Buffalo Trail (18 page)

Furious, Quanah got to his feet and ran to her. “You tripped me!”

Mochi was accepting congratulations from some village women. She turned to Quanah. “So?”

“You cheated!”

Medicine Water walked over to Quanah. He said very quietly, “She didn't cheat. The only rule was to see who could run around the stake
and get back to the campfire first. My wife did, and now I own your horse.”

Quanah wanted to argue, but he saw that the whole Cheyenne village was watching. He needed their friendship and, more importantly, their cooperation. He swallowed hard and said, “He's yours. I'll go get him.”

“It can wait until morning,” Medicine Water said. “Come on, let's drink together.” He and Quanah and a few of the other dog soldiers emptied two full bottles of white man's whiskey. Mochi had one drink with them, then retired along with the rest of the camp women. Quanah completely lost track of Isatai. He supposed that the fat man had gone to sleep in Gray Beard's hut. After a while, Quanah passed out on the grass near the campfire.

When he woke in the morning, someone had covered him with a blanket. Though he had a terrible headache, he got his horse from the meadow where it had been grazing along with the village herd. He led the horse by its hackamore to the tipi of Medicine Water and Mochi, and tethered it in front. Mochi stuck her head out of the opening, saw him, and asked, “Will you eat something with us?” Despite how she'd tricked him the night before, Quanah still wanted her so badly that his loins ached, though not as much as his pounding head. He was the furthest thing from hungry.

“Thank you, another time,” he said politely, and went to Gray Beard's tent to fetch Isatai. The Spirit Messenger and their host were just finishing breakfast. The sight of greasy meat slices made Quanah's stomach lurch. Gray Beard joked about the perils of drinking, and Quanah did his best to smile.

“Since you lost your horse, I'll lend you one,” Gray Beard said. “On the way home, I don't want you to have to ride double with your prophet.”

“No, Isatai and I can take turns riding,” Quanah said. It would be too
humiliating for one of the People to have to ride a Cheyenne horse. “Have you considered what we talked about? Will you join us?”

“Your war plan sounds good,” Gray Beard said. When Isatai looked offended, the Cheyenne chief added, “Of course, the support of the spirits is also impressive. I'll talk to the other chiefs who remained at the agency. They have to agree. I think that they will. You'll have our answer soon. We'll find you in your camp.”

As they made their way out of the village, Isatai riding and Quanah walking alongside the horse, some of the Cheyenne waved. Quanah had made a positive impression when he was a good sport and gave up his horse after losing to Mochi. He hoped to at least glimpse her as they departed the camp, but apparently she was still in her tipi.

Quanah passed the first hours of the long trip home imagining himself under the blankets with Mochi. It was very exciting. Isatai hummed for a while. It was annoying but Quanah was getting used to it. Then the fat man said, “That woman back at the camp? The fighter?”

“Yes, what about her?”

“If her Cheyenne husband could in some way be persuaded, don't you think she would make a worthy wife for a Spirit Messenger?”

A new, disgusting image flashed in Quanah's mind. “Absolutely not,” he said. “You need to be concerned only with Buffalo Hump's spirit and prophecy and magic, on the success of our plan. You can't be thinking about women, even that one.”

“I suppose,” Isatai agreed. He sounded regretful.

M
cLendon went looking for Bat Masterson, and found him sound asleep in a whore's crib behind Tom Sherman's saloon. The cramped room stunk of sweat and cheap perfume. The woman who lived in it had apparently left Bat there in an obviously drunken stupor. McLendon shook him awake. It took several minutes for Bat to become coherent.

“What the hell, C.M.?” he complained. “I only got this last day to sleep in. Billy intends for us to pull out south early tomorrow. Can't you leave me to my shut-eye?”

“Sorry, no,” McLendon said, and began firing questions at Masterson. What, exactly, was his work agreement with Billy Dixon? Was he certain that, besides twenty-five cents for each buffalo he skinned, he'd also be allowed to shoot five each day for himself? Was Bat certain that A. C. Myers would pay about three dollars per skin, if it didn't have too many bullet holes or other rips and tears? Above all, did Bat swear that a big migrating herd was so thick with buffalo that it was almost impossible not to hit one with every shot?

Bat grumbled, “What's the purpose of this interrogation? Why the hell do you care?” But he answered everything. Then McLendon,
multiplying sums in his head, told Bat to go back to sleep and rushed out of the room.

McLendon spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon finding and quizzing veteran hide men who'd decided not to go south with Billy's expedition. He got no useful information from Henry Raymond, who was staying in Dodge for love, but Heath Lee, Christopher Johnson, Crash Reed, and Pat Callahan all told him pretty much the same thing.

“Sure, I was worried about the Indians, but it ain't the reason I'm staying behind,” Callahan said. “I'd'a made plenty good money down there with Billy this season, but who knows after that? I'm looking long-term, is what it is. If I read you right, I think you've got it in mind to join up with Billy and throw away that fine job Jim Hanrahan's giving you at his place. You'd be a fool to pass that up.”

“Maybe so,” McLendon said. “But the money will be good for everybody in Billy's party, even the crews, the skinners, and so forth? Sometimes as much as twenty, even thirty dollars a day for those on the low end?”

“If they strike a big herd, then that's the money involved, without question. But we've seen right here around Dodge how even the biggest bunch of buffs soon gets hunted out. This summer they'll thrive, but after that, Billy and his boys'll have to find other means of making their livings. The ones like me and you who stay behind in Dodge will get a whole year's head start on them. If you're thinking twice about that job in Hanrahan's bar, well, I'm of a mind to buy myself some grazing land just south of town. The herds driven up from Texas'll need grass and water while waiting for sale and rail shipment east. We could partner up, if you've got some money to invest.”

“Sorry, Pat, I've got no money at present,” McLendon said. “And as soon as I do, I intend to invest it in something else.”

McLendon found Heath Lee at the Chinese laundry, where he was
leaving some shirts to be washed. He spoke with the Tennessean for several minutes. After that, McLendon went back to Hanrahan's and asked the bartender if Jim was in his office. Told that he was, McLendon made his way to the back of the building, knocked, and asked Jim if he had a minute.

“Have a drink with me, C.M.,” Hanrahan said. “I'm just doing some last-minute paperwork, putting together a liquor order schedule for Mose. I suspect making those orders will be part of your job. Mose does tend to be forgetful about such things.”

“About the job,” McLendon said, seating himself in a frame chair on the other side of Hanrahan's desk. “I need to talk to you about that.”

“Oh?” Hanrahan said. “Well, let's have that drink.” He produced a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from a desk drawer and poured generous tots.

McLendon briefly touched his lips to the liquor. “Jim, I hope you'll understand.”

Hanrahan's eyes narrowed. “C.M., I'm a man of my word, and I've always assumed that you were too. We agreed on thirty-five dollars a week. That's a fair wage, about as good as anyone employed here in Dodge earns. Don't try to hustle me for more, knowing that I'm about to leave with Billy and need you at work here in the morning.”

“No, it's not that. The salary is more than fair.”

Hanrahan gulped down his whiskey and poured himself another shot. “What, then? Have you found something objectionable about Mose? I know he's a bit rough; I took him on as a partner because he had money to invest when I needed it. But he's a good man. You can work out any differences with him, I swear.”

“Please, let me explain. There was this woman I loved, in Arizona Territory. I thought she was going to marry someone else—that was one
of the reasons I left, and eventually found myself in Dodge. Like you and I discussed, my plan was to work for you this summer and fall and save up enough money to get myself out to California, probably San Francisco. But I've learned that the woman was still unmarried, that I might have a chance with her after all. But I need to get to her soon, and for that I need more money faster than I could ever make it working here.”

“So?”

“I'm thinking I might go south with you and Billy after all, on the same financial agreement with Billy that Bat Masterson has. You know, working mostly as a skinner, but also getting the chance each day to kill a few buffalo and sell the hides. Bat expects to make maybe twenty or thirty dollars a day, and if I did, too, by the end of the summer I'd have the money to go to Arizona Territory, win the love of my girl, and take her with me to California. I hope you understand, Jim. Surely you've been in love yourself.”

Hanrahan shook his head. “C.M., I thought better of you. You're throwing away a fine opportunity for some female? Didn't I say that if you did a good job for me in Dodge, I'd recommend you to business friends in San Francisco? Don't you remember that?”

“I do, and I appreciate it. But as I've tried to explain—”

“Damn you and any explanations. We had a deal, still have a deal, and you're going to honor it.” Hanrahan's eyes glistened with a fury McLendon hadn't realized could ever be in him. The saloon owner's hands trembled with barely suppressed rage.

This was a side of previously affable Jim Hanrahan that McLendon hadn't seen before. It threw him off balance. “Jim, I never thought that you'd react this way. Can't you understand—”

“There's nothing to understand. You're trying to renege. I won't have it. If I let you out of our deal, there'd be nobody with sense to help
Mose, and, for all I know, this saloon will be out of business before I get back at the end of the summer. If I wanted to sell it, there'd be nothing to sell, nothing left a buyer might want. All right, forty dollars a week, but don't expect me to laud you to my California friends anymore, for you're a chiseler and I despise such men.”

McLendon leaned forward, reminding himself to smile and sound soothing. “Jim, I wouldn't leave you in such straits. I know you need someone with sense to help Mose. That's why I've made arrangements for you to talk later today with Heath Lee. Heath's a smart man, and an honest one. In the past summers he's led hunting crews of as many as twenty men, handling all the finances and equipment purchases, the very type of organizing Mose is weak at. As you may know, Heath has decided against going south and is looking for an opportunity in Dodge. He could be your man, and one better qualified than me. Talk to him and see if he doesn't perfectly fit your needs.”

“Heath Lee. Well, I expect that I could talk to him.” Some of the anger left Hanrahan's eyes.

“And here's another thing. I told Heath that, so far as salary, you might go as high as twenty-five a week. So you'd not only get a better man, you'd save money. Hell, offer him twenty. I believe that he might take it. He's concerned about making his living away from the hide hunting.”

“Well,” Hanrahan said again. He was suddenly calm. “It seems you've thought of everything, C.M. Why don't you go find Heath Lee and ask him to come see me. Say, how did Billy Dixon react when you told him that you wanted to join his company?”

“I confess that I haven't spoken to Billy yet. I wanted your blessing first.”

“Assuming Heath Lee is acceptable, you have it. And you'll be a pleasant companion in our new surroundings down south. And after you
send Mr. Lee my way, go make your arrangements with Billy, mentioning of course that I concur with your plan. I believe Billy can be found at Fred Zimmermann's shop, making some final purchases of lead, powder, and loading tools.”

Billy was indeed at Zimmermann's, picking through samples while the store owner looked on impatiently.

“Choose what you want, Dixon, and let's be done. My wife expects me for dinner.”

“You could go on, Mr. Zimmermann,” Billy said. “I'll make my selections, leave you a list of them, and come back to pay you in the morning just before we depart.” Billy's reputation for honesty was such that even the perpetually suspicious Zimmermann trusted him enough to nod and leave the store.

“Fred's not really a bad sort,” Billy told McLendon after the door shut behind the gun shop owner. “There's many a fellow out here who has no regard for the law, and who will steal anything he can. Fred's just encountered a few too many of them. What can I do for you, C.M.? Forgive me if I continue to work while we talk. Nothing's more important to a hunting party than ammunition, and of course many of the boys are particular about what they use to put together their loads.”

McLendon knew that most veteran buffalo hunters started out with a few boxes of factory-made ammunition. But they saved the cartridge casings after they fired, and afterward reloaded them themselves, using powder and lead bullets that they'd purchased separately. The cost of handmade ammunition was much cheaper. Billy was trying to determine the finest powder and lead currently available at Zimmermann's, carefully rubbing powder grains between his fingers to test granulation and composition.

McLendon launched into the same explanation that he'd offered Hanrahan. Billy listened and frequently nodded. He knew all about love,
he said—there had been a girl back in Missouri that he still dreamed about sometimes.

“You never can be sure that you've found the right one, or at least that's been my experience. Are you certain about this girl in Arizona, C.M.?”

“I am, Billy.”

“Well, hell. What do you think Jim Hanrahan will say about this?”

“We've already talked. He's good with it. My question to you now is, can I have the same arrangement with you as Bat Masterson? I don't pretend I'm a great shot, or more than an adequate skinner, Billy. But I'll work hard, and I'll be very loyal. Whatever you need to be done, ask and I'll do it. And at the end of the summer, when the herd has moved on, I'll thank you, take my earnings, and head to Arizona Territory to win my girl.”

Billy grinned. “What's her name?”

“Gabrielle.”

“Gabrielle. That's pretty, and I'll bet she is too. Well, let me remind you. The work is going to be constant and hard. Every hunting day you'll be up to your elbows in blood and buffalo guts. You only get to try and shoot your allotted five after my main shooters and I are finished for the day. No one can ever promise how many buffs there will be. We may get down there only to find that the main herd is somewhere entirely different and beyond our reach. Then nobody makes any money, and we wander back to Dodge penniless. Nothing's guaranteed like the certain salary you'd earn staying back here and working for Jim in his saloon.”

“I know.”

“Then there's the Indians. You never know what they might be up to. Myself, I'm fairly certain they'll present little threat if we're watchful, but they might. And if they do, you'll have to fight to preserve your scalp,
not to mention all your other parts. Those Co-manch in particular, they do things to the white men they capture that defy belief. Are you willing to risk it?”

“I am,” McLendon said, though it was something he didn't want to think about.

“All right, then. Jim Hanrahan and I will furnish the basic equipment, rifles and skinning knives and so forth. You're responsible for buying your own food, clothing, and personal items. You're signing on for the whole summer. If you up and quit, you're on your own finding your way back to Dodge City or wherever else. You're one of my skinners at two bits a hide, plus a chance to shoot up to five buffs on your own each day, the profits from those hides to be strictly yours and not shared with me or Jim. Same deal as Bat's. Are we agreed?”

“We are,” McLendon said, and the two men shook hands.

“Well, then,” Billy said. “I surmise that the rest of the boys are spending their final town hours drinking and whoring. My advice to you is, go off to your room and sleep all you can. You'll want to be rested and have a clear head in the morning when we start out. It's going to be rough going under the best of circumstances. But what the hell, C.M., you're coming south, and may God watch over and protect you. I sure hope that this gal Gabrielle is worth it.”

“She is.”

Billy piled boxes of cartridges, cases of lead, and casks of gunpowder near the door of the shop. “I've got one of my wagons outside, C.M. Will you assist me in loading it up?”

Billy's dog, Fannie, was tied to one of the wagon wheels. When she saw Billy she capered and licked at his hands. Billy crouched to pet the red setter, then looked up at McLendon.

“I know you've done some skinning and a little hunting right
outside of Dodge, but you haven't ever been on a full expedition, living in camp and so forth. You're going to find it's a vastly different experience, never easy in any way, but the sense of yourself you'll get—a feeling of freedom, I guess it is—there's just nothing like it. For all the hardships you're about to endure, C.M., you still have my word that you're about to embark on a great and wonderful adventure.”