Rabbit Boss

by Thomas Sanchez

  “Kill em all!”

  “Now I’m not saying we should just start killing up all the Injuns, don’t get me wrong, but you just take this one Injun before you as proof of my words. You gents have a Law in this town that no Injun can buy Whiteman liquor, a just and reasonable Law, one that prevails in every orderly town in the West This Injun walked right into this town and bought a bottle of whiskey just like he was White, just like he was a man. This is just the kind of outrage an Injun will pull unless we put some wolf teeth into our Laws.”

  “Hang him now!”

  “But that is not all this redskin is guilty of gents, he also …”

  “The thievin redskin stole a bottle of my whiskey last night!” One of the men wedged in before the buckboard screamed up at the Bummer, pounding the hammer of his fist on the Indian’s boot, “I tried to be Christian to him last night and gave him a ride to this town from the Railroad track layin teams out on the desert, what do you suppose he does but steal my whiskey and jump off my wagon into the night. That makes two crimes he’s committed, if justice is to be done we’ll have to hang him, haul him down, then hang him again!”

  “And that’s not all gents, this Injun broke more Laws than a toad has warts. Honest to John, just this past year this Injun before you and a sidekick named Squirrel with a band of other redskins, raided a John Chinaman gold diggins up at Dutch Flats. The Injuns beat up alot of the yellowmen besides putting a bullet through the heart of another John Chinaman.”

  “Hang em!”

  “Right after that outrage this Injun before you laid some bets in a legal run Badger baiting contest over to Truckee. This Injun before you committed the lowest of outrages, he run off on his bets, owing six-hundred silver dollars to the citizens of Truckee, who were the lawfully wronged owners of that money.”

  “Hang em to a tree then chop the tree down!”

  “This Injun before you is known around the Railroad towns as Captain Rex. The only thing he ever does is get drunk and sing like a bird. He’s the worst of his bad kind, his own people don’t want him and neither do we. The Railroad uses him because he was cunning enough to learn how to speak American words, so the Railroad pays him a silver dollar and a bottle of whiskey a day to work for them. He’s the worst of his bad kind. I’ll tell you just what kind of work he does. He gets together a band of his people, puts them in one of the Railroad’s boxcars and ships them over the line to the foothills on the California side where they pick pigweed along the tracks. Injuns love to eat pigweed, they’re all just Diggers these Indians. The Railroad wants the pigweed cleared out so it don’t catch a spark in it from a passing train and set a forest fire. So the Injuns get their basketfuls of pigweed to take home and boil up, if it weren’t for the generosity of the Railroad they wouldn’t get such a square meal in their lifetime. And what does this Captain here get out of it? This Captain Pigweed here gets a silver dollar and a bottle of whiskey. His people get weeds and he gets whiskey. He’s the worst of his kind, they don’t want him and neither do we.”

  “Hang him to a tree and burn the tree down!”

  “I’ve been on this Injun’s trail for sometime. I, John C. Luther, have been deputized by the United States Marshal over to Lake Tahoe to bring this Injun to Justice for robbing the honest folk of Truckee of their legal Badger baiting bets. The Railroad has been using him out on the desert where the John Chinaman coolie gangs are banging track. This Injun before you didn’t do any work out there, he just stood around the track gangs and watched for trouble from any other Injuns so he’d make sure to get his pay of a dollar and a bottle. He’s the worst of his bad kind.”

  “Hang em now!”

  “Stretch his neck out ten feet!”

  “Wait gents, there is one more thing you should know about the Injun before you. I, John C. Luther, have also been deputized by the U.S. Marshal in Virginia City to bring this Injun to Justice for an outrage committed this past month in Carson City. This very same Injun before you, along with his sidekick Squirrel and a band of other redskins, raided the horses at a wedding party in Carson. As if these Injuns hadn’t done enough breaking of our just Laws they commit the greatest outrage, HORSETHIEVIN! This Injun led the others up to the horses tied outside the barn where the wedding dance was going on, they cut the tethers and led the horses off, then they rode the horses out into the desert. Now listen to this gents, it’s going to burn your ears, you always knew Injuns would kill your women and children, now listen to this lowest act. These Injuns got the horses rode far out into the desert then built a big sagebrush fire. Then gents, they tied the horses down and shot them in the head.”

  “Kill that redskin!”

  “Kill him now!”

  “Now listen to this gents, honest to John it’s going to burn your ears off what these Injuns did next, they threw the horses into the fire and cooked them, then they ate them. Can you imagine this low act gents, this outrage against God. When the boys from the wedding party had rounded up some new mounts they followed the tracks out into the desert. When they rode up to the fire the Injuns were still there, eating horseflesh. Their bellies were stuffed with horsemeat, they were drunk on it, they just looked up and laughed at the boys from the wedding party. Well the boys spurred their mounts around in a circle, with the Injuns between them and the fire, they slipped their rifles out of the saddle holsters and took aim. Some of the Injuns were still laughing when the precision of all those rifle bullets ripped right through their red bodies.”

  “That’s it, hang em now!”

  “Somehow gents this Injun before you escaped the Justice he deserved, his sidekick Squirrel was one of the dead bodies lying bleeding around that fire, so I know this Injun before you was one of those involved in the outrage, although none of the boys actually saw him. How can you see a redskin running in the dark? He’s the worst of his kind, he escaped Justice. But the U.S. Marshal at Virginia City has sworn me to bring him in. I can’t thank you gents for rounding him up for me, you know how cunning these Injuns are, they can walk twelve months with nothing but a cheap tobacco chew and the spit on their chin.”

  “Now we’re gonna hang him high!” The buckboard rocked under the Bummer’s feet as the pack moved in, waving their fists in the dusty air.

  “Gents, gents!” The Bummer swung the metal tip of his cane at those grabbing the Indian’s legs and trying to rock the buckboard over. “Gent, gents! Honest to John I’m sworn by two U.S. Marshals to bring this Injun to Justice!” He tried to kick off one of the men who had a fist hold in his checkered pants as he beat at the others with his cane.

  “Hang the redskin by his thievin red balls!”

  The man clutching at the Bummer’s pants shoved himself up from the crowd onto the swaying buckboard. He leaned the white knife of his face into the Bummer, “God’s will be done man! Don’t you stand in the way of the Lord! Out of my way Satan!”

  The Bummer shoved the cane under the man’s chin and rammed it into his throat, trying to knock him over, “I’m bringing this Injun to Justice, Reverend Jake. I’m bringing him to Justice!”

  The Reverend Jake got hold of the cane and pushed it back, the fierce blue light of his eyes blazed, “Out of my way you Bummer!”

  “Get that Injun for us Reverend! We want the Injun!”

  “Out of the Lord’s way Bummer, or we will hang you too!”

  The Bummer jammed the cane back into Reverend Jake’s throat and knocked him over into the crowd, “This Injun is mine! He will be hung in Truckee and Virginia City!”

  Reverend Jake was pulled to his feet, the intense blue of his eyes looked out at the crowd behind him, “Why let Truckee and Virginia City hang the red devil! We want to hang him! He’s ours, not theirs! They’ve got plenty of red devils of their own. He committed an outrage in our town, we caught him first, he’s ours to hang. We’ll teach this red devil the lesson of White Law! God’s will be done! Hang him!” He lunged at the buckboard, the screams of the men around him tore at the air as their weigh
t pushed in against the buckboard. The Bummer cracked the solid metal of his cane down on the hands clutching at him, he could hear the air of screams splinter with the sound of wood as the sideboards of the wagon ripped off. The fist of his hand locked on the noose around the Indian’s neck jerked, cinching the knot up and slamming the Indian against him. He held the Indian tight next to him so no one could pull him away, then the delicate curve of his mouth flew open and he screamed.

  “GOLD!”

  The yelling pack below him fell silent.

  “You take the L out of GOLD and what have you got. I’ll tell you! Take the L out of GOLD and you’ve got GOD!”

  The broad street jammed with men beneath him was quiet and still, the only movement was the rays of sun shooting through the slow rising dust.

  “I know all about precious metals gents, I was down in Trinidad country in ’52 when Mama Ocean herself was spitting up cartloads of golden nuggets on the shore. I seen it once and I aim to see it again.”

  “Where!”

  “Everyone is shouting Silver now,” the Bummer picked up the stovepipe hat at his feet and knocked it free of dust, then spit on it to rub back the high black shine. “All the talk is Silver but I’ll tell you gents straight as a stick, the Gold had just barely begun to be touched before everybody dropped it and ran over here to Nevada for Silver. And what have any of us gents got in our pockets to show for our hard years in Nevada? I’ll show you!” He put his hat high atop his head and took a greasy packet of papers from his dusty white coat and read aloud like a judge, “This here is what we got for our hard earned wages, ‘12 feet in the Root-Hog Or Die Silver Mine,’ at 1,000 American dollars a foot. He threw the sheet of paper he read from out into the crowd, “Worthless! ‘30 feet in Gouge Eye,’ ‘200 feet in Hell Roaring,’ ‘40 feet in Bobtail Horse,’ the ‘Stump Toe,’ the ‘Grab Game,’ ‘Love’s Despair,’ ‘Rip Snorter,’ ‘Dead Broke’…” He tossed all the papers up in the air, “Worthless! Which one of us gents hasn’t bought leads in these mines, and all the other diggins in the Comstock Lode, which one of us hasn’t speculated. There isn’t a coyote hole within two hundred miles of here that hasn’t at least four times developed indications. Every hillside around has been grubbed open, from here all the way into the desert the ground’s been pegged like the sole of a soldier’s boot with stakes declaring Lawful claims. Which one of us gents hasn’t invested his ready cash in Nevada Silver and come up short? I tell you gents there’s still enough Gold in California to make us all Senators!”

  “Where!”

  The Bummer jerked the rope around the Indian’s neck, “This Injun before you knows.”

  “Get him to tell us then hang em!”

  “I couldn’t be in more accord with you gents. This Injun knows where we can pick up a fortune, his own life isn’t worth two-bits out of your jeans, he’s the worst of his kind, just as the twig is bent the tree grows. But we can’t hang his red skin yet, he is the only one who can lead us to the Gold Lake up Downieville way. Others have looked for the lake with Gold glowing up from its bottom and never struck it. Honest to John this Gold Lake aint something a gang of Sunday miners could find, it takes a conniving Injun to lead the way.”

  “Let’s get that Gold!”

  “Yee-hah, we’re gonna be rich!”

  “WA-HOOO we gonna strike it!!!”

  “Hold your ponies down gents,” the Bummer pulled a thin brown cigar from his pocket and lit up, ignoring those shouting and banging on the buckboard. “You gents don’t want to go off half cocked. You’re making such a racket they can hear all the way over to Virginia City.” He blew out a big cloud of blue smoke and watched it drift over the quieting crowd. “Now you gents are just going to have to hold your water unless you want to split all that paydirt with both the States of Nevada and California. You gents know what happened to crazy Captain Tom Stoddard back around ’49 when he got hit with Gold Lake fever, he started showing handfuls of golden nuggets he said were just floating on the surface of a lake an Injun had led him to. Crazy Tom Stoddard showed his find in every saloon from Sacramento to Frisco. The newspapers told the world about the Gold Lake in Yuba River country, that wildfire story spread through the mining camps overnight. Honest to John, why some men jumped off of $500 a day claims of their own to beat everybody else up to the lake where Gold glowed up from the bottom and floated across the top. Why there were thousands who wore their boots raw banging around in the cruel elements searching for that golden paradise. They couldn’t find the lake, but they sure did find Stoddard, they put a rope around his neck and said they’d hang him at sunup. But when the new day came someone had cut the rope, Stoddard was gone. Thousands of Law abiding gents were humbugged and the Gold Lake was still lost. There are some who say crazy Stoddard hid out with that Scottish sailor, Downie, who had a drygoods store down on the North Yuba River. It was soon after that when Downie the drygoods gent closed his store and went partners with seven nigger sailors. In no time at all they were striking it rich just by kicking the dirt with their boots. Now you tell me how one Scotman and seven niggers could become rich as Governors overnight if Stoddard hadn’t tipped them off to something? That’s what some say gents. But this Injun before you isn’t going to be lucky like Stoddard, you can only turn a dirty shirt inside out once. This Injun is going to lead us straight up to the Gold Lake and then were going to hang him on the spot. We won’t make the mistake of waiting until sunrise.”

  “Let’s go get rich!”

  “Now gents,” the Bummer held a gloved hand high. “We are going into this adventure as Law abiding equals. There is to be no knifings, shootings, or stranglings. Trust your neighbor. Whatever we strike gents the higher Law of prospecting pertains, anything we hit rich we share honestly in the American spirit of free enterprise.”

  “Let’s get that Injun packing!”

  “Light a fire under his saddle!”

  “You gents back up and give this Injun room to draw us a proper map, he knows that Yuba country as well as he knows the inside of his pocket, and he’s going to lead us to the Golden Paradise. Hold your ponies down now gents and give the Injun room.”

  The crowd moved back and the Bummer jumped down. He tugged the rope around the Indian’s neck, pulling him off the buckboard. He put his cane against the Indian’s cheek so its gold tip rested beneath the eye, “Now Captain, draw us the way.”

  “He can’t talk, that hangin noose is got his neck up so tight he can’t talk!”

  The Bummer loosened the noose, “Now DRAW!”

  The Indian’s stiff finger made deep signs in the thick dust, his words came dry and cracked as he drew, “River coming out the mouth of lake. Blue water everywhere. The Sky is touched by stone. Two, three days distant. North of the Sun. Two rivers. Valley filled with clouds. Sky is touched by stone.”

  The Bummer nodded, “That’s the way I figured it gents, that’s right where it’s got to be, up above where the Yuba forks into two rivers. We’ve got to go up through Beckwourth Pass, across the Sierra Valley and over Yuba Pass. ‘Sky is touched by stone,’ that means the Sierra Buttes, the Gold Lake is north of there. But we’re not going to go the way this Injun wants us to, it would attract too much notice, other gents may get on to us. We are going to go the long way, bypass Carson City altogether on Fishback Road. It’s an old twisty stagecoach road that hasn’t been used since the Big Gold Rush, nobody’d think of using it now, too dangerous. It goes along behind Lake Tahoe, up through Emigrant Gap, across Round Valley to Goodyear’s Bar. That ought to throw off any gents who take to speculate on us” The Bummer sat back on his haunches and took a long suck at his cigar so its tip burned fire red, he cocked his head and let a big cloud of smoke drift away from him, the delicate curve of his mouth twisted open into a smile showing the brilliant flash of his gold capped teeth, “Gents, let’s go get it.”

  “YIPPEEE!”

  “LET’S STRIKE IT!!!”

  The men in the street ran into one another, tripped
over one another, bit one another, hit one another as they broke up into screaming mobs fighting their way into the General Store. They knocked one another down striving to push their weight into supreme positions on the backs of horses, mules, oxen carts, ranchwagons, buckboards and empty waterwagons. The dust swirled up like a thunderstorm and the Bummer stood on the seat of his own buckboard holding the reins of his snorting horses and waving the goldtipped cane in the choking clouds rising around him, “Let’s set sail gents!”

  Reverend Jake jumped into the back of the buckboard, the fierce blue light of his eyes burning through the dust as he sat on the hard seat behind the Bummer and the Indian. He leaned the fat double barrel of a shotgun across his legs and nudged the barrel into the Bummer’s back, “God’s vengeance is behind you Bummer! The Sword of the Lord is at your back. I’m riding right here until God’s Will be done and your Indian takes us to the Gold. By the time this journey is finished we shall see, Bummer, just which of the two of us carries the greatest share of Mother earth.”

  The Bummer turned around on the point of the shotgun sticking in his back and flashed his brilliant gold smile. “Keep your hair on Reverend Jake, you’ll never get a cool drink of water till you get the hog out of the spring.” He whipped the reins over his team of stamping horses, “Hey-YAAAH, move out!” The reins slapped on the horses, rearing them back, galloping the buckboard into the dusty storm of the street. “Heee-Yaaay!” The wagon bounced, clanged and bolted down the broad street and out of town. The Bummer stood again, holding the reins loose and open through his fingers as he swung his head around, “Here they come! They’re right on our trail!” Below the shiny black brim of his hat his eyes looked back at the stampeding gang of riders and wagons roaring down the street in a hail of hurled insults to “MAKE WAY…!!!” Spurs dug into horseflesh, whips cracked, the ring of pistol shots spun high through the dusty air. The Bummer kept at the head of the pack, his own whip lashing over the sweatswelled backs before him, he kept the horses headed straight, right up the Carson Valley.