Magic Wagon

  Riley was leaning over the bar and I couldn't get my eyes centered on nothing but his teeth, which seemed big and strong and ready to chew me or anything else up. His mouth was opening and closing, and it took a while before what he was saying to Billy Bob sunk into me. He was telling him about Homer, and saying what a bad hombre Homer was, and how he was even tougher than Jack, and he went on and on about the gunmen Homer had faced, and he told that story he told me about him tracking down Wild Bill Longley by himself

  I was dizzy, real dizzy. Too many Wild Bills. Wild Bill Hickok, Wild Bill Longley, Wild Bill Daniels.

  "He ain't nothing but an old man," I blurted out.

  "What's that?" Riley said.

  "I said he ain't nothing but an old man. You said he was an old man, seventy year old."

  "Well now, boy, I ain't saying different now. I'm just telling Wild Bill here that Homer ain't gonna shine brightly on finding out there's been a shooting in town."

  I seen what Riley was doing, but couldn't put the thought into words. I was too drunk. I had just come to that understanding. I'd never drank more than one whisky in my life, and now here I was with a belly full of that hot, worthless rot, and I was so drunk I couldn't make my mouth work. I wanted to tell Riley to go to hell. I wanted to say to Billy Bob that it was just Riley talking, trying to match him up with the sheriff, trying to turn real life into a dime novel, but the only thing that would come out when I finally got my mouth open was what I said before. "Homers an old man. You said he was seventy year old."

  "You said that already, hoss," Riley said, and I hated those teeth of his. He didn't look like nothing but teeth with a set of eyes over the top of them.

  "He's drunk," Blue Hat said.

  Billy Bob laughed shortly, put his arm around my shoulders, and started walking me toward the door. I tried to push against it, but I didn't have no iron in my legs. I think if Billy Bob hadn't had his arms around my shoulders I'd have fallen down.

  "Seventy year old," I said. "He ain't no gunfighter. You ain't neither."

  Billy Bob pushed a little harder until we went through the bat wings, then when we was out on the boardwalk out of eyeshot of the drunks, he pulled me up close to him and pressed his forehead against mine and whispered. "You're embarrassing me, you dumb fool."

  * * *

  "He ain't no gunfighter, just an old man," I said, but it sounded more like a mumble.

  Billy Bob turned me around and kicked me in the butt. I went tumbling into the street.

  "Go on back to the wagon and sober up, kid. Stay out of my sight tonight."

  I didn't see Billy Bob go away. I wasn't seeing much of anything. I rolled over on my back and looked at the sky for a bit, then I closed my eyes. When I opened them everything was fuzzy, but someone was leaning over me, and he was thin and had his hands stuck out and there were guns in them, and for a moment I thought Wild Bill Hickok had gotten out of that box and come to pay me a visit.

  "Bang! Bang!" It was Skinny's voice.

  "Help me, Skinny, I'm sick."

  Skinny leaned close enough that his face came out of the fuzz.

  "Things is going to get bad." He stuck his fingers at me. "Bang!"

  "I ain't for playing. I'm sick."

  I closed my eyes again, and a moment later I felt hands on me. When I opened my eyes, Skinny was working with all his might to get me up. I gave it everything I had to help, but there just wasn't anything there.

  Then Albert stepped out of the dark, pulled me to my feet, and slung me between him and Skinny. They hauled me away, the toes of my boots plowing trenches.

  "I tried to stop him," I said to Albert. "I tried."

  "I know, Little Buster."

  "He killed Jack," I said. "That old man didn't have a chance. He wasn't nothing, Albert. I could have beat him. Anybody could."

  "Hush up, Little Buster."

  "I didn't know what to do, Albert. I tried but wasn't nobody listening to me."

  "You did what you could. Wasn't no stopping them."

  I got sick again. They stopped while I chucked up the whisky in my gut, but it didn't help me feel no better. They carried me to the wagon and laid me out on my old stoop.

  "Not in here, Albert," I said. "Not here."

  "Shush up, Little Buster. You just going to lay here while I fix you a bedroll outside. I'll come get you in just a shake."

  "No Albert," I said, but Albert was gone.

  Everything was spinning. I turned my head toward Wild Bill and his box. It looked like that damned near skull face was grinning at me, and I swear to God there was a glint coming out of them bony sockets. The same glint I seen in Billy Bob's eyes after he'd killed Texas Jack. The glint he had when all them folks were gathered around him, trying to suck off the killing he'd done.

  My eyes closed. I felt like I was whirling around and around. I could hear voices, though wasn't none of them American. It was them spirits in the wood. I knew it. They was talking to me. And though I couldn't make out a thing they were saying, I knew what it amounted to was the same thing Skinny had said: "Things is going to get bad."

  CHAPTER 6

  I don't remember falling asleep, or when the voices went away—if there ever were any voices besides them inside my head—but when I woke up I was out of the wagon.

  Albert had built a tent out of a tarp and had me under it. He and Skinny were inside with me. It was raining. I could hear it drumming on the tarp. I could hear the wind picking up too. It was still nighttime.

  My mouth tasted dry and awful, like some rats had nested there. "The storm here?" I asked.

  "Getting here," Albert said.

  "We got to move on, with or without Billy Bob," I said. "He ain't going to go, Albert. He's living a dime novel and he loves it."

  I told Albert about the sheriff about how Riley was setting the old man up for a shoot-out. I told him how I thought it was what Billy Bob wanted. That he'd force the play, even if the sheriff wanted no part of it.

  "I'm going to try and talk to him, Little Buster. See if I can put some sense in his head."

  "He ain't the same as he used to be, Albert. He's gone a whole lot worse. I think he's got Wild Bill's gun spirit in him. You ain't never seen anything move as fast as he drawed on Jack. It was spooky, I tell you. With Wild Bill's shooting-iron spirit in him, and his own nasty disposition ... Well, I think he's pushed too for, Albert, he'll kill most anybody."

  "He won't kill me."

  "He ain't the same, I'm trying to tell you."

  "Bang," Skinny said loudly, drawing up both hands quick-like and pointing his fingers at me.

  "Quit that now," Albert said. "Just quit it. It's making me shaky."

  "He seen what Billy Bob done," I said. "He's mocking him." I propped up on one elbow. "I think we ought to go on without Billy Bob. Leave the wagon. Just get Rot Toe, sell some of our stuff and buy a couple mules, ride out of here."

  "Can't," Albert said.

  "You said yourself this was a bad town, Albert. You know that storm is coming and it ain't no regular storm. It's full of vengeance and it's Billy Bob it wants. But if we're here with that Hickok's body . . . We got to leave, Albert, you know that."

  "I can't."

  "What in Heaven's name has Billy Bob got hanging over you? It ain't slave days. You can go as you please. You don't owe him a thing. It don't make sense you letting him run your life like that."

  "I got my reasons. Just shut up now, Little Buster. You're starting to make me mad."

  I shut up. Skinny stretched out on the ground by me and fell fast asleep. I turned over and slept. Next thing I knew it was morning,

  Skinny was still asleep, but Albert wasn't around. I got up and went outside. It was raining a steady drizzle and the sky was growling and lightning was flashing.

  I went over to the wagon and found Albert inside looking at Wild Bill.

  "He ain't nothing but bad luck," I said climbing inside. "Ain't nothing been good since we took him on."

  "Wasn
't all that good before we got him, was it?" Albert said, turning to look at me. "And before I picked you up, wasn't nothing for me to do but worry about Billy Bob. Now I got you too."

  "Don't you worry none about me," I said. "I can take care of myself."

  "You can, can you?"

  "That's right. I'm seventeen now."

  "So you are. Ain't nobody can take care of himself completely, Little Buster. We all needs someone sometime for something."

  We were kind of smiling at each other then. I changed the subject before we got so chummy I felt like crying. "You ain't seen Billy Bob yet?"

  "Stayed up last night waiting on him. He never showed."

  "Still feel like you got to talk to him?"

  "Yeah."

  "When?"

  "When he shows, I reckon."

  He didn't show all that day. The storm got worse as time went on. The wind had gotten so high the trees were swaying on either side of the street and you could hear them groaning and you could hear the lumber in the buildings in town creaking.

  We did some things to kill the time. We put Wild Bill in his box. We made sure Rot Toe was high and dry inside his tarp-covered cage. We fed and watered him. We took the mules over to the livery where they'd be more comfortable from the storm. We played some cards and cheated each other. Somewhere during the day Skinny came awake and wandered off maybe going back to the saloon or bumming money for peppermints.

  Finally it was dark, and still no Billy Bob.

  We went out and took down the tent Albert had made, as the rain had run up under it and it wasn't a good place to lie anymore. We were folding it up, putting it in a corner of the wagon when Albert said, "I got no choice. I'm going over to the saloon. See if I can talk to Billy Bob."

  "They'll kill you."

  "If they don't, I reckon this storm will."

  "All right, listen Albert. You got a mind to talk to Billy Bob, you let me go with you. I'll go in there and get him to come out. Try anyway. That way, no harm's done. Okay?"

  "All right, Little Buster, we'll do it your way."

  By the time we got to the saloon we were drenched from head to foot. The street was nothing but mud and water and the sound of the rain on the buildings was as loud as Indian drums. Or loud as I figured they'd be. I'd never heard any.

  Skinny was standing outside the bat wings, his hands in his pockets, shaking a bit. The wind and the rain had brought some coolness with it. He smiled at us. We got up under the walkway porch with him and we all stood there for a while, shivering, looking out at the street.

  "All right," I said finally, and I went inside.

  Billy Bob was where I'd seen him last, and so was the bony saloon girl—wrapped around Billy Bob like a snake twisting on a limb. Riley was leaning over the bar, laughing at whatever Billy Bob wanted him to laugh at. Blue Hat was dangling on Billy Bob's every word, as if they were hooks.

  I went over to Billy Bob. He didn't exactly look glad to see me, but he managed to be civil. "Buster. How you doing this fine day?"

  "Its raining," I said.

  "Not in here," he said, and everyone in the saloon laughed.

  "It's the storm, you know?"

  "Oh hell, don't start with the storm again," Billy Bob said, then he turned and told everyone about me and Albert believing the storm was haunted. That got him another good laugh.

  When he was through, I said, "Albert's outside. He wants to talk to you."

  "Anything a niggers got to say can wait," Billy Bob said.

  "This is important."

  "I said it could wait, kid."

  "Billy Bob!" It was Albert's voice, sharp and clear. Billy Bob shook that saloon gal off like a bulldog shaking off water. He stood, turned, and one hand came to rest on a pistol butt. Albert had his hands on top of the bat wings and he was looking at Billy Bob. He looked pretty stern,

  "Don't you come in here," Riley bellowed.

  "What do you mean calling to a white man like that, nigger?" Billy Bob said.

  Albert let a strange smile work across his face. When he spoke it was the voice he'd used that day in Louisiana to keep Billy Bob from shooting that wife-beat fella. "I got to talk to you. Now."

  "I don't want to hear nothing about no storm, dammit." "It don't matter about the storm. We got to push on anyhow. We don't, you going to end up killing the sheriff."

  "I ain't going to kill nobody unless they mess with me. Get on out of here and leave me alone, or I'm going to blow a hole in your black face, Hear?"

  Albert held Billy Bob's gaze for a moment. "Have it your way, nephew," he said, and went away.

  A look came over Billy Bob's face like I'd never seen before. It was sort of anger and sort of confusion. He went after Albert, and I followed on his heels, and the crowd followed out onto the boardwalk.

  Billy Bob rushed out in the street, took hold of Albert's shoulder, and tried to spin him, but it was like trying to spin a tree. Billy Bob had to step around in front of Albert to stop him.

  I was off the boardwalk now, out in the rain, easing toward them, Skinny tagging at my heels, and I was close enough to hear Billy Bob say, in an almost whining voice, "You're embarrassing me, Albert."

  "I'm tired of this game," Albert said. "I could do worse."

  Billy Bob shook, and I don't think it was from the cold. He stepped out of Albert's way and said loudly, "And remember that, nigger. Go on back to the wagon, I'll be there I dreck'ly to give you a beating."

  Albert wasn't paying him any mind. He'd started walking again.

  Billy Bob straightened his shoulders and walked back to the saloon, pushing me with his shoulder as he passed. I heard him say something to the crowd on the boardwalk about uppity burr heads, then I was running after Albert. Skinny running after me.

  I caught up with Albert and grabbed his arm. "What in hell was that nephew stuff about? He could have killed you. He's crazy, Albert. Can't you get it through your head. Crazy!"

  "Don't start on me too. Take your hand off."

  I let go and followed after him. "Albert, listen—"

  "Don't never call me nephew again," I heard Billy Bob say.

  Albert stopped walking.

  I turned to look, fearing to see Billy Bob standing there with his hands hanging over his gun butts. But the street was empty. The crowd had gone back inside the saloon. There was just Skinny standing there pointing his fingers at us.

  "Damn mockingbird," I said, snatching my cap off my head and slapping at Skinny with it. "You scared me half to death."

  Skinny fell down on his knees in the mud, started crying, and covered his head with his hands against my cap beating.

  "He didn't mean no harm," Albert said, grabbing my arm. "Leave him be." Albert took Skinny's elbow and helped him up.

  "I'm sorry, Skinny," I said. "I didn't mean nothing." I put my cap on his head and patted him on the shoulder. He seemed comforted, like an old dog you say some easy words to after you've lost your temper and yelled at it.

  Albert put his arms around both of us. "Come on, boys, let's go back to the wagon. Leave the town to those fools."

  CHAPTER 7

  We hadn't been back at the wagon for more than an hour, I reckon, just in some dry clothes, when there came a hammering on the door and I took my hands from over the top of the lantern where I was warming them, and opened it.

  It was Billy Bob. His hat had washed down over his face, and there in the glow of the lantern he looked like a crazy man. He smelled like a drunk. Which is what he was. He shot out a hand, grabbed me by the shirtfront, and tugged me out of the wagon into the mud and rain.

  "And you nigger," Billy Bob yelled, "come out of there. And what's that idiot doing in here? Ain't them my clothes?"

  "Only dry ones that would fit him," Albert said. "Mine are too big, Buster's too small."

  I got up out of the mud, raked some of it off.

  Billy Bob hadn't bothered to turn and look at me, and I'll tell you, the back of his head looked real inviting. I want
ed to pick something up and brain him with it. But I didn't. I was scared.

  "I don't care whose clothes are too big, and whose are too small," Billy Bob said. "You got no calls to put my clothes on him."

  Skinny was wearing one of Billy Bob's old, fringed outfits and some thick, wool socks. He was a hell of a sight. A sort of fool's version of Billy Bob, provided you could actually get more foolish than Billy Bob.

  "Come out," Billy Bob raved. "And bring that simple head with you. I'm going to give him a thrashing,"

  Skinny's eyes darted ever which way. He was used to being in trouble for things he didn't understand, and he was used to looking for a way out. With the wagon wall back up in place there wasn't but one way to go, and that was out that door, right into Billy Bob's arms.

  "Tell you what," Albert said easing toward the door. "You give me that thrashing, nephew."

  "Don't call me that," Billy Bob said.

  "That's what you come here for, ain't it? Ain't that what you told them? That you was going to come back here and give your nigger a thrashing?"

  Albert stepped out into the rain, closed the door behind him.

  Billy Bob stepped back. He said something, but I didn't catch it because thunder rumbled real loud. Whatever it was, you can bet it was a mouthful of sin.

  "Thrash me," Albert said, and he took a step forward. "Get your nigger in line. Thrash me."

  Billy Bob stepped back. "You forgot whose wagon this is?" Billy Bob said.

  "I ain't never forgot whose wagon this is," Albert said.

  "You got no call to come over to the saloon like that, talk that way in front of my friends."

  "Friends? You call that mess friends? You just a circus passing through to them, nephew."

  "Don't call me that no more, don't never call me that no more, never, never, hear? It ain't right for a nigger to ... Don't do it, you hear?"