Of course, Calvin's father said you had to observe certain niceties even in Dodge. You never shot an unarmed man, for instance. Never stole a horse unless you wanted to hang for it. Never insulted a lady. Or cheated a widow or an orphan. Other than that, you could pretty much do what you pleased and the devil take you.
As exciting as the town sounded, I hoped Calvin didn't intend to stay more than a couple of days. We'd already spent much too much time dillydallying across Kansas, I thought.
But when I asked Calvin how soon we'd be leaving for Tinville, he said, "Not until we can afford first-class tickets. I intend to arrive in style, Eli, so as to make an impression on Sheriff Yates. He must see I'm a man to be reckoned with."
The sound of my true name always made me uncomfortable, so I fell silent. Not that Calvin noticed. He was so busy talking about his grand entrance that he probably wouldn't have noticed if I'd fallen off the buggy.
"I'll step from the train, holding my head high," he went on. "I'll be wearing a fine black frock coat, made of the best wool and custom-tailored. Under it, an embroidered vest and a lacy shirt with a diamond stickpin. I'll have diamonds on my fingers, too. Trousers cut just right. Shiny black boots."
I glanced at Calvin. He was wearing a shabby black jacket and baggy pants with a tear in the knee. His white shirt was frayed at the collar, and his boots were almost as scuffed as mine. He needed a shave and a haircut. At the moment, Calvin Featherbone was far from the dandy he hoped to become.
But Calvin wasn't the sort to let the truth get in the way of dreams. No, sir, not him. He kept right on spouting foolishness. "Someone in the crowd at the depot will notice me," he said. "He'll run to the sheriff and tell him a dangerous man has arrived in Tinville."
Though I'd said nothing, Calvin scowled at me as if he thought I doubted him. "My showdown with Sheriff Yates will make the gunfight at the O.K. Corral resemble a Sunday school picnic," he boasted.
Apparently satisfied he'd convinced me, Calvin urged Fancy to get a move on. Way far off, on the edge of the world, we could just make out a tiny huddle of buildings against the sky. It was Dodge City, Calvin assured me, the queen of the cow towns.
***
We reached the outskirts of Dodge just before sunset. To my surprise, it looked as peaceful and ordinary as any other town. Houses and churches and schools, folks out strolling, pigs and chickens making themselves comfortable in the dust. Not a sign of a drunken cowboy or a herd of longhorns. No shooting either. Few saloons.
By the time we found the livery stable, Calvin was looking a bit down in the mouth.
The man who knew Miss Pearl was right pleased to see us—and the horse.
"Pearl wrote that you were coming," Mr. Sullivan said. "But I expected you sooner." He was a rough-looking fellow with a shaggy mustache and a bushy beard. I believe a scowl was his natural expression.
Calvin didn't offer Mr. Sullivan any excuses. What he wanted to know was why the town was so quiet. "I anticipated a lively scene," he said, frowning as if Mr. Sullivan were somehow to blame for the boarded-up saloons we'd passed on Front Street.
Mr. Sullivan laughed out loud. "Why, where in tarnation have you been? The cattle don't come here no more and neither do the cowboys. Without them, there wasn't no need for gamblers and saloonkeepers and dance-hall girls, so they packed up and followed the railroad west. In their place, we got teachers, preachers, lawyers, bankers, doctors, and storekeepers. You know what kind of folks men of that sort bring with them."
Here Mr. Sullivan spat in the dust at my feet. "Self-righteous folks," he said. "Churchgoing folks. Teetotaling folks. Folks with wives and little children. Why, there's scarcely a gunshot to be heard on a Saturday night nowadays."
Calvin heaved a sigh and turned to leave, but Mr. Sullivan wasn't finished.
"What we got here now is civilization," he hollered after us. "It's spreading faster than smallpox. Pretty soon the whole West is going to be like Dodge City."
"More's the pity," Calvin muttered.
Dragging Caesar along with the help of a rope tied round his neck, I followed Calvin down a dusty side street, past deserted saloons and dance halls. There were burned-out places too, nothing left but charred timbers and ashes. No one seemed interested in giving anything to a poor orphan child and his consumptive brother. Even Caesar's most pitiful performance went unappreciated.
Although we didn't make a cent in Dodge, Calvin managed to lose more than half of our money to a pickpocket even more skillful than he was. It was lucky he'd had the foresight to put thirty dollars in his boot, or we'd have lost it all.
After eating a tough steak, more gristle than meat, we ended up in the Grand Imperial Hotel down by the railroad depot. A sign in the lobby said NO MORE THAN FIVE TO A BED, but fortunately for me, the crowds were long gone. The clerk gave us a room the size of an outhouse, but at least it had two beds and enough room for Caesar to curl up in a corner. The sheets looked like they hadn't been changed in recent history, and soon after I lay down, little varmints commenced biting me.
I swear I would have slept better rolled up in my blankets on the hard ground, but I didn't complain. My wish had at long last been granted—the next day Calvin and I would be boarding the morning train to Colorado. After whispering good night to Caesar, I fell fast asleep, bedbugs and all.
10
AT THE TRAIN DEPOT, CALVIN TRIED TO persuade the ticket agent to let us ride free, but his sweet talk about us being poor orphans got him nowhere. The man had obviously heard every type of hard-luck story the mind can devise. We had to settle for a third-class carriage to Pueblo, Colorado, which was as far as we could go without spending all our money.
When the train came in two hours late, I rushed ahead of Calvin, dragging Caesar behind me, pushing and shoving through the crowd. It seemed everybody in town was aiming to wedge themselves into the passenger cars. In my haste, I almost knocked a lady down, earning a whack from her parasol that brought tears to my eyes.
Calvin and Caesar and I ended up in a car that resembled a long, narrow wooden box with an aisle down the middle and rows of hard seats on either side. We squeezed ourselves into a place hardly big enough for anyone but a baby or very small child. Somehow I persuaded Caesar to lie down and stay out of sight.
Once we got settled, I thought we'd leave right away, but I swear we sat there sweltering for over an hour while they unloaded the baggage car and then reloaded it. Lord, the flies were something awful. A baby right behind me was screaming in my ear, and the man in front of me must have eaten too many beans for lunch. Between him, the cigar smoke, and the stink coming from the convenience room at the end of the car, I thought I'd never get out of Kansas with my nose intact.
When I started fussing, Calvin said, "If Roscoe hadn't stolen my money, we'd be traveling in a first-class Pullman car, sitting on soft velvet seats in the company of refined persons of quality."
He sounded right testy. Unlike me, the Gentleman Outlaw wasn't used to living like somebody's poor relation. I took the hint, though, and stopped complaining.
Around three o'clock, the train gave a tremendous lurch. The whistle blew and we were off. I was hoping a good cool wind would blow all the bad smells away, but instead, cinders and smoke blew inside and added to my discomfort. So far, train travel was not as grand as I'd expected.
The car got hotter and stuffier. The wheels went clickety clickety click, clickety clickety clack. We rocked back and forth, back and forth, like babies in a cradle. All round me, droning voices mimicked a chorus of insects on an August afternoon. My head bobbed up and down, and my eyelids sunk like they were weighted with lead sinkers.
I slept and woke, slept and woke. Clickety clickety click, clickety clickety clack. On we rode into a sunset as red as fire and just as hot. Stopping here, stopping there. Folks getting off, folks getting on. Babies crying, children fussing, men cursing, women whispering.
When it got dark, the conductor lit oil lamps that looked like they might come cra
shing down and set the car afire. A boy passed through selling things from a box—soap and towels, bed boards and pillows stuffed with straw, coffee, water, canned food and dried food. At the sight of it, my stomach lurched with hunger, but Calvin said we couldn't afford the prices the little cheat was asking.
Finally I fell into a deep sleep from which I woke at dawn. At long last, we were in Colorado. Sticking my head out the window, I got my first look at the Rockies way off in the distance, snow-topped against the blue sky. Coming from Kansas, I'd never seen their like before and could scarcely wait to get nearer and see how tall the mountains really were.
When we pulled into Pueblo, Calvin gave me a nudge. "Get moving, Eli," he said. "We don't want to go on to Denver."
With Caesar leading, I shoved my way off the train. Oh, but it felt good to stand on solid ground again.
"I'm so hungry," I said, eyeing the depot restaurant everyone was rushing into. "Can we afford a cup of coffee and a roll?"
"Wait till the people who are getting back on the train finish eating," Calvin said. "You'll be trampled to death if you go in there now."
It's good I took his advice, because you never saw such a combobulous commotion. Those passengers had twenty minutes to eat, and they were hollering orders and grabbing tables and stuffing food down their throats like someone was going to steal it if they didn't swallow it fast. I swear I saw a man grab a sandwich right out of a little tyke's hand and run out the door with it before anybody could catch him.
When the engineer blasted the whistle, the passengers came dashing out of the restaurant, choking down food as they ran, and piled into the cars. In no time at all, the train was under way, huffing and puffing north to Denver, showering Calvin, Caesar, and me with cinders.
When we ventured into the restaurant, we saw chairs on the floor, overturned tables, spilled food and drink everywhere. Cinders gritted under our feet; they covered the windowsills; they peppered the food, pies, and cakes as well as everything else, including my clothes and hair.
We picked the cleanest table we could find, and Caesar crept underneath as if he sensed it was the safest place.
When the waitress brought our food, half my coffee had slopped into my saucer. The rolls were hard as stone, but I found soaking them in the coffee softened them up. Made the coffee taste a mite better too.
While we ate, Calvin told me he'd come up with a new moneymaking scheme. Three-card monte, he called it. A surefire way to get rich fast.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, too weary to put up with high-flown words and silly notions.
Without another word, Calvin pulled a brand-new pack of playing cards out of his pocket. Where or when he'd gotten them I hadn't the slightest idea, but I was too fascinated by his skill to ask any questions. Instead, I watched him fan out the two of spades, the jack of diamonds, and the ace of hearts. Turning them face down, he shuffled the three cards and spread them out on the table. Lordy, but he was fast.
"To win, all you have to do is pick the ace," he said, his eyes as mischievous as a crow's when it's about to play a trick.
I studied the backs of the cards so long Calvin lost patience. "We haven't got all day, Eli. For the Lord's sake, take one. They won't bite."
I shut my eyes and grabbed. My card turned out to be the jack.
Calvin smiled and scooped up the cards. He shuffled them and laid them back down. "Go ahead, Eli. Try again."
This time I came up with the two of spades. Once more Calvin shuffled and I picked. I tried over and over again, but no matter how close I watched him shuffle those cards, I never once picked the ace of hearts. After seven tries, I gave up.
"You're just too good," I muttered. "I can't beat you."
Calvin smiled and sat back. "That's correct, Eli. You can't beat me. No one can. Let me demonstrate."
Shuffling slowly, he showed me how he used those quick fingers of his to substitute a second jack of diamonds for the ace of hearts. By the time he told me to pick a card, he'd tucked the ace up his sleeve. No wonder I never won.
"Where did you learn such a dirty way of cheating?" I asked him.
Calvin frowned as if he didn't care for my choice of words. "It's a game my father taught me."
"Why, you told me your daddy was a man among men, the best cardplayer ever, better even than Doc Holliday," I said, too disgusted to watch my tongue. "It appears to me Mr. Calvin Thaddeus Featherbone, Senior, was nothing but a common low-down cardsharp. No wonder he got himself shot!"
Calvin's face flushed. For a moment I thought he was going to explode like a stick of dynamite, but instead he took a deep breath and said, "Confound it, Eli, don't climb on that high horse of yours. I need you to play a small part in the game."
I shoved my chair back and got to my feet. "Oh no, not me," I said. "I don't aim to get myself shot by some old coot like Roscoe Suggs."
Calvin leaped up and caught me. "Listen here, Elijah Bates. People who gamble are greedy fools. They don't deserve your sympathy."
Keeping hold of me, he dragged me outside. In a kindlier voice, he said, "We'll make money fast playing three-card monte. That means we'll arrive in Tinville sooner."
I quit struggling then and let Calvin lead me down the street. Much as I disliked the idea of cheating, I wanted to get to Tinville as quickly as possible. And that rascal knew it.
"All you have to do is stand in the back of the crowd and watch," Calvin said as sweet as honey. "After three or four players lose, people are bound to accuse me of cheating. When they do, push your way to the front and ask to play. I'll say no, you're too young, but you insist. Eventually I'll give up and take your money."
He paused and grinned at me. "I'll make sure you pick the ace of hearts, Eli. When the crowd sees you win, they'll clamor to play."
Without returning Calvin's jaw-stretching grin, I nodded glumly and trudged along beside him. As far as schemes go, I suppose it could have been worse. At least it didn't sound like I'd get shot.
11
CALVIN'S NEW SCHEME STARTED OUT FAIRLY well. He found an old wooden box, set it on end near one of the busier saloons, and positioned himself behind it. He'd washed up on the train and slicked his hair back and dusted off his shirt and trousers as well as he could, but any fool could tell he was down on his luck. I supposed his looks might help. Who would expect a young man as pale and handsome as curly-headed Calvin Featherbone to be a cheating, lying rascal?
While Caesar and I hung around in the background, trying to look inconspicuous, Calvin drew a crowd with a spiel that went like this. Holding up three cards, he fanned them this way and that to attract attention.
"Gentlemen," he called out, "you see before you a poor young man desperately in need of money. I hold my heart in my hand, sirs." With that, he waved the ace of hearts. "Take a chance and see if you can draw my heart from a pile of three. Keep close watch now."
Throwing the cards face down, Calvin shuffled them with those agile fingers of his. "Here's the heart," he cried, slipping it in and out of the cards so fast my eyes were dazzled. "Now here. Now there. Now where?"
He paused and smiled at the growing mob of bearded miners, Chinese railroad workers, and travelers between trains like us. I expected one of them to holler, "It's up your sleeve, you lying little cheat," but no one said a word.
"You win if you take my heart," Calvin went on in a softer voice. "I win if I keep my heart. Your chances are one in three, gentlemen. Mine are two in three, which gives me the edge, I admit."
Flourishing the ace of hearts, he surveyed the crowd. "All you need to beat the odds are sharp eyes, gentlemen. Come, who'll give me five dollars to steal my heart away?"
After some hesitancy, a scruffy miner stepped forward and slapped a five-dollar gold coin on the box top. "I reckon I can affort to part with that and a whole lot more if I have to."
I held my breath when the miner lost, but instead of accusing Calvin of cheating, the fool went and slapped down another coin. After four
tries, he gave up and headed toward the saloon.
A tall gent with the look of a salesman said the miner was blind in one eye and couldn't see out of the other. He insisted on laying down twenty dollars, thinking he'd win the miner's losses as well as Calvin's. Naturally he lost too.
This went on for quite a while. After Calvin had won more money than I'd seen in my whole entire life, some folks started grumbling.
"It's mighty peculiar nobody wins but you, sir," the salesman said. Unlike the other losers, he'd hung around, watching one man after another empty his pockets on Calvin's box top.
This was my cue. With Caesar at my heels, I pushed my way timidly to the front of the crowd, apologizing for every foot I stepped on, minding my manners just as Calvin had instructed me to. He'd convinced me a body could get away with almost anything, including highway robbery, as long as he said "please" and "thank you."
When he saw me approach the box, Calvin frowned and shook his head. "I don't accept money from children," he said.
"But you're scarcely more than a child yourself, sir," I piped up. "Surely you must take pity on such as me and let me try my luck."
I put a silver dollar on the box. "It ain't much, but it's all I got, sir. You know it won't last me long, so what does it matter if I lose it now or later?"
A ripple of sympathy ran through the crowd, especially from the ladies, who weren't gambling themselves but enjoying the spectacle of seeing rogues and rascals lose to a handsome young man like Calvin.
Calvin shook his head. "How could I sleep tonight knowing I'd taken your last dollar? Go to church, boy, as I should have done when I was your age. Pray to the Lord to help you. Don't fall into evil ways as I have."