by Alan Black
It was a good race, but from the moans and groans around her, not everyone was happy with the outcome. Nitti was back. He was not smiling, but he did not look unhappy either.
“How did you know the little horse could beat the big brute?” he asked bluntly.
“The big one is used to dragging a plow and wagon behind him. Did you see how slow a start he had?”
Nitti nodded.
She continued, “That little horse has a dish-like face, if you look you can see how it kind of curves.”
Nitti looked over the crowd at the horses. He nodded again.
LillieBeth said, “That is an Arabian horse. I have seen pictures of them in the National Geographic Magazine. They are said to be the fastest horses alive on a short track. This is a short track.”
Nitti said, “You knew this, but did not bet?”
“No, Mr. Nitti. Even if I had any money, I would not know how to bet.”
Nitti pulled a big wad of money from a pocket. He counted out a large sum. He held it out to LillieBeth. “Here. I put one hundred dollars on the Arabian horse to win at twelve to one odds. I made twelve hundred dollars. You steered me right. You get the tout’s cut, the vigorish, ten percent commission.”
LillieBeth did the math at lightning speed. This man was trying to give her $120.00. “Thank you, but no.” She did not reach out to take the money.
Nitti said, “Why not?”
“What would I have to do to earn it?”
Nitti said, “Ah, I see. It is already your commission for helping me win my bet. You have already earned it.”
He rolled the money up and slid it deep into the top of her boot. “You buy yourself something nice, from Frank Nitti to you. It will be safe in your boot, I think.”
“Thank you, Mr. Nitti. I will certainly put it to good use. May I ask a question?”
“Yes, Miss Hazkit.”
“You said you had a gun in a shoulder holster. How does that work? I mean, how does it stay up?”
Without a word, Nitti peeled off his jacket, showing her the straps. The gun did not cause a stir among the people nearby. Half of the men had guns on their hips or stuck in the pockets.
She could see it was not just a strap over the shoulder, but a second strap went across the chest and around the back. She wondered if she could make one, taking into account her newly forming breasts.
Nitti said, “You carry a rod?”
LillieBeth said, “I carry a pig-staff sometimes, but not a rod.”
Nitti laughed, “No. I mean a rod, a gat, a piece, a gun.”
“Oh, I did recently get a .38 revolver. I was thinking about making a shoulder holster for it.”
Nitti said, “Make?” He patted the side of her boot. “I think you could buy one now.” He turned and was gone without another word.
LillieBeth tried to watch another race, but she had over a hundred dollars in her boot. She had never seen a hundred dollars before, much less touched it. It was making her nervous. She climbed down from her perch. She was careful with each step. She had a fortune in her boot and did not want to jar it loose and lose it.
That much money might be the difference between living in the woods and getting a nice place. She wondered if they could buy a place of their own for a hundred dollars. She would have to ask around and find out what land and houses cost. She reached down and pushed the money deeper into her boot.
She planned to walk back to their mule cart. She wanted to give the money to Daddy. He would know what to do with it. She was not sure how much Daddy made, but she did know good wages in the Ozarks were less than in the big cities, maybe fifty or sixty dollars a month. She had almost twice that much in her boot.
She stopped by the mule pull. A man had a matched set of dusty red mules standing in their traces attached to a large sled stacked high with rock and boulders. He “gee’d” and “haw’d” at his team, working the reins, seesawing them back and forth, working the mules to steady up, lean in, chest forward and be ready to pull at the same time. Suddenly, both mules brayed and stretched their big noses at exactly the same time.
“G’up!” the man shouted.
The mules bunched their legs, dug their hooves into the dirt and with rippling back muscles dragged the sled fifteen feet across the bare dirt. The man looked pleased and waved his hat at the crowd while his mules huffed and shuffled in their harnesses, ready to pull more.
The man unhooked his mules and another team took their place to drag the sled back to the original spot. The second team failed to move the sled even when the mules strained to their knees in the effort.
LillieBeth was amazed at both teams. The first for being able to move such a heavy weight and the second for giving everything they had in the try. The second team of mules shivered and hung their heads as if embarrassed to fail as they were led away.
She loved Naomi and Ruth. They were strong, loyal and steady, but this class of mule was beyond their abilities. They could pull their cart, but they would tear their hearts out before they could move such a weight. She would never have tested her mules in such a trial.
She saw money changing hands and realized that, even here, betting was taking place. She hoped Mr. Nitti would not ask her about mule pulls. She liked to watch them, but they were beyond her ability to pick a winner. She loved horses and mules, but even though she knew mules better, she could not judge this class.
LillieBeth shuffled her feet as she watched. She was a little more than nervous at having so much money stuffed into her boot. She wanted it out of her boot and in Daddy’s hands. She turned her back on the horse racing and mule pulls, walking past an empty medicine show wagon and a couple of full food tents heading back to their cart and hopefully, back to Daddy and Mama. Not only did she have money to be shut of, it was about time to ‘check in’.
On the way, she saw a sign pointing off to the shooting competitions. It was a professionally made sign. Down in one corner it said the National Rifle Association sponsored the event. She turned aside and walked down along the path. A few people had gathered near a hollow. Some men were setting up targets where there was a high hillside as a backdrop. There was a signup sheet under a big NRA banner. She slipped between the adults and read the sheets.
There was a sheet for twelve to fifteen year olds, both boys and girls, with .22 rifles. She was almost shocked to realize she could enter. She was good, but she did not think she was good enough to win a competition. Hunting was one thing, shooting for skill against others was a foreign activity to her.
“Well, little lady,” a man said. “Are you taking up residence or do you want to sign up?”
“I do not know,” she said. “I have never shot like this before. I have hunted some, but never shot at a real target that does not move.”
Everyone around her laughed.
She did not see what was funny about it. How would you correct and lead your target for movement if what you were shooting at did not move?
The man said, “You can give it a try anyway. We do have a category for women sixteen and up. The signup sheet is right there.”
LillieBeth did not know if the man was teasing her or not. “Thank you, but I am only twelve. I better not. I did not bring enough cartridges to go wasting them shooting at paper targets.”
The man said, “Twelve, huh? I would have surely guessed eighteen. I’ll tell you what, you pay the one dollar entrance fee and I will sell you a box of one hundred .22 cartridges for another dollar. And if you win, you will get half of the money from all of the entrance fees collected. Counting you, that is nine shooters in your shooting bracket. You have two dollars?”
She nodded, bending down, reaching into her boot, stretching her fingers in the tight space; she pulled out the roll of paper bills. She thumbed through the bills. There were no one dollar bills. She pulled out a five and handed it to the man.
“That is quite a stack of money there,” the man said. “What did you do, rob a bank?”
She shrugge
d and hooked a thumb over her shoulder, pointing back up the hill. “Horse racing.” She signed her name to the sheet, took her entrance form, three dollars in change and a new box of .22 cartridges. She slid all of the money back into her boot.
The man said, “You be back here in a hour to start. Bring your ammunition and your rifle. Make sure your rifle is completely empty, okay? No cartridges in the chamber or in the magazine. Lock the breech open and if your gun has a safety, make sure it is on.”
She nodded in agreement. She was aware of gun safety, but she was not sure every twelve-year-old was. She did not want to shoot anyone by accident and she sure did not want to be shot by accident. Someone had tried to shoot her on purpose and that was distressing. She imagined being shot by accident would be just as painful and even more embarrassing for everyone involved.
She was not worried about someone trying to steal her money. She had no plans to go anywhere there was not a crowd of people. With half of the men and a large number of women wearing, carrying, toting and handling guns, it was a polite crowd. Being even a little rude would be unwise. Anyone caught stealing from a twelve-year-old girl would not go home.
LillieBeth hoped to find her parents, but they were not at the wagon. A man she had seen talking to her father earlier was keeping an eye on everyone’s belongings. He smiled and nodded at LillieBeth, but did not speak. She would have smiled back, but she was still in no mood to smile. She hoped shooting the gun would make her feel better, at least, shooting without hurting or killing anyone or anything.
She checked on Ruth and Naomi. They had plenty of water in their buckets and both appeared to be sleeping in the shade. She pulled the rifle from under the front seat. She took her normal caution to make sure it was safe. She nodded again to the watchman.
“Sir?” she asked.
“Miss?”
“Do you know where Art Hazkit might have gone?”
“Not a lick. He and his missus flitted off a while back after they ate their lunch. Said if’n you came by that you could eat if you was hungry.”
“Thank you. Would you tell them I went down to the rifle shooting, if they come back?”
“You shooting?”
“No sir. I plan on just pulling the trigger and letting the rifle do the shooting.”
“Well, good luck either way. I hear they be some tough competition coming in for this match.”
She nodded goodbye and walked back to the gun range. She was careful to keep the chamber open and the muzzle pointed up. Not everyone in the area was as cautious as she was, but she had shot a man on purpose. She had no desire to shoot anyone again, except maybe the Braunawalls.
She spotted a couple of men in red vests walking around. The vests had big NRA letters on them. They were asking everyone to make sure their guns were clear of ammunition, the safety on with the breech locked open. One of the men glanced at her rifle. He smiled and nodded, walking on, but he said nothing.
She found a seat under a shade tree and watched the happenings. She did not lean the rifle against the tree. Daddy had told her more than once that, no matter how careful you are, when you lean a rifle against something, they sometimes just fall down. She laid the rifle in the grass. It would be hard for the rifle to fall over if it was already on the ground and pointed away from people.
It was an exciting bunch. She could see a couple of soldiers in uniform. Here and there were lawmen with badges prominently displayed. A couple of men had on special shooting jackets with award patches sewn on and shooting metals jangling in the noon sun. There were even a couple of city fellows carrying fancy rifle cases.
There were men and women of all ages carrying rifles of all kinds. There were rifles of every size and caliber. People were eager to look at other rifles and have their own inspected.
A boy walked up and stood in front of her. He had blonde curly hair and bright blue eyes. She guessed he was two or three years older than she was. He smiled confidently and shifted his rifle from one shoulder to the next.
He juggled a bottle of some dark brown liquid. It was in an hourglass shaped bottle. She had seen the advertisement on the wall at the general store in Oasis, but she had never had one. It took a lot of rabbit skins to save up the ten cents for a cold Coca Cola. That was ten cents she always found a better use for than a drink that would be finished and gone so quickly.
LillieBeth did not smile, but she did look back as he looked at her.
She said, “Well? Do you want to sit down in the shade or just stand there?”
SATURDAY - NOON
The boy leaned his rifle against the tree. He stepped across LillieBeth and sat down. He stuck out his hand in introduction. “I am Roy Turner.”
She ignored his hand. She reached over and grabbed his rifle. It was a lever action .22. She had never handled one before, but she had seen it done. She kept the rifle pointed skyward and opened the lever. A cartridge ejected into the grass. She levered the rifle handle until it quit spitting out cartridges from the magazine. She left the breech open, making sure the chamber was empty, double-checking the safety and set Roy’s rifle in the grass next to hers.
Roy still had his hand out waiting to shake.
She picked up the five expelled cartridges. Grabbing Roy’s wrist, she twisted his hand flat, palm up, and dropped the bullets on it. She looked up into his eyes. She returned his smile with a look of disappointment.
“I am Elizabeth Hazkit, Mr. Turner.”
“Thanks for clearing my gun, Miss Hazkit. I always forget to do that.”
She said, “It only takes one time.”
Roy smiled again. “Well, one of the range judges would have reminded me soon enough.”
“Who?”
“The range judges,” he replied. “That’s those NRA men in the red vests. They are organizing and running this match. They get to judge the shooting and they are responsible for range safety.”
“For safety? You mean like not leaning a rifle against a tree with a cartridge in the chamber and the safety off?”
Roy laughed, “Exactly. Sorry about that. It won’t happen again. Say, are you shooting in the match?”
LillieBeth said, “I am, Mr. Turner. I am in the twelve to fifteen year olds with .22s. I have never shot in a match before, so I do not mind telling you that I am a bit nervous.”
Roy said, “You have never shot before?”
LillieBeth shook her head and said, “I shoot most every day, but just a couple of shots each time. It is not what you would call practice and I have never shot in a match before.”
Roy held up the Coca Cola, “Would you care to share my soda, Miss Hazkit?”
“I cannot say I have ever had any before, Mr. Turner,” she admitted. “I would admire to try a taste.”
“I will be glad to share, but you have to call me Roy.”
She nodded, “LillieBeth.”
He picked up his rifle; leaving the lever open, he stuck the bottle into the lever and popped the little metal cap free. Foam bubbled from the top.
LillieBeth was not sure it looked appealing, but she was committed to a taste.
Roy said, “You drink first.”
The bottle was cold. It must have recently been on ice. She tipped the bottle back, taking a small sip. She was surprised. She had not expected such sweet bubbles. She was not sure she liked it. After her small sip, she handed the bottle back. “Thank you, Roy. It is tasty.”
Roy tipped the bottle back, letting the soda swirl into his mouth and down his throat. He finished half the bottle in one swig.
“Roy, have you ever been in a shooting match like this?” LillieBeth asked.
“Sure have,” Roy said proudly. “Back home in St. Louis, I took first place a couple of times in my division. I expect to take first again here today. Um, no offence.”
“None taken. I do not expect to win, but I am excited to try.”
Roy said, “This probably will be my last meet in this age bracket. I’ll have to move up soon when I
turn sixteen. When do you turn sixteen, LillieBeth?”
“Not for a while yet,” she did not know why, but she did not want to tell him she was only twelve. He was nice and nice looking, but if he lived in St. Louis he could not come calling on her anyway. No one needed a beau who lived so far away.
Roy said, “Well, actually I won’t have my birthday until late in the fall, but I have been told that they don’t have too many shooting meets here in the mountains.”
LillieBeth shrugged. “I do not really know about that.” She wanted to ask about St. Louis. The town sounded so big and fancy. She wondered why anyone would leave such a place and come to the Ozarks.
“Do you live around here?” Roy asked.
“Giving me a sip of your Coca Cola does not really give you leave to be prying into my personals, Roy,” she said.
“Oh, I am sorry,” Roy said. He did not sound sorry. “I was just asking friendly like. I don’t know too many people down here. My parents died a couple of months ago and I have to come down here to live with my grandfather.”
LillieBeth was shocked about how casual he was about his father and mother’s deaths. She wondered if people felt differently about family up in the big city.
“Grandpa has a place just a little north of Oasis on the White River. Do you know where that is?”
She nodded. She thought about it, but she did not know anyone named Turner.
“Grandpa has a few acres about halfway between town and a church up on a hill.”
“Methodist church?”
Roy looked pleased. “That’s it. Do you know the place? Maybe you know my grandfather, Ralph Turner?”
LillieBeth said, “I do not know your grandfather. I do know the church. My folks and I are Methodists and we go there. I go to the school there too, mostly on Mondays only, because we live so far away. Are you a Methodist?”
Roy shook his head. “Mother said we were Presbyterians, but we didn’t go often enough for me to know what that means. Do you think there would be much difference between Presbyterians and Methodists?”
LillieBeth thought for a minute. She was not familiar with what Presbyterians believed. “I cannot really say. You should come by church tomorrow and see for yourself.”