Buffalo Girls (21 page)

Doc Ramses wanted me to sit on the old steer, I said no, the other pictures were silly enough. I would be the laughingstock of the west if Blue or some other cowpokes saw a photo of me sitting on an ox. I said I would drive it in the parade though if they can borrow a cart to hitch it to. I once drove an oxcart in the gold fields, they were bigger oxen than this old steer.

I have got to reform, Janey—get my spirit up and have some fun. I have been in difficult conditions before, lonely conditions, but I have never let it get me down for long. While I am healthy I am going to locate the fun if there is any handy. Jim Ragg has been glum all his life, I am glad I ain't like Jim. He feels sorry for
himself because the beaver got used up—and it was him and Bartle that helped use them up! You'll find plenty of cowboys like that, they'll cuss and complain because the country's all settled up when it was them that settled it! Then they claim women are crazy and don't make sense. Montana was just Indians when they started bringing in cattle, now look at it. The cowboys ruined it, now they're mad because it's ruined.

It's hard to have fun on a ship, there's only one saloon, there were plenty in St. Louis, plenty more in Baltimore and New York. Me and the boys hit them all. I hope this don't shock you Janey to know that your mother is a carouser, but you have known a more settled life, not like the life we have out west. Buffalo gals won't you come out tonight? That has been the way I've lived, Dora too, neither of us have wasted too many nights. Maybe you will get educated and have a nice family—put your time to better use.

They say we will make England today, I'm glad, it's hard to keep a lively spirit when the boat rolls day and night and there's nothing to look at but this old gray ocean. I had no notion there was so much water in the world, Janey—it's monotonous, more monotonous than Kansas, I felt Kansas was monotonous enough.

I don't know what to make of little Doc Ramses, it is almost as if he is courting me. He says he will take me to an opium den when we reach London, then he gave me a yellow necktie, he says it will look good in the show. Doc is polite to a fault but he is wasting his time if he is courting me, I'm through with it—I'll tell him so if he pesters me much more.

Well, Janey, this letter is gloomy, the next will be better I promise. I will hold off writing until I have seen the Queen, won't that be grand?

Your mother,
Martha Jane

D
OC
R
AMSES WAS BEGINNING TO REGRET THE DECISION TO
bring Sitting Bull to England—the management difficulties with the irascible old Sioux were constant.

At the customhouse, before they had been off the boat an hour, there had nearly been a killing. A stolid young customs officer, in the course of doing a methodical job, made a little too free with Sitting Bull's possessions, causing Sitting Bull to conclude that the man was about to make off with his pocket watch, a handsome silver timepiece only recently presented to him by the mayor of St. Louis. Sitting Bull had come within an ace of cutting the man down with his Winchester; seeing the commotion, Red Shirt had drawn his knife and several other Indians looked to their weapons. Fortunately Jack Omohundro had snatched the watch out of the young man's hand before he could be murdered.

That night, all safely camped in a park near Earl's Court, Doc had called a conference of the show's top management—that is, himself, Cody, and Texas Jack Omohundro.

“What I think is we've got to take away the real ammunition and put blanks in everybody's guns,” Doc argued. “The Queen's not going to come see us if four or five of her subjects get shot—and if the Queen don't come we could lose money on this whole enterprise.”

“Shucks, the Prince of Wales is coming,” Billy said. “I guess we could do without the Queen if we had to.”

Sometimes Doc irritated him with his constant worrying. The man was a good organizer, but had little grasp of the subtleties of publicity. If actual fatalities could be avoided, a shooting or two wouldn't hurt—after all, they weren't the Tame West show. Why did people go to circuses, if not in hopes that someday the lions would consume the lion tamer, or at least maul him good?

“Who was you thinking of disarming, Doc?” Texas Jack asked. “Just the Indians?”

“Well, cowboys can shoot Englishmen too,” Doc said, realizing he was on thin ice at the moment.

Texas Jack Omohundro was reputedly the best card-player in the west. No one could remember seeing him change expression; certainly Doc Ramses had never seen him change expression. Texas Jack was watching him now, cool as ever, his eyes ice-blue. He was not quite as fastidious as Cody—he didn't spend as much time selecting his bandannas or cravats—but he did devote some attention to his mustache, which bent sharply at each end, framing his mouth in brown.

“My boys ain't going to take kindly to being asked to walk around with unloaded guns,” Jack remarked. “Sitting Bull hasn't stayed a chief all his life by being dumb. What if he figures out about the blank ammunition and puts some real bullets back in his gun? He'd be loaded to kill, and my cowboys would be loaded with blanks.”

Billy could hardly repress his irritation at the grating way Jack kept referring to the cowboys as “his.” More than once he had slipped up in conversation and referred to the whole show as “his,” when in fact he had only a minority interest and could not possibly have made the whole thing pay were it not for Cody himself. The posters said “Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show”—Buffalo Bill was the name every single person in America associated with Wild West adventures; the fame of Texas Jack was merely local by comparison. It was all he could do to keep from reprimanding
Jack for his promiscuous talk, but he polished his engraved Winchester and held his tongue.

Doc Ramses felt it had been a mistake to encourage Billy to take Texas Jack as a partner; it meant handling two volatile spirits rather than one. Good manners rarely failed Bill Cody, and when they did, little more resulted than a brief storm. So far, good manners had not failed Texas Jack either, but Doc had some trepidation about what might occur when they did. The measure of his temper had not been taken—not yet.

“Now, Jack, the Indian wars are over,” Billy said mildly. “Sitting Bull and the young braves are on the payroll, just like the cowboys. What's fair for one is fair for all.”

Texas Jack let the comment settle a bit before he replied.

“Just because you made peace don't mean Sitting Bull has,” he said. “Just because you pay him a wage don't mean he won't lift your liver, either. I'm for keeping everybody armed—it's safer that way, don't you see? Sitting Bull knows I'm a faster shot than he is—he won't shoot me if he knows I'll be firing at him even as I fall.”

“Let's talk about the horse race,” Billy said. “That's more important.”

“You won't think so if somebody mows down six or eight Englishmen,” Doc Ramses said, annoyed that his sensible point was being ignored.

“Why, Doc, what's come over you?” Texas Jack asked. “I would not think that a fellow who rode at Sand Creek would squirm so over a few Englishmen. There's plenty of Englishmen, I guess, and Bill's got a point. We ain't the Tame West—at least I ain't.”

“I was just a bugler then, I didn't order the massacre,” Doc Ramses protested. It seemed he would be bloodied forever by the carnage at Sand Creek, although he himself had not fired a gun and had even kept two Indian children from being brained by Chivington's frothing Coloradans.

“Jack, leave Doc alone, we can't undo Sand Creek or the rest
of it,” Billy said. “Let's plan the horse race. You and me ought to try and finish in a dead heat, providing we can both beat the English pony. We have to beat that English horse, though—if I fall back you take him and if you flounder I'll take him. Think of the tickets it'll sell if we beat the Derby winner.”

Of course, there was no danger of them losing—the English were so sure of their superiority that they had made no objection to having the race run over a mere quarter mile, though few thoroughbreds could even get untracked in that distance. With him and Jack on their swiftest cow ponies they could race to victory—the fine point was to avoid victory over each other in this first race. A dead heat would make the headlines—they might get in another race, attract another crowd, before they left. It meant more money.

“Billy, I'll try not to beat you, but don't cuss if I can't restrain my horse,” Jack said, putting on his hat.

“I think I'll go look up Calamity,” he said. “Speaking of shooting, why don't we disarm her? She's already shot up three music halls. You know how wild she gets when she's drunk. I'm more nervous about Calamity than I am about Sitting Bull.”

“I was against bringing her,” Doc Ramses reminded Billy. “I was for parking her in St. Louis—they know her type in St. Louis.”

“Oh, now, where's your notion of showmanship?” Billy asked. “Let her shoot up the music halls—she's Calamity Jane! Do you want her to sew napkins? I say, let 'er buck! It'll just sell tickets.”

With no further comment, Texas Jack departed.

Darling Jane—

Whooee, Janey, I swore I'd improve and I have. Yesterday was the big horse race and did we all have fun! It was held at a place called Ascot, the Queen didn't come but the Prince did, he's a pretty fat prince. Billy and Jack and Annie and Sitting Bull got to meet him, I think Red Shirt met him too. I didn't—most of us were kind of roped up under a tent until after the race.

Of course Billy and Jack ran off and left the English horse, the latter was just getting in stride when the race was over, Billy had kept the race short for that reason. The English horse would have caught them eventually but not in a quarter of a mile. I thought the crowd was going to swarm down and lynch the poor jockey, I felt sorry for him, he didn't have a chance in the race, then people cursed him and said he'd let the Empire down. If I were him I'd leave the country, they might catch him and lynch him yet.

After the race we all mounted up and ran our horses up and down in front of the lords and ladies, we were all stiff from the voyage and it felt good to be on horseback. The Indians did some war whoops and the cowboys some cowboy yells. It was plain the people watching had never seen such a spectacle, they quieted down and watched. Annie did a little trick riding, she is a regular acrobat, some people are born with gifts, Annie Oakley was. She has got plenty of ability—even Bartle admits that.

I believe Prince Eddie has an eye for the ladies, he had several in his box. Bartle became jealous, as he always will if he thinks someone has more girlfriends than he does. It is just luck that he's a prince, Bartle said—he wouldn't last long in the Rocky Mountains. I'd like to see what he'd do with a grizzly.

I'd like to see what
you'd
do with one, Jim said, he thinks Bartle is slipping and could not handle a grizzly in his present condition, he may be right. They are all confused about Lewis and Clark, I don't think they will really have to act much. I think Doc Ramses just means for them to lead the parade and fire off muskets a few times.

The grand thing about England is the music halls—Bartle and I go every night while Jim sulks. Nothing can improve Jim's mood but the music halls have improved mine. They are a lot like saloons but far grander than any saloons we have out west, unless there are some grand ones in Denver. I rarely get to Denver—Bartle claims the saloons there are nothing special.

In these music halls you get singing and clowns and a regular
show, Bartle and I laughed so much at the clowns we almost got sick. We are determined to get Jim in a music hall eventually, if these clowns can't make him laugh, then Bartle and I are going to give up on him, we'll let him miss the fun if he wants to.

The first time I got rowdy and shot off my pistol in a music hall it scared everybody badly. They don't wear guns in England. I even got in the papers, I am saving all the stories so you can read them someday. Now me shooting off my pistol has become a regular thing, they'd throw me out if I didn't. Doc Ramses thinks they'll be offering me a job pretty soon. He thinks I could make a pretty penny just firing in the air once in a while.

Doc still looks at me funny, I will be minding my own business and look around and catch him looking. He has some strange habits himself, one of them is talking to dead people, Janey. He has found some gypsies and goes to see them often. They travel in little wagons—I suppose it reminds him of his days in the medicine show. I went with Doc once to meet some, I was a little frightened, they look rough. They even had a little bear with a collar around its neck—it was a small bear, not a grizzly.

Now Doc wants me to go with him to a seance, that is a party where you talk to the dead, at least that is how he explained it to me. He said I could even talk to your father, Wild Bill. There is an old woman who runs the seance, she knows how to call the dead, or so Doc Ramses claims.