It was the man who’d been standing by the cash register, the proprietor. I said, yes, that I reckoned that was it. I told him some cock-and-bull story about my mother having always used it when one of us boys took a cold but I couldn’t remember the name, just the smell.
He said, “By golly, I’ll just bet you marbles to money I know just what she used. All the mothers around here use it. Gettin’ a summer cold, are you?”
“Yeah,” I said.
He reached up on the shelf and handed me a little bottle that said Oil of Wintergreen on the label. I took off the cap and smelled it. I had to jerk my nose back a little it was so penetrating. “That’s the stuff,” I said. “Smells just like it.”
The proprietor was as pleased as if he’d just taught me my sums. “Didn’t I tell you? Rub that on your chest an’ you’ll breathe them fumes all night long. Next mornin’ yore head will be clear as creek water.”
I sniffed the bottle again. “This appears a mite strong to put on your skin. I remember my brother—I mean, I remember my mother using a salve.”
“Right you are,” he said. He reached up on another part of the shelf and came off with a little jar about the size of a whiskey tumbler. He said, “This here is white petroleum jelly. So pure you could put it on a baby’s bottom. What you do is you take some of this jelly an’ put it in a little dish and then pour in a little of this wintergreen oil. Not much ’cause it’s mighty strong. Then you mix ’em together an’ you got that same salve yore momma used.”
“I believe I’ll just take these two articles. And you’re sure it won’t burn or scald tender skin? I was thinking about putting some up my nose during the day.”
“Done it myself,” he said, nodding his head in that brisk way merchants have. “Just don’t use too much wintergreen.”
We went up to the counter by the cash register and he sacked up my articles and took the five-dollar bill I gave him. Gave me back three and a quarter in change. A dollar six-bits for some grease and whatever that wintergreen was! I intended to tell Wilson Young he could have saved himself a lot of grief and trouble if he’d got into the patent medicine line instead of robbing banks. And probably have made more money.
I went back to the hotel and up to my rooms. In my bathroom I unscrewed the top of the petroleum jelly jar, and dug out about half of it, and threw it in the slops can. Then I took the oil of wintergreen and poured about a half a jigger of the thick liquid in with the jelly. The smell was most strong. It took me a minute, but I finally recognized it as the smell around some hospitals and infirmaries I’d been in. Probably they used it to varnish the furniture.
I got out my pocket knife and used it to stir the stuff around and mix it up good. It turned a kind of pale green color. Lord, did it smell! It kind of halfway had me worrying, it carrying such a strong odor. But I figured that just a little bit wouldn’t have as high a caliber as the jar did.
But I had to test it. I got a little on the end of my finger and then sort of carefully put it up my nose. I was looking for it to burn my skin, and I figured the inside of my nose would be as tender as any skin I had on my body with a couple of exceptions.
It didn’t burn but it sure cleared up my head, clean to the top of my scalp. And it did smell just like the stuff I’d seen Ben use, though I’d never got as close to his salve as I was to mine and had only caught a scent in passing.
I said, “Sooowhee!” and got a towel and dug around in my nose until I’d got all the salve out. It didn’t do a thing to stop the smell. The fumes just kept going right on up and circulating through my head. I poured some water in the washbasin, gave my hands a good washing, and then snuffed the soapy water up my nose and blew it out. It helped some, but I finally resigned myself I was going to have to go around smelling of hospitals until it wore off.
My watch said it was going on until two o’clock. I figured Wilson would be along soon, so I put my bottle and jar away and went out into the parlor, closing the bedroom door behind me. I poured myself out a drink, and had just taken a sip when there was a knock on the door and Wilson said, “Justa!”
“It’s open,” I said.
He came in and looked at the glass of whiskey in my hand. “You got any brandy?”
“You don’t keep whiskey for me out at your place.”
“Well, at least pour me out a shot of that stuff.”
I did it, and handed him the glass as he was sitting down in the little chair Flood had sat in. He was about to throw it back when he suddenly lifted his nose and sniffed. “What the hell is that smell? Last time I smelled that I was shot and laying in the hospital.”
I hadn’t realized the stuff had trailed me all the way from the bathroom. “Aw, the maid come and mopped the floors. Reckon that’s some new soap.”
He raised his tumbler and said, “Luck,” and I done the same. We knocked them back as befits the toast.
Wilson sniffed again. “Smells like something you rub on your chest when you got a cold. You sure you ain’t got a flannel rag under your shirt soaked with that stuff?” He got out of his chair and stepped across and sniffed at me. “Naw, I reckon not.”
“Must be the liniment I rubbed on the roan this afternoon.”
He give me a close look. “What are you rubbing liniment on that colt for? He ain’t hurt, is he?”
I shook my head. “No, no. I just wanted his muscles to be nice and loose. That mile is going to be a long way.”
He sniffed the air again. “Guess it was the liniment. Likely you carried some in on your hands.”
“Never thought of it,” I said. “Thought it was the maid mopping.”
“Justa, that don’t smell like soap.”
I got up. “Let’s go see if we can find a poker game.”
“Won’t be nothing worth the time,” he said, getting up. “Some damn four-bit game. No more than two raises and you can’t raise a check. Ain’t no gamblers around here.”
But Wilson was wrong. After scouting through a half dozen saloons we finally ran upon a pot-limit game with two seats open. But just because it was pot limit didn’t mean anyone was setting new betting records. The final raise was usually something like twenty dollars, and the pot was generally opened for a dollar or two.
We played through supper, and only quit at about ten o’clock when the game began to drag. I’d won a little over two hundred dollars, but Wilson had done almost twice as good as that. He was a shrewd player, picking his times carefully to appear reckless and also knowing when to get down behind the log and throw his hand in. We got locked up against each other in two hands of five-card draw and one hand of stud. He won the biggest pot of the night off me in the hand of five-card stud, drawing a third jack on the last card against my two pair. As we were walking out I said, “How the hell could you call a fifty-dollar bet with a pair of jacks when you had to know I had two pair and you were beat? You got any idea what the odds were against you drawing that last jack?”
He said, “I didn’t think you had two pair. I thought my pair of jacks was the best hand until I drawed that third one.”
“What did you think I had if you didn’t think I had two pair, the way I was betting?”
He gave me a slight smile. “I thought you had fifty dollars and one pair.”
He went on back to Mexico saying he had to get his dancers to bed on time, else they weren’t themselves the next day. It was arranged he would come over the next day in the early afternoon and we’d get ready for the race.
I sought out a cafe that was still open and had a late supper. Then I sauntered in the direction of the hotel and turned back for the livery stable. Tom was napping on the cot in the office, but he came awake mighty quick when he heard me come in the stable. He sat up and yawned and then got up. “Evenin’, Mister Williams. Come to see to yore horse?”
“Naw, I thought I’d get our business straight.”
“Yessir.”
“Seeing as how you don’t go to work here until six in the evening tomorrow n
ight.”
“Yessir.”
I was giving him time to wake up. I wanted him fully alert for the instructions I was going to give him. But first I got out my roll and handed him a twenty-dollar bill. His eyes got big again as he held the bill next to the lantern’s light. He said, “Mister Williams, this here is a twenny-dollar bill.”
“I know,” I said. “Put it in your pocket.”
He said, marveling. “Thet’s thurty dollars an’ I ain’t done shucks yit.”
“Now you haven’t forgotten there’s a horse race tomorrow.”
“No sir, I ain’t forgot. An’ you’re in it with the roan colt. I heered a little talk around town. Ain’t much bettin’ going on I hear.”
“You don’t be concerned with that.”
“Yessir.”
I began telling him as slowly and simply as I could what I wanted him to do.
“I want you to leave home, riding that filly of yours that is in season, in plenty of time to get you to the fairgrounds somewhere around a quarter until four in the afternoon. I don’t want you getting there too soon because I don’t want anybody noticing you, and I don’t want you getting around any stud horses that might cause that filly to get the stud horses all excited. Now you understand that?”
“Yessir. Except I ain’t got no way of telling the time ’less I come through town, and that would cause a ruckus with the filly in heat. Might be some stud horses hitched in there or coming down the street.”
I dug down and got out my pocket watch and gave it to him. “Here, you can use that.”
He looked down at it. “Golly whiz! This here is gold!”
“Don’t lose it,” I said. I went on, taking it slow and simple. “Now the backstretch of the racetrack is on the fairgrounds side. Right? You know where that is?”
“Yessir. You can ride right up to the outside railing of the backstretch. I’ve done it. Though I was on a mule.”
“That’s fine, that’s fine. Now I want you to lay back about a hundred yards while the race is getting ready. You’ll see the two horses warming up. But now, as soon as you see them go to their mark ... That’ll be right in front of the judges’ stand. Right in front of the grandstands.”
“Yessir.”
“As soon as you see that I want you to ride your filly right up to the railing of the backstretch. I want you to ride your filly up to that railing, about halfway between the curves, and I want you to just sit there. Don’t move, don’t do anything.”
“Yessir.”
“Then the race will start and then the horses will come around the first turn. Just as quick as they get to you I want you to turn your filly and ride off. You understand? Soon as they get to you, but not before, turn and ride off. Slow.”
“Turn my filly and ride off. Yessir. Slow. Yessir.”
“I want you to go straight home and stay there until time to come into the stable and go to work. Right after six o’clock, right after the other stable boy is gone, I’ll come down and give you the rest of your money and you can give me my watch back.”
“Yessir,” he said, but he had a worried frown on his face. I was fearful it might have something to do with Flood, though I’d never heard the boy mention the man’s name.
I said, “What’s the matter?”
He shifted from one foot to the other, hesitating. He looked troubled. “Mister Williams, I hate to tell you yore bid’ness . . .”
I stared at him hard. “What?”
He looked away. He swallowed. “Mister Williams, I knows you knows your horses. Onliest thing . . .”
“What, Tom?”
“Weeeell.” He stared down at the ground. “I wonder if you taken into thought what is going to happen to yore colt when he gets wind of my filly. He’s a young stud, yessir, but that filly is mighty ripe. I mean, might take his mind off of racing.”
I smiled. I was some relieved. I didn’t have any idea which way the boy was headed. Truth be told, I was afraid he was going to mention Bank Money. I said, trying to sound severe, “Tom, didn’t you give me your word you wouldn’t mention this business to anybody?”
“Yessir.” He looked at me wide-eyed.
“Well, ain’t I anybody?”
It took a moment but he finally smiled. “Yessir.”
I put my finger to my lips. “Nobody. Not even yourself.”
“Yessir,” he said.
I walked back to the hotel feeling that that end of it was handled. But even if it was managed and handled perfectly that didn’t mean it was going to work. There were fifty things that could go wrong with the plan and every one of them was possible.
I got into bed thinking of my family’s money in the bank. That Bank Money was going to be trying to win. Our bank money against Flood’s Bank Money.
It wasn’t a good thought to try and get to sleep on.
CHAPTER 14
We were riding out the road from town to the fairgrounds and the racetrack. It was a little past three-thirty, less than half an hour until the race. I was riding Wilson’s horse, a solid-built little quarter horse with good manners and a nice way of stepping, and Wilson, naturally, was on my roan colt. The colt had already been saddled with the parade saddle. He was stepping along like he knew he was going to another race, prancing sideways and fighting the bit and just generally acting like a damn fool kid.
Wilson said, “Well, they is one consolation to this race and the bet you made.”
“And what would that be?”
“This way you won’t have to pay this colt’s train fare back to Blessing. And Flood will be saddled with the expense of his upkeep from here on.”
I just give him a look and shook my head. “Some jockey I got.”
Then, a little further on, but still about a half mile from the racetrack, I pulled up Wilson’s pony and dismounted, dropping the reins to the ground. Wilson said, “Hey, what are you about?”
I was already digging in my pocket for the little jar with the salve in it. I said, “Get down and help me hold this colt’s head. He’s going to need a little doctoring.”
He got down giving me strange looks, but came forward anyway and took the colt by the head just above his nostrils. “What are you fixing to do?” he said.
I unscrewed the top off the salve. The wintergreen smell came right on up through the heat. I said, “Get a good hold. He ain’t going to like this much.”
Wilson dug in his heels but he said, “Say, what is that stuff? I smelled that yesterday. What the hell are you doing?”
But I was already smearing a little glob inside each of the colt’s nostrils. The fumes hit him and he snorted, and tried to jerk his head back, and nearly had a fit. I screwed the cap back on the jar and heaved it way off in the weeds. I didn’t figure to need it anymore.
Wilson was still fighting with the colt, who seemed to feel if he could fling his head around hard enough he could get rid of what was going right on up through his long head. I grabbed him by the halter and helped Wilson hold him until he settled down. The colt looked insulted, and kept giving me looks, like he’d like to have me in a locked barn.
“Justa! What the hell was that stuff?”
“Oh, nothing. Just something to help him breathe a little easier. That mile is going to be a long race for him.”
“Well, I can tell you right now he don’t care for it.”
The colt had calmed down, but he was still snorting and blowing air through his nose. The scent was still pretty pungent, but it was dissipating in the open air. I said, “Better keep him away from the judges.”
“What about you? You smell to high heaven.”
“I’m gettin’ a summer cold. Can’t you tell?”
We rode on. The fairgrounds were just ahead, and, beyond that, the gate that turned in behind the racetrack.
Wilson said, “I never heard of nobody sticking stuff up a horse’s nose to make him breathe better. Even if it does smell like an old wives’ remedy.”
“Well, considering how d
ancing girls and guitar players is your specialty, I can see how you wouldn’t understand such matters.”
Wilson looked serious. “Justa, I ain’t going to run this horse into the ground. Not when we ain’t got no chance.”
“I’m going to give you your instructions just before you go on the track.”
“You can give me all the instructions you want, but unless you are fast enough to run alongside me and this horse, it will be me giving the horse his instructions. And them is the ones I reckon will count.”
We turned in at the opened gate to the race grounds. Ahead I could see a small group of men gathered around the bottom of the judges’ platform. As we got closer I could recognize Mister Sloan and the Mister Rodriquez who’d been the judge the time we’d raced Flood’s long-gaited strawberry roan. Junior Borden was standing with them acting, I reckoned, as Flood’s second or whatever you wanted to call it. I looked around for the black buggy, but didn’t see it at first. Then I spotted it way back at the end of the race grounds shaded up under a big oak tree. I figured Flood was holding himself aloof from the preliminaries, and would only come forward to claim victory and his money and my horse.
I said to Wilson, “You sheer off and keep the roan cool. I’ll go and talk to the judges.”
I rode up on Wilson’s horse and dismounted. “Howdy,” I said. I shook hands with Mister Sloan and Mister Rodriquez and ignored Junior. Mister Sloan introduced me to the other two judges, and I shook their hands without much catching their names.
Mister Sloan said, “Mister Williams, Junior here is acting for Mister Flood if that is all right with you.”
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