Buffalo Girls (20 page)

No Ears was irritated by all the shooting—it was obvious that only a cannon could affect such a fish, and no one had a cannon. He felt that the shooting was likely only to anger the whale, in which case it might smash up the boat and swallow them all. It was silly, the urge people had always to be shooting. It should be obvious that such a great fish must be allowed to swim in peace.

Foolish members of his own tribe sometimes shot arrows at bears that should have been left alone, and were eaten as a consequence. He himself felt that shooting was very much the wrong approach to this whale. The best thing to do might be to throw a few cattle overboard, or even a horse, if they could spare one. The whale might take the animals and leave them alone.

Fortunately the whale left them alone anyway. Once he calmed sufficiently to react sensibly, No Ears realized that the whale was actually a good distance from the boat—it was only its immense size that made it look close. It needn't worry about the pecking bullets, and it didn't. It merely swam away. When it was several miles away, No Ears saw its great tail flash as it dived.

“If a fish that big tried to come up the Missouri, there would be no Missouri, I guess,” Bartle said. “It'd splash all the water out.”

“I wish these idiots would stop shooting,” Jim Ragg said. “What do they think they're shooting at? The whale's probably five miles under water by now.”

Calamity was still firing her pistol in the direction of the whale, but once she took her last shot she came over to them and sat down.

“Well, that was excitement,” she said.

Jim Ragg glowered at the sailors, several of whom were resolutely firing in the direction of the vanished whale.

“What do they think they're shooting at, the ocean?” he asked.

“They're just boys, Jim,” Calamity said. “They just like to shoot their guns.”

“If they'd kept quiet we might have got a better look at it,” Jim said. “I despise wasteful gunplay.”

“Despise them if you want,” Bartle said. “I expect they'll shoot until they run out of ammunition.”

Calamity sat by No Ears and reloaded her pistol. “I hope I can shoot as good as Annie by the time we get to England, otherwise I'll get fired,” she said.

Every day Annie Oakley stood on deck and had her servant throw clay pigeons out over the water. She shot them with a shotgun; at times the weather had been rough, but no one had seen Annie miss. The sailors and many of the cowboys and Indians who were expected to perform stood around and watched, hoping to see Annie miss—but Annie didn't miss.

“They might be trick clay pigeons,” Bartle suggested. “Maybe they're just built to fall apart when you throw them.”

Annie had been cool to him—in fact, she was cool to everybody—which made Bartle reluctant to admit that she could shoot so brilliantly. She was a neat, pretty woman who soon collected a boatload of admirers, but did not appear to be interested
in any of them. All she was interested in was shooting. Such single-mindedness annoyed Bartle; and some of her more stylish admirers, such as Texas Jack Omohundro, found it irksome too. Texas Jack owned an interest in the show and regularly tried to outdress Billy Cody, though he rarely succeeded.

“I think that was a very old fish,” No Ears remarked. Seeing the whale seemed to him to be the most extraordinary event of his long life, and he deeply regretted having so few of his own people along to discuss it with—the white people were too shallow even to appreciate what an extraordinary event they had just witnessed. Of course there were around a hundred Indians on board the boat, but most of them were too young to be serious about things of real importance. Red Shirt, for example, had shown no better sense than the sailors; he, too, had emptied his Winchester at the whale.

As for Sitting Bull, he was so indifferent to everything except his own fame that he rarely even came on deck, preferring to sit in the boat's saloon and squeeze white women when they asked for autographs. Most of the white women on the boat had already been squeezed several times, and had more Sitting Bull autographs than they could use.

“I wonder if that was the First Fish,” No Ears said. It was so large and looked so old that it could well be the First Fish—it might even be the first beast of any kind. Whether a fish could be considered a beast was a question too subtle for him to discuss with white people; he resolved that if he got anywhere near his home again he would try to find some old people from his tribe and discuss the whale with them. The thought that he might have seen the First Fish was so exciting that he began to wish the trip was over so he could carry the information to where it was needed, that is, to his people. Old people were always interested in information that bore upon the great question of when the world began, and what means the spirits used to create it. It seemed to No Ears that the great fish he had just seen might be as old as the world itself; it might have been only a minnow when
the world began. If the whale was indeed the oldest fish, all the fish in the ocean or in the world might be his children. It was thought by some old people he had talked to on his trip with the Blackfoot that the first beasts were both male and female and each could make its own young. Perhaps the great whale fish he had just seen was the grandfather of all the fish in the world.

To No Ears that was a tremendously exciting thought, far too exciting in its implications to be shared with white people—they had quickly lost interest in the whale, once it went under the water. Soon Martha Jane and the mountain men went off to eat breakfast, after which they would sit inside all day and play cards. No Ears was glad when they left. He did not want to be bothered with white people's conversation when he was trying to think about such complex matters as the nature of the First Fish, or the beginning of the world. It occurred to him that perhaps souls didn't go into a hole in the sky, after all; perhaps they went into the sea, to the depths where the great fish lived.

While he was thinking about that, Red Shirt came over and wanted to be admired and flattered. Cody had had some fine white leggings made for all the Indians and had also bought Red Shirt: a splendid bandanna in St. Louis; now Red Shirt required constant attention of a sort No Ears was in no mood to give. There would be no living with Red Shirt's vanity if the white photographers took his picture many more times.

No Ears brusquely sent Red Shirt away, only to see Sitting Bull coming on deck wrapped in his messy blankets. Sitting Bull stood at the rail a long time, staring at the water. He looked annoyed—probably he had expected the whale to wait for his arrival. He frowned at the water, trying to make the whale hurry on back so he could have a look at it. Sitting Bull had always frowned at the world that way, trying to bend the world to his will. For that reason No Ears had always considered Sitting Bull slightly ridiculous. The great whale was not some dog of Sitting Bull's, a creature who could be summoned with a frown. A man as intelligent and powerful as Sitting Bull ought to have learned
such things, but Sitting Bull still frowned if things didn't behave exactly as he wished them to.

After frowning at the water for a while, Sitting Bull came over to No Ears. No Ears tried to make it obvious by his demeanor that he was thinking and would rather not be interrupted, but Sitting Bull interrupted him anyway.

“Where is the big fish?” he asked. “I thought it was here, but I don't see it.”

“It was the great whale,” No Ears informed him. “He went back to his home.”

Sitting Bull knew No Ears didn't like him but he didn't care. He only wanted women to like him. “If I thought he'd like to eat an old man like you I'd throw you in the sea,” Sitting Bull said. “Then when he came back to eat you I'd get a good look at him.”

“You should have come upstairs a little sooner,” No Ears said. “The whale visited us but people shot at him and he decided he would rather go home.”

He ignored Sitting Bull's insult. Sitting Bull always sprinkled his conversations with insults; if you responded to them he might go on talking for several hours, bragging on himself.

“Give me your slicker and I will trade you these blankets,” Sitting Bull said. He had been admiring No Ears's slicker and had decided he wanted it for himself.

No Ears didn't answer. His slicker was one of his proudest possessions, and also one of his most useful. Spray from great waves often splashed over the deck but his slicker kept him perfectly dry. Only his face sometimes got a little wet. It was only another of Sitting Bull's insults—Sitting Bull knew he would not be such a fool as to trade a fine slicker for his smelly blankets. It was easy enough to buy blankets in any town.

Sitting Bull's eyes flashed angrily when it became apparent that No Ears had no intention of handing over his slicker. That was no surprise—he was given to terrible angers when he didn't get his way. But many sailors were around, getting ready to wash the decks. Sitting Bull was not likely to kill him with a lot of
sailors looking, although of course he might—the man had no interest at all in what white people thought.

“I think that whale was the First Fish,” No Ears said, hoping to change the subject. Sometimes it was wiser to talk to Sitting Bull than just to sit while he grew more and more angry. A little speculation about the beginning of the world might calm him down.

“You can ask him next time he comes,” Sitting Bull said. “Then I am going to throw you over and let him eat you. I think I'll take that nice slicker first, unless you want to wear it while the big fish eats you.”

Sitting Bull seemed to be getting angrier; No Ears was becoming a little worried, but fortunately Cody came on deck just at that moment. Sitting Bull immediately stopped making threats and went over to shake hands with Cody and borrow some tobacco.

No Ears was glad Cody had distracted Sitting Bull. He pulled his slicker high up around his head, for the seas were growing rougher, the waves splashing high. That was fine—in rough weather people would have to look out for themselves and would leave him alone. He wanted to watch the ocean for a while and think about the beginning of the world. Also, he wanted to think about the magnificence of the great whale.

Darling Jane—

I am afraid this will be a desperate letter, I feel desperate if that's the word. Your mother was not meant for travel, not for long travels like this one to a country across the sea. I have my pals Ragg and Bone it's true, but I miss Dora, I have been crying for her almost every night since we left America and we left it a good many nights back. It seems like the miles are too many, it's not like a ride on horseback down to the Wind River or somewhere, the Wind River is in the west and all the west is my home, Dora's home too. She don't wander like I do but she has done her share of moving around in our old west.

I expect she is in Belle Fourche now, she was determined to
go. Probably she found a dandy house to make into a saloon, I bet it is pretty and cozy, I do wish I was in it. Dora promised to keep a room for me, I know she will.

I was a fool to come with this show, I don't know why Billy asked me, he has been nice enough, and he advanced me money several times. Billy is quite polite but I don't think he is interested in having me do much in the show, maybe I will ride in a race or something, they have an act called the Assault on the Deadwood Stage or maybe it's Attack, I get the acts mixed up. There's also an Attack on a Settler's Cabin, I believe. It comes to the same thing, Indians and whites pretending to be fighting, shooting at one another with blank shells and holding up wigs that are supposed to be scalps. They say thousands of people will pay to see it—they say they are coming from France and other lands, I can't see why, and neither can the cowboys or the Indians Billy brought along. Texas Jack is going to run a racehorse with some English rider, maybe Billy will, too, it will be at the Queen's racetrack, I think.

But I don't know if I will be driving the Deadwood Stage. I don't know what I will be doing. If they think I am going to put on a corset and sing a concert they can think again, I don't like to sing in public. I refuse to throw targets for Annie Oakley either. She has been rather stiff with me, she is stiff with everybody, it will be hard to find someone who wants to throw targets for her. Bartle hates her, he hates any woman who gives him any talk of the sort he don't want to hear. We all kid him about it—we remind him that she is the best shot in the world, she stands on deck all day and shoots clay pigeons, you will never see her miss, she could easily shoot Bartle even if she was at one end of the boat and him at the other.

I was sick four days because of the boat, it rolled around constantly, even Bartle got sick. He and Jim are not getting along—Jim is not relaxed a minute, he wants to do the show and get his money and come home. You can't hurry a boat across an ocean—he might as well quiet down.

Bartle and me have taught Red Shirt and Sitting Bull to play cards, they both love cardplaying now. They ain't very good though, Bartle has won both their wages for the rest of their lives, I think. Red Shirt is a handsome Indian, I think Billy is a little jealous of him, some of the women think Red Shirt is better looking than Billy, of course Billy don't like that, he was having enough competition from Jack Omohundro, he and Billy are old rivals but neither of them expected to be out-handsomed by an Indian.

I don't trust old Sitting Bull, he is a cunning old Sioux, if he knew how to run a boat it wouldn't surprise me if he organized the Indians and killed us all. He could take the boat to China or somewhere, they'd never catch him.

Sitting Bull is familiar with women, too familiar, but he don't bother me, perhaps he doesn't regard me as a woman. Whatever the reason I am glad.

I am going to enclose some photographs, Janey—they are the ones we sell at the exposition. Little Doc Ramses took them—he brought along some movable scenery in the ship, a scene might be the Rocky Mountains or a gold mine, some scenic view, he will pose you in front of it for hours and make photographs to sell. There is even an old tame longhorn they brought along, we have all had to pose in front of it. I suspect it is an ox, longhorns were seldom tame.