I came all the way south to the Gila to find Bartle Bone, someone told me he was prospecting in Apache country. I don’t think it’s true, if it’s true he sure managed to dodge me.
The heat here is terrible Janey, I could not live in this desert, I would soon sweat to death. I had not expected to like it, I just came in hopes of finding Bartle. I don’t think Bartle likes me anymore, I think he dodges me, still I need to find him—we are old compañeros. He is a talker and will give me the news of our friends, if any of our friends are still alive. Not many are now, Janey, the years have taken their toll.
It is unfamiliar to me, this writing, Janey—I got out of the habit somehow, wandering too much I guess. Drinking too much, others would say.
I am headed for Albuquerque, and then north. I better stop and get some specs if I can find any. I can scarcely see this page I’m writing on—of course the firelight ain’t good.
Goodnight darling, forgive my long silence, Dora died—after that I lacked the spirit to take up my pen.
Your mother,
Martha Jane
Darling Jane—
An awful thing happened Janey—Fred flew away. It has been so long since I mentioned him, you probably don’t remember, Fred was Dora’s parrot. He used to say “General Custer,” now he don’t, and no one would know what he was talking about if he did—the Custer battle was more than twenty-five years ago.
Dora had her boy, then died, it was the worst pain of all. I still cannot talk about it and will not try to write about it, just say it was grief. Blue hired Ogden—it was me that caused that, I sent Ogden to give Blue the bad news, Blue hired him—of course Doosie and the baby went too. The boy Bob is nearly grown now, Blue says he can either lift an ox or eat one—however, Ogden his Daddy was struck by lightning the summer after Dora died. They were working cattle in one of those bad lightning storms, which was foolish. Blue saw him get struck—he and Teat tried to revive him, I don’t know why—you would have to be lucky to survive lightning—at least luckier than Ogden was.
Blue wanted me to have Fred, after all he ended up raising Dora’s boy, he thought I ought to have her parrot. I couldn’t count all the times I sat and watched Dora play with Fred when she was happy.
Anyway, I took him and he has been with me till last week. He learned to ride on the front of my saddle—Satan didn’t like it at first but later he got used to it, he would even let Fred clean out his ears. Cody my dog got used to him too, Fred would sleep with Cody on cold nights—Cody could have eaten him in a second but he never did.
I guess we made a funny-looking team Janey—an old woman, an old horse, an old dog, and an old parrot, though who knows what’s old for a parrot? When we come into towns people come out on the street and look at us and it isn’t just because I’m Calamity Jane or any of that nonsense.
Once in a while Fred would fly up in a tree but he liked company, he would sit in a tree for a while and try to act like a bird, then he’d come down and settle on the saddle again. He had a cozy life, though not as cozy as with Dora I admit. We spent some pretty cold nights out on the baldies, I’d throw a robe over Fred and pack him in with Cody—he may not have appreciated it but he survived.
The last weeks all I could think of was getting out of that desert heat—I don’t know this country like I know the plains. I came up too high and ran into a canyon. An old trader in a place called Ganado told me about it—it’s called the Canyon de Chelly, the Navaho consider it holy.
There are plenty of Navaho around, I wouldn’t call them friendly but they have not bothered me, they can see I am just a wild old woman. Anyway, the canyon is sheer, there was nothing to do but go around it. Near the south end there is a skinny column of rock sticking straight up from the canyon floor. They call it Spider Rock, it sticks up nearly a mile I guess. This morning Fred began to flap his wings—he does that sometimes. We were camped at the edge of the canyon, before I could think, Fred flew off and tried to make Spider Rock.
He didn’t, Janey—Fred was never much of a flyer, anyway he was out of practice. He did his best but he lost altitude and landed about halfway down the rock. He was there all day—I yelled myself hoarse trying to get him to fly back. I was even prepared to ride into the canyon from the north end and try to coax him down. This morning, though, he was gone. There are many eagles here, I expect one got him. Even a hawk could have easily whipped Fred, he wasn’t a big parrot.
Janey you may think your mother is a silly woman to write a whole letter about a parrot, of course you have never seen this parrot, why would you care?
Yet it broke my heart to lose him, I keep looking up in trees hoping he’s there—parrots play jokes, you know, all this could be some big joke of Fred’s. I rode down into the canyon from the north end, the walls were hundreds of feet tall all around me. I thought Fred might be hopping around the bottom of Spider Rock or sitting in some little bush or eating some of the corn the Navaho grow. I didn’t want to give up, Janey, but I had to, I never saw a feather or anything to indicate Fred had been there.
Even now if a crow flaps out of a tree I think it might be Fred—I look around to see if he’s following us as a trick. I know he can’t be following us, he wasn’t a strong flyer. I will always wonder why he flew off, do you suppose he just had an urge to be a bird?
Anyway he was all I had from Dora except her silver hairbrush and I pawned that in Cheyenne, I had to.
Your mother,
Martha Jane
Darling Jane—
I will take this opportunity to write you while I am in a place where the light is good—it is pretty good in this saloon, better than it would be by a campfire. Potato Creek Johnny is here, he has only got one arm now, he fell down in front of an ore car and the ore car pinched off his left arm, fortunately he is right-handed.
Johnny says Bartle is back in Deadwood—we are heading back there tomorrow. It has been a long time since I have seen Bartle, but to my surprise I recently ran into Blue. They have these roping contests now—I guess the cowboys ain’t satisfied with showing off for the homefolks, they come to town and rope steers or take turns trying to ride pitching horses. I think it’s silly.
I was in Cheyenne and went out to the roping contest to see if any old friends were there, sure enough Blue was. He is as much a devil as ever, only now his mustache is white—it ain’t as white as Billy Cody’s hair, but it’s white.
“Are you so lazy you have to come to town to do your roping?” I asked—he got a kick out of that—then he pointed out Dora’s boy, Bob. He is a champion roper and also a fine rider, he won all the prizes, how proud she would be. Of course even a pitching horse would have to work hard to pitch off a boy that big. I cried when I saw him. Blue wanted to introduce us but I hung back. I look a sight, and I wasn’t too sober—I thought best just to look.
I guess all these years I thought the child might be Blue’s, I thought he and Dora deserved a child for all the love they shared. Things don’t work in such a way though Janey—the boy is Ogden all over. I said to Blue I thought he might be yours, T. Blue just smiled. “I got to raise him for her, ain’t that what matters?” he said.
Blue wanted to take me home with him to his ranch on the Musselshell, he said I looked as if I could use a rest, and my horse too. I didn’t go Janey, perhaps I will later after I’ve gone to look for Bartle. Blue is still married to his wife, they have five or six children. Johnny says they are nice. I don’t think I will go, Janey, I would feel embarrassed. I ain’t respectable enough for such a household. Blue might still be a hellion, I expect he is, but his wife might not appreciate a rough specimen like me living under her roof.
Blue and I were both afraid to talk of Dora, I can tell he still misses her, just as I do. We sort of circled her, we didn’t talk of her much—it’s too upsetting. Blue bought me all the drinks I wanted, of course I accepted too many. He said he heard I had been in jail and what was that all about—who did I kill?
Your mother is not a ki
ller, Janey—I just get rowdy. If people mess with me I want them to know they are messing with a wild one. I don’t care if it’s women or men. I rarely start the fights though, Janey, I said to Blue I just wish they’d leave me alone to go to hell in my own style and bury me beside Bill Hickok when I die.
I’d choose better than him to be buried by, if I had my choice, Blue said—he did not care for your father, they were both young roosters when they knew one another. I didn’t want to argue with Blue after he bought me drinks, I let it pass, but no one else but Blue could get by with speaking ill of your father. Anybody else would get punched, if they didn’t get worse.
It was good to see Blue though, he is an old-timer like me, we are among the last of the fieries and snuffles from the cow-town days. I didn’t want to quarrel with him, your father is dead, it is of little consequence that I liked him and Blue didn’t.
Janey if I don’t find Bartle I think I will just stay in Deadwood, I am about through with roaming this west. My eyes are cheating me now, I don’t see half what I used to see, I might miss the trail someday and wander off and die like No Ears did—I guess he did anyway, he left the Musselshell in good health and was never seen again. Someone is supposed to have found his wax ear in Wyoming, I didn’t see it though, that is probably just a tale. I miss No Ears too, ain’t it strange? I miss Jim Ragg—well, I won’t write the whole list, I’d rather get drunk than do that.
Your mother,
Martha Jane
Darling Jane—
I finally did catch up with Bartle Bone, I scarcely knew him he is so improved. He is an actor now, he travels with a little troupe. They have two or three plays that they do. I saw them do one in Silver City—Bartle played a villain named Black Bart, I laughed myself sick. Bartle has taken up with a redheaded woman named Kate who bosses him around. I guess she thinks she is Lillie Langtry, I didn’t enjoy her, she talks too English. If she was Lillie Langtry she wouldn’t be traveling around these old greasy mining towns.
Bartle was kind to me though, when he could escape his evil whore. That was not often—she has a ring in his nose for sure and jerks him around pretty good, of course it serves Bartle right he broke many a heart in his earlier years. Heartbreakers deserve to end up with a ring in their noses. Bartle says it was Billy Cody who got him to try acting. It seems he has a gift for it, he made the miners laugh and then he made them cry. I cried too but it wasn’t from the acting, it was just from seeing Bartle Bone after all this gap of years. He says he is going back to join Billy, they are taking the Wild West show to Italy soon. He says I could come—Billy asks about me—but I can’t drag myself that far, it is too far. I am getting blind Janey, I would get lost along the way. Worse still I might get lost in Italy, I don’t speak the lingo, what would become of your mother?
I am glad though that Bartle went east and made a success of himself. Success was what he was meant for, to see him now you would hardly believe he spent all those years following Jim Ragg around looking for beaver that weren’t there. Now he gets barbered every day, dyes his beard and wears a cravat half the time—he says he has to, people won’t pay to see you unless you look fine. Bartle was always handsome, he does look fine—I think back to how close to dying we both came that day we went moose hunting and had to make a cold camp, in those days Bartle looked so gaunt it was hard to believe he would last a year.
Bartle will head east soon and meet up with Doc Ramses, it is their job to go to the reservations and hire Indians for Billy’s show. They won’t get many of the great chiefs, not now, they are all dead. Sitting Bull was massacred years ago at Wounded Knee. I found that regretful, not that I liked Sitting Bull, still he was just an old man with a few boys with him, what could he have done?
Bartle and I have made a pact to meet at the big Cheyenne roping contest next year, he wants to take me to Billy Cody’s house. It is called Scout’s Rest and it is in Nebraska—they say Billy has bought a place in Sheridan, too. I suppose he is rich. Nobody made as much money off the Wild West stuff as Billy Cody. He was never unkind to me, I wish him well.
Bartle says Billy works hard but he is not too happy, he finally divorced Lulu. I never met Lulu and have no opinion on the matter, though it was clear they were not close—she was never with him. Bartle says Billy still gets tears in his eyes when he speaks of Dora, well, we all do, I told him, I get tears in my eyes if I even hear her name. It is odd what a hold Dora had on her men, they all loved her, even Bartle confessed that he had been her sweetheart for a night.
I guess I am just an odd one, Janey—it was never my good fortune to affect people that way. If I affected anybody it was Dora herself. She would often hold my hand and try to persuade me I was pretty—she would hug me when I was low.
Now I am old and going blind, half the time I wander over the plains and don’t even know what town I am looking for. Perhaps I am only looking for the past, Janey—how do you find the past?
I hope I can last till next year Janey, I will go to the big roping contest in Cheyenne and see my old friend Bartle with his dyed beard. I don’t know if I’ll go to Cody’s house though, it sounds too grand for me.
If I can find Blue he will take me to the roping, maybe this time I’ll be sober and let him introduce me to Dora’s boy.
Your mother,
Martha Jane
Darling Jane—
There are things I should be writing, Janey—things you ought to know about your mother. Each time I take up my pen I think I will write them, then I don’t, I talk about Bartle or Blue or my wanderings instead.
I want to tell the truth but then I don’t—it’s a reproach to me, or at least it’s too sad. I always thought I was truthful, it is only when I start one of these letters that I realize I ain’t.
Now all I do is piddle around in my memories. You’ve seen children make mud pies? That’s what I do with my memories, I pat them into the shape I want them to take . . . they’re just mud-pies, Janey.
Have I informed you that Cody was killed—the dog I mean, not Billy. He was an old dog, the wolves caught him. Cody killed many wolves when he was in his prime, I guess they got their revenge. I didn’t find him, Johnny did, he said it looked from the blood on the ground like Cody put up a good fight. He died snarling, Johnny said.
I believe that means the end of my traveling, Janey. I would be afraid to venture far without my old dog. Satan is wearing out too. He has been sorefooted lately and the blacksmith can’t figure out why—he shoes him carefully. I know why Janey—he’s old. Satan and Cody and me have covered the miles—well, we’ve covered the west. Now Cody’s dead and Satan’s worn out. My ankles swell so I can hardly walk myself.
This is not the letter I meant to write, it is just another list, I might as well stop.
Your mother,
Martha Jane
Darling Jane—
I have failed again Janey, I come up here to the Yellowstone only to get another piece of bad news, Doosie has died. Johnny told me—he is like a walking newspaper, my old friend Johnny, he’s just got the one arm but he keeps pacing up one trail and down another, looking for the creek of gold.
I was headed for Blue’s, I am almost too decrepit now to navigate for myself—Blue always looks me up and buys me drinks when he’s down in the Black Hills, he has invited me to live at his ranch many times, I finally decided to take him up on it. I began to have a yearning to see Doosie, she is an old-timer too and was faithful to Dora through all their years.
But I got here to Miles City and found out she had developed a tumor and died. I think I will just turn back Janey, Satan is too sorefooted now to go all the way to the Musselshell. I think I will leave him here in Miles City, he has carried me far enough. Probably there will be a wagon going down toward the Black Hills, maybe the boys will let me ride with them. Blue still travels everywhere, he’ll be restless the day he dies I guess. Blue will find me, I’m too tired to find him. The next time he’s in the Black Hills we will have a visit.
>
Your mother,
Martha Jane
Darling Jane—
I left my old horse, Janey—for my part it was hard to leave him. I think Satan was too tired to care. I borrowed ten dollars from Johnny and paid for Satan’s keep at the livery stable in Miles City—I requested that he be shot when the cold weather comes if he looks poorly. His teeth are gone, I would not want him to have to endure another hard winter.
The boys who drove the wagon were just young sprouts. I made a bad choice to throw in with them. They tried to tease me and insult me, they were very rude, I have seen men treat Indians that way. Finally I pulled my pistol—I am not a child to be played with, boys, I told them, keep it up if you want to be shot. After that they let me be but showed me no respect—it made me feel I had outlived my time, no doubt the Indians feel the same way. We are treated like jokes now—these young men are just braggarts, they think they are great adventurers when all they do is drive wagons along the Bozeman trail. I would have liked to see them take that road when the Sioux and Cheyenne were in their glory, they would have been killed like dogs, they wouldn’t be bragging long, they’d have all they could do to keep their hair, not many of them could even do that much.
Your mother will never travel again Janey, not unless Blue or Bartle or somebody, maybe Billy Cody, comes and gets me in a buggy.
Your mother,
Martha Jane
Darling Jane—
There will not be many more letters, Janey, my eyes are fading fast. I wish I would procure a photo of you before my eyes are too far gone to allow me to see my darling.
I have been thinking about Cody a lot lately, Janey—Bill, I mean, not my dog. I had a letter from him, he wants to come and see me—he says he misses his friends from the old days. I would be ashamed to see Bill Cody, Janey—he is the most successful person ever to come out of the west, and I am the worst failure—how could we ever sit at the same table? Billy took an idea and sold it to the whole world—he has supped with kings and queens. They say that he has buffalo and elk on his ranch, and fine cattle and horses.
Buffalo Girls Page 31