‘But how would you actually remove the eye?’

  ‘I will use a spoon.’

  ‘A spoon?’ I said.

  ‘A soup spoon,’ he nodded. ‘Sterilized, of course. Dig out the eye, snip away the tendons with scissors—that’s how it was with the cow. Then the doc filled the eyehole with rubbing alcohol. This woke the cow up! Doc said he didn’t give it enough laudanum. I’ll give your horse plenty.’

  Stroking Tub’s face, I said, ‘There isn’t any medicine I might give him instead? He has had a tough time of it already without being half blind.’

  ‘A one-eyed horse isn’t worth much to a rider,’ the hand conceded. ‘Your wisest course might be to sell him for his meat. And I have horses for sale out back. Would you like to see them? I’d give you a fair deal.’

  ‘Let’s go ahead with the eye. We will not be riding very far, and perhaps he will still be of some use to me.’

  The hand gathered the tools for the operation and placed these atop a quilt he had lain on the ground beside Tub. He brought out a ceramic bowl filled with water and laudanum; as Tub drank this the hand called me to his side. As if in secret, he whispered, ‘When his legs begin to buckle I want you to push with me. The idea is that he falls directly onto the blanket, understand?’ I said that I did, and we stood together, waiting for the drug to take hold. This did not take long at all and in fact happened so quickly it caught us off guard: Tub’s head dropped and swayed and he stumbled heavily toward the hand and myself, pinning us against the slatted sides of the stable. The hand became frantic under the weight; his face grew red as clay and his eyes bulged as he pushed and cursed. He was scared for his very life, and I found myself laughing at him, squirming around with not the slightest sense of dignity, something like a fly in honey. The hand was humiliated and then infuriated by my lightheartedness; his squirming became all the more frenzied and wild. Fearful the man might faint or otherwise harm himself, I reached up and slapped Tub’s backside as hard as I was able; he winced and stood away from us and the hand shouted, ‘Push, goddamnit, push!’ I choked off my laughter and put all my weight against Tub’s ribs and belly. Between my efforts and the hand’s, in addition to Tub’s woozy attempt to regain his footing, we pushed him clear to the other side of his stable, cracking and snapping the slats as he crashed against them. Now the hand grabbed my arm and yanked me back just as Tub, rebounding off the wall, fell to the ground, his head perfectly placed on the quilt, out cold. The hand was panting and sweat covered, and he regarded me with the most sincere contempt, his twisted fists pinned to his denim hips. ‘Can I ask you, sir, just what in the hell it is that you’re celebrating?’ He was so very upset, standing there before me, it took no small amount of self-control not to laugh again. I managed it, but barely. Speaking penitently, I told him, ‘I’m very sorry about that. There just seemed something funny about it.’

  ‘To be crushed to death by a horse, this is your idea of carefree entertainment?’

  ‘I am sorry to have laughed,’ I said again. To change the subject I pointed at Tub and said, ‘At any rate it was a dead shot. Right on the quilt.’

  He shook his head and growled lowly, phlegm percolating in his throat. ‘Except for one detail. He is lying on the wrong side! How am I to get at the eye, now?’ He spit the phlegm on the ground and watched it. He watched it a long while. Whatever in the world was he thinking about? I decided to regain the hand’s trust, if only to do right by Tub, for I did not like the idea of the old man performing such a delicate operation while he was angry.

  There were several lengths of rope on the wall at the rear of the stable, which I removed and tied to Tub’s ankles, that I might pull him over. The hand surely knew what I was doing but did not offer his help, and began instead to roll a cigarette. He did this with great seriousness, as though it required the extent of his concentration. Tying off Tub’s ankles took five minutes, during which time the hand and I shared not a word, and I was becoming annoyed with him, feeling his sullenness was exaggerated, when he approached with a second cigarette, this rolled for me. ‘Don’t ash in the hay, will you?’ There was a single pulley hanging above the stable; we ran the two lengths of rope through the swivel, one over top of the other. With the both of us pulling it was not difficult to turn Tub over. After our working and smoking together the hand and I were friends again. I could see why he had been angry. He did not understand about my laughing. But we were very different kinds of people, and many of the things I had come to find humor in would make your honest man swoon.

  Tub lay dozing and breathing, and the hand went to fetch a spoon that had been sitting in a pot of boiling water in his kitchen. Returning to the stable, he tossed the steaming utensil back and forth to avoid burning himself. His hands, I noticed, were filthy, though our alliance was so tentative I dared not comment. Blowing on the spoon to cool it, he instructed me, ‘Stay away from the rear of this animal. If he comes to the way that heifer did, he’ll kick a hole right through you.’ He pushed the spoon into the socket, and with a single jerk of his wrist, popped the eye out of its chamber. It lay on the bridge of Tub’s nose, huge, nude, glistening, and ridiculous. The hand picked up the globe and pulled it to stretch the tendon taut; he cut this with a pair of rusted scissors and the remainder darted into the black socket. Holding the eye in his palm, now, he cast around for a place to put it. He asked if I would take it and I declined. He went away with the eye and came back without it. He did not tell me what he had done with the thing and I did not ask.

  He took up a brown glass bottle and uncorked it, glugging the contents into Tub’s eye socket until the alcohol spilled over, leveling to meet the rim. Four or five pregnant seconds passed when Tub’s head shot back, arching stiffly, and he made a shrill, raspy noise, ‘Heeee!’ and his hind legs punched through the rear wall of the stable. Seesawing on his spine, he regained his footing and stood, panting, woozy, and less an eye. The hand said, ‘Must sting like the devil, the way it wakes them up. I gave him one hell of a lot of laudanum, too!’

  By this time Charlie had entered and was standing quietly behind us. He had bought a bag of peanuts and was cracking their shells and eating them.

  ‘What’s the matter with Tub?’

  ‘We have taken his eye out,’ I told him. ‘Or this man has.’

  My brother squinted, and started. He offered me his peanut bag and I fished out a handful. He offered the bag to the hand, then noticed the man’s outstretched fingers were slick, and pulled it away, saying, ‘How about I pour you out some?’ The hand opened his palm to receive his share. Now we were three men eating peanuts and standing in a triangle. The hand, I noticed, ate the nuts whole, shell and all. Tub stood to the side, shivering, the alcohol draining down his face. He began urinating and the hand, crunching loudly, turned to face me. ‘If you could pay out that five dollars tonight, it would be a help to me.’ I gave him a five-dollar piece and he dropped it into a purse pinned to the inside of his coveralls. Charlie moved closer to Tub and peered into the empty socket. ‘This should be filled with something.’

  ‘No,’ said the hand. ‘Fresh air and rinses with alcohol are what’s best.’

  ‘It’s a hell of a thing to look at.’

  ‘Then you should not look at it.’

  ‘I won’t be able to control myself. Couldn’t we cover it with a patch?’

  ‘Fresh air and rinses,’ answered the hand.

  ‘When will he be fit to travel?’ I asked.

  ‘Depends on how far you’re going.’

  ‘We are headed to the river diggings east of Sacramento.’

  ‘You will be traveling by ferry?’

  ‘That I don’t know. Charlie?’

  Charlie was walking around the stable and smiling at some discreet amusement. He had had another drink or two, judging by his friendliness and happiness. Anyway, he had not heard my question, and I did not press him for an answer. ‘Likely we will be traveling by ferry,’ I said.

  ‘And when were you pl
anning on going?’

  ‘Tomorrow, in the morning.’

  ‘And once you arrive at the diggings, you will be sleeping out of doors?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The hand thought about this. ‘It is too soon to go,’ he said.

  I patted Tub’s face. ‘He appears alert.’

  ‘I am not saying he cannot do it. He is a tough one. But if he were my horse I would not ride him for a week, at least.’

  Charlie returned from his perambulations and I asked for more peanuts. He held the bag upside down: Empty. ‘What is the most expensive restaurant in town?’ he asked the hand, who whistled at the question, scratching simultaneously his forehead and genitals.

  Chapter 41

  The Golden Pearl was simply bathed in wine-red heavy velvet, with hundred-candle chandeliers over each table, bone china plates, silk napkins, and solid silver cutlery. Our waiter was an immaculate, ivory-skinned man in a night-black tuxedo with blue silk spats and a ruby lapel pin that all but blinded a man to look upon it. We asked for steak and wine, preceded by brandy, an order that pleased him fundamentally. ‘Very good,’ he said, writing with a flourish on his leather-bound pad. ‘Very, very good.’ He snapped his fingers and two crystal snifters were placed before us. He bowed and retreated but I had every faith he would soon return, that he would see us through our dining experience with the utmost charm and agility. Charlie took a sip of the brandy. ‘Jesus, that’s nice.’

  I took a short drink of it. It tasted entirely separate from any brandy I had ever drunk. It was so far removed from my realm of the brandy-drinking experience I wondered if it might not be some other type of spirit altogether. Whatever it was I enjoyed it very much, and promptly took another, longer drink. Attempting to sound casual about it, I said, ‘Where are we in terms of our being in the Commodore’s service?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘We are continuing on with the job.’

  ‘Even though he has misled us?’

  ‘What do you propose we do, Eli? There isn’t any point in severing ties with him until we investigate this so-called River of Light. Even if we were not working for him, I would still be set on investigating.’

  ‘And if Warm and Morris are successful? Do you plan to rob them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘If they are not, I suppose we will kill them.’

  Charlie shrugged, his attitude light and carefree. ‘I really don’t know!’ he said. The waiter brought out our steaks; Charlie pushed a forkful into his mouth and groaned at its delicious taste. I also took a bite, but my mind was on something else. I decided to broach it at once, while Charlie was in a high mood. I said, ‘It occurred to me that if we never spoke of finding Morris’s diary, no one could think us incorrect in returning to Oregon Territory.’

  At these words Charlie swallowed, and his gladness from a moment earlier vanished from his face. ‘What in the hell are you talking about?’ he asked. ‘Would you explain it to me, please? Firstly, what would we tell the Commodore when we got back?’

  ‘We would tell him the truth, that Morris defected with Warm, their whereabouts unknown. We could never be expected to find them without any clue to lead or guide us.’

  ‘At the very least, the Commodore would expect us to check Warm’s claim.’

  ‘Yes, and we could say we did and found nothing. Or if you would rather, we could actually visit the place on our return trip. We know Warm won’t be there, after all. My point is, if it’s only the diary’s contents that impels us to continue, then let us burn the book and carry on as though we never laid eyes upon it.’

  ‘And what if the diary isn’t the only thing that impels us?’

  ‘It is the only thing that impels me.’

  ‘What is your actual proposition, brother?’

  I said, ‘Between the Mayfield stash, and our savings back home, we have enough to quit the Commodore once and for all.’

  ‘And why would we do something like that?’

  ‘It seemed you were for it, before. You have never thought about quitting?’

  ‘Every man that has ever held a position has thought about quitting.’

  ‘We have enough to stop it, Charlie.’

  ‘Stop it and do what?’ He picked a piece of fat from his teeth and flung this onto his plate. ‘Are you trying to ruin my dinner?’

  ‘We could open the store together,’ I said.

  ‘What the? What store?’

  ‘We have had a long go of it, and we both have our health and some of our youth left. Here is our chance to get out.’

  He was becoming progressively frustrated by my words, and would shortly drop his fist on the table and lash out at me, truly. But just as he was reaching the point of actual anger, some inner thought calmed him and he returned to sawing his steak. He ate with a full appetite while my food turned cold and when he was finished he called for the check and paid for both plates, despite the cost. I was prepared, then, for him to say something hurtful at the conclusion of the meal, and he did. Draining the last of his wineglass he spoke: ‘We have established, anyway, that you wish to stop. So stop.’

  ‘Do you mean to say I would stop but you would continue on?’

  He nodded. ‘Of course, I would need a new partner. Rex has asked for work in the past, perhaps he could come along.’

  ‘Rex?’ I said. ‘Rex is like a talking dog.’

  ‘He is obedient like a dog.’

  ‘He has the brains of a dog.’

  ‘I could bring Sanchez.’

  At this I coughed, and a trickle of wine flowed from my nostril. ‘Sanchez?’ I sputtered. ‘Sanchez?’

  ‘Sanchez is a good shot.’

  I held my stomach and laughed. ‘Sanchez!’

  ‘I am merely thinking aloud,’ Charlie said, reddening. ‘It might take some time to find someone suitable. But you’ve made your decision, and that is fine by me. It will be welcome news to the Commodore, also.’ He lit a cigar and sat back in his chair. ‘We will continue with this job and part ways after its completion.’

  ‘Why do you say it like that? Part ways?’

  ‘I will stay on with the Commodore and you will turn clerk.’

  ‘But do you mean to say we won’t see each other?’

  ‘I’ll see you when I come through Oregon City. Whenever I need a shirt, or some underthings, I will be there.’ He stood and stepped away from the table and I thought, Does he actually want me to stop, or is he merely tricking me into continuing by goading me along? I studied his carriage for the answer to this; I received a clue when his brow unknotted and his spine went slack—he was pitying me, in all my wounded wretchedness. He said, ‘Tomorrow morning we will ride out to find Warm and Morris. Let us finish the job and see where we stand afterward.’ He turned and walked from the restaurant. The elegant waiter appeared beside me, inhaling windily as I stood to go, for my meal was all but untouched, and he was insulted that such beautiful food should go to waste. ‘Sir!’ he called after me, his tone richly indignant. ‘Sir! Sir!’ Ignoring him, I walked into the wildness of the San Francisco night: Swaying lanterns on passing carts, a whip’s constant recoil, the smell of manure and burned oil, and a ceaseless, all-around caterwauling.

  I returned to the room to sleep and saw no more of Charlie until morning, when I awoke to find him fully dressed and washed, clean shaven and pink cheeked; his movements were sharp and alert and I felt a hopefulness that this change in his temperament was related somehow to our argument of the previous evening, that he had elected to remain relatively sober and to rise early so I might by association have a better time of it, and that we might view the job from the moral standpoint. But now I saw his pistol handles were gleaming in their holsters—he had cleaned and polished them, as was his habit prior to the completion of an assignment. His decision to pass a peaceful night without excessive drinking was not done to please or soothe me but so that he might be fully present for the probable murder of Warm and Morris. I rose from the bed and s
at at the table across from him. I found I could not face him, and he said, ‘It will never do, your pouting like this.’

  ‘I’m not pouting.’

  ‘It’s pouting, all right. You can pick it up again just as soon as the job’s done, but for now you’re going to have to cork it.’

  ‘I tell you I’m not.’

  ‘You can’t even look at me.’

  I looked. And it was as though there was nothing in the world wrong with him, his manner was perfectly at ease. I imagined what he in turn was seeing in me, hair wild, rubbery belly pushing against an unclean undershirt, eyes red and filled with hurt and mistrust. It came over me all at once, then: I was not an efficient killer. I was not and had never been and would never be. Charlie had been able to make use of my temper was all; he had manipulated me, exploited my personality, just as a man prods a rooster before a cockfight. I thought, How many times have I pulled my pistol on a stranger and fired a bullet into his body, my heart a mad drum of outrage, for the lone reason that he was firing at Charlie, and my very soul demanded I protect my own flesh and blood? And I had said Rex was a dog? Charlie and the Commodore, the two of them together, putting me to work that would see me in hell. I had a vision of them in the great man’s parlor, their heads enshrouded in smoke, laughing at me as I sat on my comical horse in the ice and rain outside. This had actually taken place; I knew it to be the truth. It had happened and would happen again, just as long as I allowed it.

  I said, ‘This is the last job for me, Charlie.’

  He answered without so much as a flinch: ‘Just as you say, brother.’

  And the rest of the morning in that room, packing and washing and preparing for our travels—not another word exchanged between us.

  Chapter 42

  The hand met me at the stable door.

  ‘How is he?’ I asked.

  ‘He slept well. Not sure how he’ll ride, but he’s doing better than I figured he might.’ He handed me a bottle of alcohol. ‘Twice a day,’ he said. ‘Morning and night, till you run out. Make sure you tie him to something when you do it. Just douse him and run, is my thought.’