Bringing Ezra Back (6 page)

Beckwith tipped his hat to the boy and told him how smart he was, and soon proceeded to say the boy would need a good shaving razor before too long. Beckwith said he just might have such a thing in his pack.

I stood by and watched him work his tricks on the crowd. He showed the young children little carved wooden animals and tops. He held up hair ribbons and combs and shawls and soaps to the ladies and allowed them to look and touch and smell. When men came from the tavern to see what was going on, out came tools and elixirs and Barlow knives and more.

I saw the longing in their faces, the wanting in their outstretched hands, and watched as Beckwith made one sale after another. Some folks stood back, their arms crossed over their chests, which I was beginning to see meant they were holding back, trying not to be charmed by Beckwith's “silver tongue.” A few folks murmured about saving their money for the show that evening, but even so it seemed to me we were doing a pretty good business.

When the crowd had gone, Beckwith counted up his money. He'd taken in a hodgepodge of dimes, half dimes, cents, half cents, shillings, ninepence, coppers, and Spanish reales, which made figuring difficult, leastways for me. But Beckwith claimed we'd made well over three dollars.

A woman waited there with us till we put our packs back together. She fancied a set of tin cups, and had offered us corn bread, a piece of ham, and a dozen eggs in trade. She'd told us we could sleep in the barn, too, long as we didn't mind the rooster crowing early in the morning.

We followed her home, made the trade, and settled our belongings in the hayloft. Then I made a small fire outside.

While the ham and eggs were cooking, Beckwith rubbed his chin whiskers contentedly. “All in all, that was a much more profitable afternoon than I'd anticipated, Nathan. Your fiddling drew us a fine crowd. I think I can spare two thin dimes, and I'm curious to see the tomfoolery myself. How 'bout you and I take in the show tonight?”

I had tried to tell myself I didn't much care, but now that it looked like we were going, I could admit it: I wanted to see that show awful bad.

Why should I believe Beckwith against a whole town full of people? I wished I could tell Molly and Pa I was going to see the savage Devil-Beast of Borneo with my very own eyes!

6

IT WAS GETTING ON
dark when Beckwith and I headed to the show. Everybody in town seemed to be in the street, talking excitedly and going in the same direction. The crowd included men, women, children, even babies and old folks hobbling along on canes and crutches.

A long line had formed at the entryway to the town hall. A big, red-faced man was keeping folks in place. “No need to push and shove, ladies and gentlemen,” he called out. “There's room for all, and I assure you, the Devil-Beast won't make its appearance until everyone is seated.”

A skinny man with dark, greasy hair poking out from under his felt hat was taking money. Some people, who I expect were lacking dimes, brought food or other items to trade. I didn't see the skinny man turn anybody away.

Beckwith and I were getting close to the entrance when suddenly a wild and terrible roar came from inside. It sounded like no animal I'd ever heard, not wolf or coyote or wildcat, either. A shiver shot right through me and down my back. People screamed, and some children began to cry.

The big, red-faced man shouted, “Remain calm, ladies and gentlemen. Do not panic! You are perfectly safe. The Devil-Beast is restrained by the strongest chains and bars known to man. Escape is impossible. Keep moving now, so the show can begin.”

The crowd was making its own roar, and it was growing louder and more high-pitched. I glanced at Beckwith, who was grinning from ear to ear and appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. I checked the expressions on the faces of the other men. Their eyes looked feverish with excitement and fear. Some of them fingered pistols they carried on their hips.

Beckwith winked when he gave the skinny man two dimes, and we went inside. I was relieved to see that all the front seats were already taken. A few lanterns hanging from the roof beams cast a dim light. The front of the room was closed off by a curtain, so folks in the audience couldn't see what was behind it.

Beckwith motioned for me to join him in a row about halfway back. He was looking all around the room, smiling widely at anybody who looked back. I couldn't tear my eyes from that curtain hanging in the front, couldn't stop thinking about what was behind it. Once, when the crowd noise sank low for a minute, I was sure I heard the rattle of chains.

It was pitch black out by the time everybody got in and settled on a seat, and it wasn't much lighter inside. I looked toward the back of the hall and saw the skinny man close the door. I reckoned the show was about to begin, and I felt my heart start thumping.

The red-faced man stepped from behind the curtain wearing a black hat, a bright, stripy tie, and a gentleman's jacket. The crowd hushed all at once. In the sudden quiet, I could almost hear their eager breath and their hearts beating along with mine. Put together, we were like one great hungry beast waiting to be fed.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man began, “thank you for your patience. I promise you it will be well rewarded. At great peril to life and limb, we have brought to you from darkest, far-off Borneo the most astounding—”

At that moment we heard a loud clanking of chains and a screeching sound like metal ripping. Then there came a crash, another horrible roar, and the sounds of a fearsome scuffle behind the curtain, followed by a scream that made my blood run cold. The red-faced man stopped his speech and froze solid as an icicle, his eyes bugging wide with fear.

A gasp arose from the audience. The curtain was ripped aside and the skinny man appeared. His hair was wild and rumpled, his clothing torn and covered in blood. It was a terrible sight. “Run for your lives!” he shouted. “The Devil-Beast has escaped!”

I never in my life saw such an uproar as followed. Everybody was shrieking and hollering and bawling at once. Folks ran for the door, pushing and shoving, leaping over seats and each other, nearly stepping on a few poor unfortunates who had fallen or been knocked down in the rush.

I was too scared to move right at first. When I finally gathered my wits and looked for Beckwith, I was astonished to see him standing beside me, laughing so hard, tears were spilling down his face. I wondered if I might have struck up company with a madman.

“Come on!” I urged him. “We got to run for our lives!”

He just bent over and laughed harder. I didn't intend for us to be the ones eaten or torn apart by the Devil-Beast. I grabbed Beckwith's arms and pretty near dragged him out of the hall and onto the street.

People were racing off in all directions, and their screams still filled the air. I looked every which way for the Devil-Beast, but it was nowhere in sight. There wasn't any sign of the red-faced man, or the skinny one, either. I pulled Beckwith along behind me. I was headed toward the barn, which was the only place I knew to go.

I figured to get us where it was safe. Later I'd sort out what in tarnation had got into Beckwith. That was my thinking, anyway.

Suddenly a man in front of us stopped and looked around. Then he bellowed in outrage, “Wait just a minute here. There ain't no savage Devil-Beast, escaped or not. We've been hoaxed! Where's those fellers took our money?”

Some of the others quit their running, too, and began talking. Then one of them looked our way. “You there,” he said, pointing to Beckwith. “What's so blamed funny?”

Another man said, “Maybe he's in on this here little trick.”

Then more voices joined in and became a chorus. “These two showed up in town just today, same as those other two.”

“Likely they're all in it together!”

“Reckon they've got explaining to do.”

Then the whole bunch of them came after us.

7

QUICKER'N IT TAKES
to tell about it, we were surrounded by a mob of angry-looking townsfolk. Some of the men had their hands on their pistols, I noticed. I felt little bumps rise up on my arms. People said that meant a goose just walked over where your grave is going to be someday, but I knew better. It meant I was scared. Till right that minute, I didn't know that you can taste fear, sharp and bitter on your tongue.

“Let's search 'em, see if they got our money,” a man close to us cried.

“Yeah, search 'em!” others agreed.

I looked at Beckwith. He wasn't laughing anymore, but he didn't look near as scared as I felt. “Gentlemen, please,” he said, “if you'll allow me to explain, I assure you—”

But a man with a tangled black and gray beard wasn't having any of it. He busted in, saying, “Enough with the fancy talk, mister. We'll do the assurin' around here from now on.”

Two other men drew their pistols and pointed them, one at me and one at Beckwith. It wasn't the first time I'd had a gun trained on me; Weasel had done the same with a rifle the night he captured me. But I don't reckon it's a feeling you ever quite get used to. I put my hands in the air before anybody even said to do it, and stood still as a rabbit that's seen the shadow of a hawk passing overhead.

“You,” the man who was covering Beckwith said, “hands up, like the boy's.”

From the corner of my eye I could see Beckwith give a little shrug, then obey the command.

“Let's see what they got on 'em,” the bearded man said. He stepped closer to Beckwith and nodded to a littler man with bushy red hair who was standing near me. “You search the boy, Frank,” he said.

“There's no need for that,” Beckwith said. “We'll turn our pockets out for you, and you'll find no treasure trove of dimes, I assure—” He gasped and doubled over in pain as the bearded man kicked him in the leg.

“What did I say about assurin'?” the bearded man asked.

Without moving my head, I glanced over and saw a little flicker of satisfaction cross his face. It wasn't new to me that some folks found pleasure in causing pain to another human being, though I didn't think I'd ever understand it. I didn't have time to ponder it right then, though. I was too busy trying to look harmless and follow orders. I wanted to get myself and Beckwith out of the mess we were in and out of Tullyville altogether as soon as possible. I didn't favor the idea of being searched at gunpoint by a stranger, but I wasn't going to argue about it, either.

First the red-haired man reached out and took my hat, the one Ezra had given me, and after looking inside threw it down in the dirt of the road. I bit my lip, hard, and kept quiet. Then the man started at my neck, searching for what I might have hidden under my clothes. Right off he felt the bone locket Ezra had made with the likeness of Molly's face. He yanked it hard enough that the leather string broke. He examined it, scowled, and threw it to the ground beside the hat.

I was plenty mad about that, but I didn't let my anger make me stupid. I kept my wits about me, as Pa had taught me to do. I stood cold and still while the man patted me all over my chest, my arms, and my legs. He felt in my pockets and made me untie my boots and take them off.

When he'd finished, his voice was harsh with disappointment as he announced to the others, “He ain't got nothin' but the clothes on his back.”

The bearded man was still working on Beckwith. He found the leather purse where Beckwith had put the money we'd made that afternoon. He dumped it into his hand and peered at it. There were lots of coins there, but not near as many as the little man with greasy hair had taken in at the show. The bearded man seemed angry as he motioned to Beckwith to take off his boots.

Beckwith bent down, untied the laces, and pulled off one boot, then the other. He turned each one upside down and shook it to show there was nothing inside. Then he stood in the street in his stocking feet, his none-too-clean big toe poking out the end of his right sock. His expression said, plain as if he spoke out loud,
I told you so.

But the bearded man wasn't giving up. “Take off the socks, too,” he said.

Beckwith's little smile wavered for a moment. He pulled his mouth back into a grin and said, “My socks? Surely you don't believe there could be a passel of dimes hidden in these wretched garments?”

The bearded man moved his foot as if he meant to give Beckwith another kick to the shins, and I felt myself wince. I wanted to tell him to take off the socks so's they'd be satisfied and leave us alone.

Slowly Beckwith reached down and pulled off his right sock, the one that needed darning, and handed it to the bearded man. It appeared fairly stiff with sweat and grime, and the man made a face when he touched it, then dropped it to the ground. A month of Sundays seemed to pass before Beckwith got the other sock off and handed it over. This one hung heavier from his hand, and when the bearded man took it, a smile spread across his face.

“Well, now, what have we here?” he asked. His voice was full of pretend surprise. In one hand he held the sock up for the crowd to see. Then he made a big ceremony out of emptying it into the palm of his other hand.

Out came a pouch made of homespun cloth, tied with a leather drawstring. The bearded man made another big show of opening the pouch to see what was in it. But I didn't have to look. I knew it was my pouch with my mama's five-dollar gold piece inside.

8

MY EARS FILLED
with a loud roaring. I was about knocked off my feet by the fury I felt at Beckwith's treachery. I couldn't believe I'd taken his word that Honeywell was the culprit. I should have known better. So much strong feeling brought me close to crying, and I tried to get ahold of myself.

“You see?” Beckwith said, speaking to the crowd. “No ill-gotten gains. Just the hard-earned savings of a poor peddler, my protection against a rainy day or a stretch of bad luck.”