Soul Catcher (38 page)

^{He turned back to the riders. Though they were still not yet in range, he fired anyway, just to scare them off and give him time to catch Rosetta. The shot had the desired effect. The riders pulled up and scattered into the trees. Then Cain turned and ran off into the woods after Rosetta. He stopped momentarily and listened. He could hear her running through the woods. He followed the sound.}

^{She hadn't gone more than a few hundred paces before he caught up to her. He grabbed her by the shoulder, gently but firmly. She didn't fight him.}

^{"I thought you weren't gone to run again?"}

^{"I never said that. You 'spect me to just go on back to that man without a fight?"}

^{"You could get hurt. The baby, too."}

^{"And goin' back won't hurt me?"}

^{"Let's go," he said. "They'll be coming soon."}

^{They hurried back to his horse and took off.}

^{When he reached the others, Strofe said, "We heard a shot."}

^{"That was me. Brown's on our trail," he said, looking over at Preacher.}

^{"How far back are they?"}

^{"A couple of miles maybe."}

^{They rode hard for a while. Just before it got dark, Cain had them turn off onto a shallow stream that headed south. They followed that for some time so their trail couldn't be picked up, and when it was too dark to ride through the thick woods, they stopped and made camp. They didn't light a fire, so they had to eat a cold supper. They took turns standing guard.}

^{* * *}

^{T
he next day they broke camp early. They continued heading south until they came to a narrow one-lane road and then headed west again. Cain kept looking over his shoulder to their rear, expecting Brown. But they saw no more sign of him, and that feeling in his gut that someone was following him lessened, then disappeared completely.}

^{Later in the day, they were rounding a bend in the road when up ahead Cain spotted a large black caravan stopped. The entire wagon listed to one side like a ship taking on water in a storm. As Cain drew near, he saw that the right rear wheel had broken, two sections of felloes had caved in and snapped the spokes attached to them. On the side of the wagon was painted in large scarlet letters, dr. delacroix's indian medicine show, and below that a placid scene of an Indian village. Off to the right was an advertisement for a bottle of something called Sagwa, which was billed as a "blood, liver, spleen, and kidney renovator." Hitched to the front of the wagon was a pathetic-looking Missouri fox trotter, far too slight an animal to pull such a large vehicle by itself. The poor creature appeared thoroughly used up and about to drop in its traces. Behind the wagon, they came upon a small misshapen man, dangling by his short arms from a long wooden tree limb he'd jammed under the rear axle. He'd used a wooden barrel as a fulcrum and was trying to raise the wagon, but it was still too heavy and he was too small to get the thing to budge. In fact, when they came upon him he was still suspended in midair, several inches above the ground.}

^{"Good day, gentlemen," the little man offered in a squeaky voice as he dropped down from the pole. He brushed his hands on his woolen trousers and smiled up at them. He was extremely small, not a hair over four feet, and dark-skinned as a Mohammedan. He had a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard, a too-large mouth of exceedingly white teeth, and a face as big and round as a pie. He was dressed in a burgundy frock coat whose tails nearly touched the ground and a broad riverboat gambler's hat. His short legs were bowed like those of a chimpanzee, and he walked in a kind of back-and-forth shuffle. The other thing about him was that he had a crooked back that made him cant to the right, just like the wagon, and over his left shoulder rose a hump like that of a dromedary. All in all, he was an odd cut of a man.}

^{Cain wondered what the little fellow had been fixing to do, even if he had been able to get the caravan off the ground. He didn't appear to know the first thing about changing a wagon wheel, hadn't unhitched his nag of a horse, hadn't so much as trigged a wheel to keep the caravan from rolling forward on him. Off in the woods a short ways, a campfire burned, and suspended over it was a pot with something simmering. Whatever it was, it smelled savory.}

^{"It is my great good fortune to have met with fellow southerners," the man said in a deep southern accent that Cain felt was more than a little contrived. He spoke formally, as one would who tried to give the impression of learning and erudition. "I have had nothing but bad luck ever since I crossed north of the Mason-Dixon."}

^{"Us, too," lamented Strofe.}

^{"As you can see, my wheel has been utterly exfluncticated, leaving me in something of a pickle."}

^{"Need some help?" Little Strofe asked.}

^{"Indeed, if you would be so kind," he replied. "It seems I have neither the heft nor the length needed to move this burden of mine." He smiled broadly, parading his white teeth.}

^{They dismounted and began to help him. As the other men worked, the small man stood looking on, offering no shortage of advice on the best way to change a wagon wheel--how they had to lift the load higher by moving the fulcrum closer to the axle or how they ought to be careful, as he was carrying valuable medical supplies. Still, in an hour's time they had the new wheel and hub on, and the caravan righted and ready to go. When they'd finished, the crookback man thanked them profusely for their help.}

^{"Dr. Chimbarazo," he said to them, bowing at the waist.}

^{"Who's Delacroix then?" Preacher asked.}

^{"The late founder of the company," the small man explained. "A man of singular genius and vision. He taught me everything I know."}

^{"Was he as sawed off as you?" Preacher joked.}

^{Though not quite a dwarf he was but a few inches shy of it, mostly owing to his high-heeled boots and to the inordinate length of his forehead. His features were as coarse as those of a bulldog, and his dark eyes were drowsy, as if he had just woken from sleep, and of a striking russet color mixed with golden spots like the side of a brown trout.}

^{"You a nigger?" Preacher asked.}

^{"Hardly," the little man replied, indignant. "I will have you know that I am the proud inheritor of Castilian and Roman blood. My mother's side is one hundred percent pure Eye-talian. Can trace its lineage to the Borgias, renowned poisoners and popes," the man said with a little laugh. "And my father is a direct descendant of Rodrigo Diaz de Viver, better known to the world as the Cid," Dr. Chimbarazo bragged.}

^{Cain could see that the little fellow was your typical traveling charlatan, a garrulous blatherskite, as noisy as a magpie and just as bothersome.}

^{"Well, you sho'nuff look like a nigger," Preacher insisted.}

^{"I assure you that my blood is as pure white as your own, sir," the man replied. Turning to Cain he asked, "How may I repay your largesse?"}

^{"No need," said Cain.}

^{"Wait," the small man said, holding up a stumpy finger. With surprising nimbleness, the crookback scrambled up the steps leading into the caravan's back door. In a moment, he reappeared with a slender bottle containing a golden brown liquid.}

^{"Have y'all ever tried Indian Sagwa?" he asked. When they said they had not, he launched into a lengthy discourse on the salutary effects of the tonic he held in his hand. "It comes from natural spring waters taken from a cave in the great north woods, and has in it secret Indian herbal remedies passed down from time immemorial. Think about it, gentlemen. Why is it that the lowly savage who leads such a brutish existence is able to live illness free. One word--Sagwa. It works for every ailment known to man. Whether a consequence of bad blood, a diet deficient in meat, or impure living, any illness will fade away with a daily dose of what I hold here in my hand. It is especially efficacious," the small man rambled on, "for sufferers of scrofula, eczema, sores of any kind, skin eruptions, impetigo, venereal disease, gout, rheumatism, malaria, dyspepsia, piles, consumption, ear infections, disturbances of the pancreas, night sweats, insomnia, depression, as well as all diseases originating in the liver or spleen. Its efficacy is particularly noted for hard stools, and is guaranteed to keep the bowels in regular working order."}

^{"That there work for the flux?" asked Strofe.}

^{"Stopper you up like a cork in a bottle," the man replied. "It is the perfect remedy for overstimulation of the intestines. Just one teaspoon will have you functioning normally in twenty-four hours. Why, sir, your bowels will be restored to those of a child."}

^{"How much do it cost?"}

^{"It retails for two dollars a bottle. But, as you have done me a good turn, I will let you have it for a mere one. Plus, I will throw in, at no extra cost, a bottle of Dr. Delacroix's patented Indian Prairie plant oil, which aids in digestion."}

^{Strofe removed his coin purse and took out a dollar. As the man reached up to receive the money, Cain took notice of the small six-shot pepperbox the crookback carried in a shoulder holster underneath his frock coat.}

^{"And, of course, all Dr. Delacroix's products have a money-back guarantee," the small man said. "If y'all are not satisfied, just return what you don't use to the address on the bottle for a full refund."}

^{"Do you have any ointment for cuts?" Cain asked, thinking of Henry's wrists.}

^{"Why, of course." Again, the small man disappeared up into the wagon and came out with a small jar in his hand. "Indian Miracle Salve. This works wonders on all cuts or abrasions or eruptions of the epidermis, and is equally good for the megrims. Just apply to the temples and your headache will disappear in moments."}

^{As Cain paid the man, he caught how he stared up at Rosetta standing off a ways.}

^{"Is the lovely Ethiope your property?" the man asked.}

^{"No," replied Cain.}

^{"Heavens," Dr. Chimbarazo said. "Such pulchritude I have never laid eyes on in the Negroid race." Turning back to Cain, he added, "To repay your kind generosity, please stay and partake of my humble repast."}

^{Since there was only an hour or so of daylight left, Cain consented.}

^{The man had cooked up a heaping stew with bits of squirrel and rabbit and some sort of meat that Cain couldn't put a name to. Whatever it was, the stew was good and filling, and it left their mouths buzzing with its piquancy.}

^{"That's a right fine stew," Little Strofe said, complimenting the man.}

^{"An old Spanish recipe of my mother's," the man said. "Handed down through generations. In the battle of the Armada against the English, they ate of the very same meal aboard ship."}

^{"Thought you said it was your pappy's side come from Spain?" Strofe said.}

^{"I'm afraid you're mistaken, sir. My dear mother, rest her soul, is a direct descendant of Rodrigo Diaz de Viver. Who was to become famous as the Cid for driving the infidels from Valencia."}

^{Strofe, who'd drunk some of the Indian Sagwa, leaned to one side and let out with a loud exhalation of gas. " 'Least I don't have the runs no more."}

^{"I told you it would cure your intestinal problems."}

^{Later that night, the crookback got out a deck of cards and began to play solitaire.}

^{"You up for a friendly game of poker?" Preacher asked.}

^{"I've been known to wager a copper now and then," the little man said, smiling.}

^{"But I ain't usin' your deck," said Preacher, taking out his own. "And I don't play unless one-eyed jacks is wild."}