The Gentleman Outlaw and Me-Eli (10 page)

When Calvin was sure we'd been noticed, he moved cautiously through the crowd.

"Please don't buy any whiskey, brother," I begged, remembering what he'd told me to say. And meaning it too. 'You promised Mama when she lay dying that you'd be good."

"Don't mention that angel's name here," said Calvin, pretending to wipe tears with his handkerchief.

"She's looking down from heaven right now," I sobbed. "She sees you itching to spend our inheritance on the devil's drink."

By now we'd reached the bar. The miners stepped aside, making room for us. It was obvious we had their attention as well as the bartender's. Taking in the black mourning bands tied around our upper arms, he asked what we fancied.

"A sarsaparilla for my brother," Calvin said softly, "and a whiskey for me."

"No," I wept, warming to my part. 'You promised not to touch it. You know what whiskey does to you, Calvin."

Nobody but a squint-eyed miner paid any attention to me. "What's the matter with you, boy?" he asked. "A man's got a right to his whiskey. Your brother don't need no trouble from you."

The man next to the miner laughed. Peering down at me, he said, "Now don't you pay no mind to Old Bill here. The poor cuss don't know what he's talking about or where he is most of the time."

But Old Bill wasn't listening to his friend. All his attention was focused on the silver coin Calvin had given to the bartender.

After Calvin put the change in his pocket, Old Bill turned back to me. 'Your brother must be a rich man, boy. Why, I reckon he could buy us all a round or two."

I widened my eyes to look as innocent as possible. "Oh no, sir," I whispered. "That's our dear departed Mama's money. Calvin's not supposed to spend one blessed cent of it for whiskey, but today he's so overwhelmed with grief he won't listen to me."

Lowering my voice, I moved as close to Old Bill as my nose could bear. "Just between you and me," I whispered, "I'm afraid Calvin's about to fall back into his old ways. Before long he'll start gambling and lose everything."

Hearing me go on and on, Calvin glanced at me in some surprise. It was all I could do not to laugh. To tell you the truth, I was beginning to enjoy myself. I'd always had a hankering to act in a play, but this was even better because I got to make up my lines as I went along. Didn't have to memorize a thing.

Old Bill grinned at his companion. "Well, now, boy," he said, "it seems to me this here's a free country. There ain't no law against either gambling or drinking, so if that's what your brother wants to do, why, he should just go right ahead and do it. Yes, sir, that's just what he should do!"

While Old Bill was talking, Calvin drank his first glass of whiskey. Or at least he seemed to. If you watched real close, you'd have caught him dumping it in the spittoon. Luckily he did it so fast I was the only one who noticed.

When Calvin commenced to cough and choke, Old Bill slapped him on the back and urged him to have another glass. "Whiskey's the best thing for what ails you," he said. "Danged if it ain't!"

At first Calvin apologized to me for every glass, but after his third whiskey, he ignored my pleas. His voice slurred, he swayed and hung onto the bar like a man in fear of being washed overboard. He was mighty convincing.

Finally Old Bill suggested a game of poker. "Oh, brother, brother," I wept. "Think of poor Mama up there with the angels weeping over you."

Calvin's eyes filled with tears. "I'll play for Mama," he sobbed. "I'll win for my poor dead mother."

I kept right on protesting, but of course it didn't do a speck of good. In no time, Calvin was sitting at a table with a gang of miners. He lost hand after hand. The little pouch got flatter and flatter.

"Calvin," I cried, genuinely upset. "You promised you wouldn't lose it all!"

The miners scowled at me. One muttered something about pesky little varmints. Another mumbled children should be drowned at birth like kittens.

Finally Calvin turned to me. Giving me a quick
wink, he said, "Go back to our room, Elijah. With you gone, perhaps my luck will change."

"No!" I grabbed for the pouch, not sure I was still acting, but Calvin whisked it out of my reach.

"You heard what I said, Elijah," he hissed. "Leave at once!"

I backed away from the table, sure I'd seen the last of my train fare to Tinville.

One of the dancing girls put her arm around me. "Poor little fellow," she said. "To think your brother would gamble your inheritance away. When he came through the door, he looked a perfect gentleman, but to my sorrow, I've learned few folks are what they seem."

Giving me a friendly kiss on the cheek, she returned to the gambling table. I stood there awhile, watching Calvin lay down more of our precious coins. The dancing girl was right. He wasn't what he seemed. But neither was I. In fact, if someone had come up to me at that moment and asked me who I was, I don't think I could have said. I wasn't Eliza Yates any more, that's all I knew.

Upstairs I found Caesar sound asleep on my bed, snoring as loud as Uncle Homer. When I sat down beside him, he opened one eye and wagged his tail.

"You're the only one of us that's genuine," I told him, shaking the paw he offered. 'You're just what you seem. A good old mutt—nothing more, nothing less. But who am I?"

Caesar licked my face and grinned. If he could have talked, he would probably have said, 'You're you, just like I'm me." But instead of answering, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep, snoring louder than ever. Which proves it must be easier to be a dog than a person. No vexing questions. Just food and sleep.

I stayed awake for a long, long time, thinking these and other thoughts, expecting to be jolted out of bed by shouts, blasphemies, and gunfire from the saloon, but all I heard was the normal ruckus—no more profanity than usual, lots of hollering, most of it good-natured drunkenness, and every now and then a stray shot in the street.

Just about the time I was falling asleep in spite of myself, Calvin flung open the door, laughing like he was fit to be tied.

"Well, well, it seems you didn't get yourself killed after all," said I, not wanting him to know I gave a tinker's tulip for his worthless hide.

"There was never any chance of that, Eli," Calvin said. "By the time I turned the tables, those jackasses were too drunk to suspect I was cheating. Even if they had, no one would have believed them. Folks said I was blessed."

Overcome by a spell of hilarity, he laughed himself to tears. "One of the dancing girls actually claimed she saw the ghost of my poor dead mother," he snorted, tickled silly with himself. "She said
Mama was hovering over me, guiding the winning cards into my hand."

Calvin went on boasting and bragging till there was barely enough space for us both in the same room. His conceit was downright outrageous.

When he finally ran out of long, fancy words, I asked about that little pouch of silver dollars.

Calvin slapped his thigh and went off into another apoplectic fit of glee. Pulling the bulging pouch out of his pocket, he dumped its contents on the bureau, then emptied his pockets, adding gold coins as well as nuggets to his winnings. "One thousand, five hundred and twenty-six dollars, Eli. What do you think of me and my schemes now?"

"We're rich," I whispered. "We're rich!"

Calvin gave me a grin so wide his teeth shone in the dim light like a row of tombstones. "The more games I won, the more they wanted to play. The greedy rogues were convinced my luck would run out eventually. Why, it seems to me—"

Sick of his bragging, I cut into Calvin's words with an important question. "Now that we're rich, can we leave for Tinville?"

"Not right away," Calvin said, busying himself stacking and sorting coins. "We'll buy first-class tickets to Durango tomorrow morning. I hear the pickings are even better there."

My heart sank. "But Calvin, I thought you were in a big hurry to find Sheriff Yates. Why, he could
leave Tinville any day. You'd never know where he went, never find him, never get your revenge."

Calvin ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back from his face till he looked more like a boy my age than a grown man. "I have to be ready for Yates," he said. "I have to be prepared. Have to buy a gun, have to learn..." His words drifted into silence like little puffs of smoke.

"Maybe you ought to give me some of that money I helped you win," I said, quick to take advantage of his momentary speechlessness. "I could buy my ticket and go on to Tinville without you. Just me and Caesar."

Calvin looked at me in disbelief. "But Eli, I need you for the orphan swindle. We're partners. You can't desert me. Not when we're on our way to becoming millionaires."

I felt rotten about letting Calvin down, but I was mighty anxious to find Papa. "I hate to say it, Calvin, but I don't altogether trust you. I want my share of our winnings now—before you lose it."

"I don't entirely trust you either, my fine little friend," said Calvin, drawing himself up all huffy and proud. "I'll give you your share when we arrive in Tinville," he went on. "Till then, I keep everything except your candy money."

So saying, he dropped a few coins into my outstretched palm. "Sixty cents. That will buy enough candy to rot every tooth in your lying little head."

I pocketed the money, knowing full well Calvin would steal it back if he needed it. Tomorrow I'd hide it in my fancy new shoes. They were a sight tighter than my old ones.

I
N THE GRAY LIGHT OF DAWN, CALVIN AND I
walked down to the depot and bought two tickets to Durango. While we waited for the train to come, we drank the worst coffee ever brewed. It was so strong Calvin said you could float a silver dollar on the surface. I tried it, and he laughed when the coin sank.

"I was speaking in hyperboles," he said in that highfalutin way of his.

"Maybe you should give over your criminal ways and become a schoolmaster," I said darkly. I still hadn't forgiven him for refusing to give me my share of his winnings, calling me a liar, and keeping me from getting to Tinville.

"Not me," Calvin said, not even noticing my glum mood. "Doc Holliday used to practice a little dentistry on the side, but he told Father he found it tedious compared to gunfighting and card-playing."

"Safer, though," I muttered. "I expect teachers and dentists are more likely to live to old age than gamblers and gunfighters."

Calvin sighed. "Which is better, Elijah? To have a short, exciting life and die in a burst of fame and glory or to have a long, uneventful life and die in bed, unknown and unremembered?"

I puzzled over the question. "Does it have to be one or the other?" I asked finally. "Can't there be something in between?"

"Not for me," Calvin said. "I want my name to live long after my body has turned to dust."

"What do you expect to be remembered for?" I asked. Though I didn't want to come right out and say it, all I'd seen Calvin do so far was cheat and lie and pick pockets—not very memorable activities, in my opinion.

Calvin leaned toward me. "After I shoot Sheriff Yates, my name will blaze across the firmament like a shooting star."

He made a sweeping gesture to demonstrate his flight of glory. Unfortunately his arm encountered a tray stacked with dirty dishes. As crockery crashed to the floor, the ill-natured waitress who'd been holding the tray slung it at Calvin, knocking him clean off his chair. He landed with an attention-getting thud among the broken cups and saucers and plates, soiling his fine new clothes.

Not satisfied with that, the waitress grabbed a
broom and chased poor Calvin out the door, whacking him with such ferocity I feared she'd break every bone in his handsome body.

Caesar and I ran after him, followed by loud laughter and shouts from our fellow diners. "They'll remember you here, Calvin," I said. "That's for certain. Why, they might even write a song about you—the outlaw swept up to heaven by a broom."

Giving me a fierce look, Calvin brushed bits of egg and toast off his trousers. When it came to laughing at himself, the Gentleman Outlaw lacked a sense of humor.

By the time the train came huffing and puffing into the depot, Calvin had regained his dignity. He seemed especially pleased that most of the folks who'd found his misfortune so amusing were riding in third class and we were riding in first.

"I don't hear them laughing now," he said as we boarded the Pullman car.

I must say first class was everything Calvin had promised it would be and more. My first glimpse of the carved woodwork and stained glass near took my breath away. The floor was carpeted, and the seats resembled sofas in softness and size. Sitting in such comfort made the train's rocking and jolting easier to bear. There was room to stretch your legs too.

Even the boys who came through selling food and drink and newspapers and such were soft-spoken and polite. They didn't holler in your face the way they did in third class, and their merchan
dise was definitely higher in quality—and in price.

The only disappointment was considerable. I'd been looking forward to eating fancy food in even fancier surroundings, but the train had no dining car. If we wanted lunch and dinner, we'd have to take our chances in the eating houses along the tracks. Since it was more than an eight-hour ride to Durango, we didn't have much choice. A body has to eat to keep strong.

***

As soon as we got to Durango, we headed down Main Street, looking for the grandest hotel in town. It didn't take long to find the Strater. Built of red brick, it towered above us, brand-new and promising unimaginable luxury.

"Wait here with Caesar," Calvin said. "I'll go in and rent a room."

Awed by what I could see of the lobby, I watched Calvin stride into its depths as if he'd been born there. In a few minutes he was back with a room key.

"There's a side entrance," he said, leading me around the corner. "If we take Caesar in this way, they might not notice him."

We got Caesar up two flights of stairs and down a long red-carpeted hall without anyone spotting him. Calvin opened the door to room 211 and hustled the dog inside.