sinking into the bog. He looked up, seemed to be forcing down something coming up his throat, and said to me: “Mad Carter, you mind givin’ me a hand?”
He wasn’t the guy you told no to, even if you were about to throw up. I guess I nodded. Don’t think I said anything. I dismounted, gave my reins to one of the Mexicans, and stopped when the major said: “Bring me Tommy’s bedroll.”
Tommy was off his horse, holding his reins, head bowed toward the rain-flattened grass.
I unfastened the roll behind his cantle, took it with me into the muddy wallow.
“Roll it out. We’ll wrap him in it,” the major said quietly.
I followed orders, not looking at the corpse until Major Canton asked: “You recognize this fellow, Mad Carter?”
There wasn’t much to recognize, and my head bobbed without looking at the dead man. Lightning had burned him black, forging the axe blade to the back of his skull. Ravens and vultures circled above, the former cawing at us, angry that we were removing their meal.
“He came by our camp yesterday,” I managed to choke out.
“That big farmer?. The major nodded. “I’ve seen him wanderin’ around for weeks, roamin’ from cow camp to cow camp. They say he was clear out of his head.”
“His name was Hagen Ackerman.”
“Never talked to him myself,” the major said. “Yes, his mind had to be gone ... carryin’ an axe in a lightnin’ storm. Dumb hayseed.. He looked at me instead of the corpse. “How did you know his name?”
I couldn’t answer. If I opened my mouth again, I’d lose all the coffee I had drunk for breakfast.
Major Canton must have understood, because he said: “I’ll wrap him up. You bring me Tommy’s horse. We’ll get him back to camp, or near camp. Bury him somewheres.”
His farm is down in Holyrood, I wanted to say. He’d want to be planted beside his daughter. I said nothing, of course, just did as I was told.
The vaqueros buried the Mennonite somewhere along the river. I don’t know where, and don’t think they marked the farmer’s grave.
Afterward, Shanghai’s Mexicans hazed their cattle back to the Pierce herd, and Print Olive’s riders did the same for the longhorns they’d cut out. Print Olive and Shanghai Pierce, however, stayed in our camp. K.P. Chesser showed up, too. It turned out to be a regular South Texas cattlemen’s convention.
“I’ve had to bail out six of my boys, Shanghai,” Print Olive said.
Pierce laughed that wild howl of his, turned loose about a dozen cuss words, then swore at Phineas O’Connor when he saw the cowboy’s face as he poured coffee for the cattleman. “What happened to you, boy?” Shanghai asked.
“Town lawdogs,” he said, and slunk away.
Shanghai turned his attention back to Olive. “So what, Print. Six is small. I’ve bailed out twenty of mine.”
“But you’ve sold a herd,” Mr. Justus remarked quietly.
Shaking his head, Shanghai cussed some more. “You will, boys. All of you will. Herds are fattening up, and that rain from last night will green up this land before you know it. Your sea lions will look fat, and your wallets will be even fatter. Trust me.”
“Tempers are flarin’, Shanghai,” K.P. Chesser said. “You think the police down in Texas are corrupt ... they got nothin’ on your city police force.”
“It’s not my police force, K.P.”
“You brought us here,” Chesser reminded him.
Shanghai didn’t say a thing to that. He didn’t ever let out an oath.
“Everyone here can see what those John Laws did to Phineas,” the major said. “That’s Marshal Brocky Jack’s handiwork, fellows.”
“Marshal!. Chesser spat. “He’s a man-killer with a badge.”
“We don’t mind lawmen arrestin’ our boys when they deserve it,” the major said, “but this is goin’ too far. They didn’t treat us this roughly in Abilene. The sheriff ... the Whitney gent ... he seems all right. But the rest, the town laws, they ain’t worth spit.”
“They make their own laws,” Chesser complained. “Seth Adams, my segundo, he was walkin’ to that Chinese place for some grub. Deputy stops him. Charges him with somethin’ he just makes up on the spot. And Seth ain’t the first one of my boys them mongrels have pulled that stuff on.”
“Tried to arrest Mad Carter here,” the major said. “Ain’t that right, son?”
“Well ..... Uncomfortably I shrugged.
“How many peace officers do they have on that force?” Olive asked.
“Five,” Shanghai replied. “Brocky Jack Norton. Happy Jack Morco ... he’s the worst of the lot. High Low Jack Branham, Long Jack DeLong, and Ed Hogue. Hogue was the chief marshal last year. Town council didn’t like him, so they made Brocky Jack top dog this time ’round. I’ve had the displeasure of making all of their acquaintances. Filling their pockets and the town’s coffers. But I don’t mind.”
“Not all of our pockets run as deep as yours,” Mr. Justus said politely.
“And we ain’t gettin’ paid by the good citizens of Ellsworth,” Chesser added with contempt.
“Well what do you want me to do, boys?” Shanghai roared.
“You can stop defendin’ them lawdogs,” Chesser said.
After cussing Chesser like he’d cuss a drag rider, Shanghai said he wasn’t defending anyone. “Cowboys blow off steam. Every cow-town lawman should know that. The businessmen want our money, and our cattle. They just don’t want our cowboys.”
“Well,” Olive said, “if they keep buffaloin’ our riders, arrestin’ them, finin’ them, beatin’ them half to death, Ellsworth’ll go the way of Baxter Springs, Sedalia, and Abilene.”
“That won’t bother me one iota,” Shanghai said. “We’ll take our beef and business to Wichita next season. Or Great Bend.. He winked. “My contract as Texas herd recruiter for this burg is only for this season.”
“I’d like to be able to afford to drive a herd north next year,” Chesser said.
“Buyers’ll come,” Shanghai said. “Mabry sold his herd the other day.. He swore, then said: “Not even August yet. You boys need to enjoy yourselves.”
“Hard to do with those assassins with badges,” Olive said.
Shanghai took the hint. “All right. I’ll speak to Mister Ronan. See if we can’t get the upstanding merchants of Ellsworth to rein in their lawmen. That suit you fellows?”
Nods all the way around.
“Understand, I can’t promise a thing. Not everyone listens to Shanghai Pierce.”
“And those usually have rued that day,” the major added, and laughter eased the mood in our camp.
They sat and sipped coffee, puffed on cigars. Then, Mr. Justus laughed and said: “Brocky Jack, Happy Jack, Long Jack, and Ed Hogue. And who was the other Jack?”
“High Low Jack,” I replied.
“That’s right.. Mr. Justus shook his head. “Four Jacks and a joker.”
That got everyone laughing. Then Olive said—“That’s a great idea, June.”—and pulled out a deck of cards.
They were still playing draw poker when I turned in.
chapter
18
I’d never told anyone about Mr. Justus’s financial troubles, although, what with the storm and Hagen Ackerman’s death and Phineas O’Connor’s beating, I had stayed in camp for a spell. Spending money just didn’t seem like such a good idea if I wouldn’t get paid again, but thoughts of Estrella kept invading my mind. She might get the impression that Mr. Justus had sold his herd and we’d all drifted back down to Texas, and I hadn’t even had the decency to leave her with a kiss or a fare-thee-well. Besides, she hadn’t seen me in my new boots.
So when Larry McNab asked if I’d like to tag along with him into Ellsworth and pick up some supplies, it didn’t take much encouraging.
After hitching up his mules to the Studebaker, we took the long way to town, crossing the iron bridge over the Smoky Hill—the water being too high to risk fording.
The day had turned into another scorcher. The grass smelled almost like bread. Larry said God was baking the prairie. He then said that Phineas was improving because that very morning he had complained about the bacon and biscuits. “I told him if he was well enough to talk like that, he was well enough to ride herd, and I sent him on his way.”
It was too hot to laugh at any of his stories. Or maybe I was nervous about seeing Estrella again.
We didn’t pick up those supplies at the Star Mercantile. Mr. Justus had an account at another store, so that’s where we went. Didn’t splurge, I can tell you that. Cheapest coffee, beans, and flour the store offered, some salve for Phineas’s cuts and bruises, sacks of potatoes, a few air-tights of tomatoes, and a side of salt pork. Not much, but enough food to get my curiosity going.
“What you going to do with all that grub if Mister Justus sells the herd today?” I asked, after dropping a flour sack in the back of the Studebaker.
“He won’t.. Larry leaned against the rear box and mopped his sweaty brow with a rag. “June told the major and me last night that he got a telegraph from that pal of his. He won’t get here till September.”
“September?”
“Yep.”
“But that’s more than a month away.”
“Your ma has schooled you well when you aren’t working cattle.. He shoved the wet rag in his pocket. “I take it that suits you mighty fine.”
“What makes you say that?”
He grinned. “The smile on your face, boy. Something tells me it doesn’t have a thing to do with that extra thirty dollars and more you’ll have coming to you in September.”
A body couldn’t hide a thing from Larry.
He tilted his head toward the store. “Let’s finish loading up, Madison,” he said. “Then you can go courting. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Ben and Billy Thompson since we got here. Haven’t had a taste of whiskey, either. Hot day like this, I’d dare say I deserve a nip. So you help me finish here, then you go see that gal of yours, and I’ll head over to the Gamblers’ Roost. What say we meet back here about eight o’clock this eve?”
“Suits me to a T,” I said.
* * * * *
No need for me to tell you that I practically ran in those high-heeled boots all the way to Walnut Street, almost knocking over a lady coming out of the Star Mercantile. As soon as I was inside, smelling the metallic scent of tools and the sweet scent of candy and those pleasing aromas of coffee and tobacco and the eye-burning whiff of soaps, my nerves took hold, and would not let go. Hat in hand, twisting the brim, I eased my way to the counter where Estrella was busy wrapping a purchase in brown paper. She tied it with a string, smiled at the lady customer, and then shook her head when she got a look at me.
“You need another shirt, Madison?”
I dropped my hat, and looked down at my shirt. Well, it was dirty and damp from sweat and all that work I’d been doing, but I didn’t think I needed to spend another 65¢.
She laughed as I picked up my hat and cautiously made my way to the counter. “Where have you been keeping yourself?” she asked.
I made some feeble gesture.
“Are you hungry?”
I wasn’t, but said I was, then wondered if that was the wrong answer, because she was staring at the Regulator clock behind her.
Slowly she turned back to me. “It’s another hour and fifteen minutes before we close,” she said. “Can you wait that long?”
My head shook, but I immediately corrected that with a nod.
“You want to help, Mister MacRae?. It was the voice of Estrella’s father.
Immediately Estrella began admonishing him, but I said that I’d be glad to give him a hand. That was just how ignorant I was, or how love-struck, maybe. Well, I spent the next hour or so stacking sacks, unloading boxes, and sweeping out the back storeroom. Every time the bell over the front door sang, I cringed, expecting Larry, Tommy, Mr. Justus, or, heaven forbid, the major himself to come walking in to find me playing storekeeper. ’Course, they never would have been able to see me since I was sweating like a racing horse in a back room where it was hotter than a furnace, but that bell still frayed my nerves.
The hour felt like fifty, and I soon realized that I had not heard the bell chiming any more, and then the door opened, and Mr. O’Sullivan told me to quit working, and come take his daughter to supper. He handed me a glass of lemonade. I was too thirsty to say no, and the drink hit the spot—sweet and sour at the same time. I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt.
“Here,” O’Sullivan said, holding out a green calico shirt.
I just stared.
“Payment,” he explained.
“No, sir,” I told him. “I only worked for an hour.”
“And I pay for an honest hour’s work.”
“Well, that may be so, sir, but I get a dollar a day herding cattle for sometimes seventeen, eighteen hours a day. Even longer. Sixty-five cents an hour seems way too extravagant for the likes of me.”
I didn’t say that to impress him, but I guess I did, because he shook my hand, and told me I could freshen up in the alley out back. Now, an alley with a pump, towel, and privy isn’t really the best way to prepare for taking a real fine lady out to supper, but that’s all I had.
I walked her all the way to the Drovers Cottage. This, I decided, would be a night to remember, and it most certainly was. But not for the reasons I’d imagined.
* * * * *
A big American flag was hanging limp over that fine establishment. The Texas barons and Chicago and Kansas City beef buyers all tipped their hats at Estrella when I led her through the front door. It took a few moments for me to get my bearings, but I soon guided Estrella toward the dining room, where a mustached dude in a fancy black coat headed us off, saying in a peculiar accent: “May I help you?”
“We come to eat,” I said.
He stared at me rather unfriendly-like, but Estrella said: “May we get a table with a view of the stockyards, Pierre?”
The dude grinned, and said: “Oui. But, of course, mademoiselle.. And to me: “But would monsieur be so kind as to remove his spurs?. He twisted the ends of his waxed mustache. “And might we take your ... ahem, hat?”
A few patrons giggled, but I pretended not to hear, and did that Pierre dude’s bidding. Pretty soon, however, I’d forgotten everything as Estrella and I sipped wine and watched cattle being loaded into one of the K.P. boxcars in the gloaming.
Another fellow in a black coat and tie brought us a plate of oysters and the tiniest forks I’d ever seen. I watched Estrella use one to spear the unappetizing glob on a shell in a bowl full of ice. I followed her lead, and quickly finished my glass of wine.
“You don’t like the oysters, Madison?” she asked.
I didn’t answer, though what I wanted to say was: I ain’t accustomed to eating boogers, ma’am.
“They’re a specialty of the house,” the waiter told me. Sneaky gent, that cuss was. He refilled my glass.
“They�
��re fine,” I lied. I made myself eat another, wondering what every cowhand in Texas had been thinking when they bragged about these oysters from the Drovers Cottage. I’d prefer anything Larry McNab cooked. I mean, at least he cooked the chow he dished onto your plate.
I set down the tiny fork, and used the napkin to spit out the oyster I’d pretended to eat. That’s when I saw him.
Le Fevre smiled at me, but I didn’t smile back. Then he rose from his chair, and made a beeline for Estrella and me. Suddenly I wished I had worn my pistol—to hang with the town’s gun law—because, at our table, he bowed like he was meeting a king or something in some silly storybook.
“Hello, Madison,” he said. He bowed even deeper toward Estrella. “Ma’am.”
She looked at me as if for help. When I didn’t offer any, she said: “Are you going to introduce me to your friend, Madison?”
I cleared my throat. “Star ... er, Estrella O’Sullivan, this is André Le Fevre. He rides for Mister Justus, same as me.”
“Le Fevre.. Estrella said his last name like it was Robert E. Lee or Sam Houston. “You are French?”
He shrugged, took her offered hand, and kissed it, making my face flush. “No, ma’am,” he answered, “though I was born in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.”
Estrella said: “It’s an honor.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he said. “But if you excuse me, Miss O’Sullivan, might I borrow your beau for a moment’s word?”
“He really isn’t my beau, but ... of course.”
Le Fevre motioned for me to walk back to his table, which I was all too happy to do. On our way, he whispered: “Mad Carter, who is that lass?”
“You heard her name. That’s all you’ll get out of me.”
He grinned, and again whispered: “Do you have any idea how much it costs to eat at the Drovers Cottage?”
I didn’t answer.
“How much money do you have?”
Well, I probably had $2 and change, but I didn’t say anything. Reckon I hadn’t really thought things through. As far as I was concerned $2 would buy a ton of food at any café I’d ever been inside.
Summer of the Star Page 13