Ruggert nodded. “Kill a cow.”
They didn’t waste a bullet. Golem grabbed the poor cow by the horns, twisted its head, and Weasel stepped in and cut the critter’s throat. Golem brought it down to the ground with blood splattering on him and coloring the grass. They was on that beast before it was dead, started the skinning with it still trying to bellow, which it couldn’t do with its throat cut; it could only gurgle. They ripped its hide off quick and easy, the cow still breathing, and then finally someone, one of those men, shot it in the head, which was a mercy.
Win and Madame was still on their knees, and Win had started to scream at them, knowing full well that they was about to do something to me. Madame, who had paused in her cussing, went back to it, least until she was hit in the head with a rifle stock and knocked back on the grass. Ruggert started tearing my clothes off, yanking my shirt to pieces and tossing it aside, unfastening the belt and buttons on my pants while Weasel yanked off my boots, which he measured against his feet, then flung in the grass. Then Ruggert tugged off my pants. For no reason at all they left my socks on.
“I’m going to take your horse and ride it,” Weasel said, “and I ain’t going to feed it, just ride it, and then when it falls over, I’m going to cut its heart out and eat it.”
“Damn wasteful of a good horse,” one of the men in the crowd said, for now they had all gathered around me to watch what was being done.
“Yeah,” Weasel said. “You’re right. I’ll feed it and keep it and sell it later.”
“He ain’t nothing but muscle,” said the young boy, looking down on me.
“Good,” Ruggert said. “That means he’ll last a long time.”
They bound me with wet rope, which they had made that way by all them taking turns pissing on it, then they wrapped me firm in that bloody, stinking skin with only my head poking out and dragged me away from the wagon so there wouldn’t be any shade. They propped my head up with a rock so it was facing where the sun would come up. Next they unstrapped one of our water barrels off the side of the wagon, brought it over, and poured it on the skin and on my face, which at that moment was kind of refreshing but would soon be anything but.
Ruggert bent down and stared into my eyes. “To make the time pass, let me tell you what I’m going to do. I made a lot of money placer mining, had me a good run, only good one I ever had in my whole life, and now I’ve spent near every dime to hire these men, and after this moment, I am done with the coins. I am going to give the wagon and those women to the men, if anyone should want the old woman. And there will be at least one. There are those here who would do her and the cow that is still standing and maybe the dead one. Do it at high noon on a city street and be proud of it.”
“You best hope I die,” I said. “I’ve had chances to kill you and didn’t. That was a piss-poor mistake. I won’t repeat it again.”
“It was a mistake, Willie, but you ain’t going to have another chance. God is on my side. He protected me.”
“He wasn’t so good on watching out for you when it come to those Apache.”
What there was of Ruggert’s face twisted up.
“I don’t know why he made that choice, but I believe in the end the Indians will be conquered and butchered like the animals they are. And God is not on the side of your sort, either. On some sweet day the South will rise again, and the North will be overtaken and driven down to the ground to mingle with the dust, and things will be as they were before.”
I felt the burden of my foolishness, my napping while my enemy crept up on me, and it was as if that great sky I had gloried in that night on the trail sometime back had fallen and was lying smack dab on me.
The men cooked up the cow, using some dried buffalo chips they collected as well as the tailgate of the wagon, which they broke apart for firewood. They drank whiskey, ate some of that poor beast, mainly the sweetbreads and a haunch, and left the rest of it in the grass for the ants. Then they pulled Win and Madame, who was still knocked out, over to the side of the wagon. I will not describe what happened next, but will only say that Golem went first, and there was so much screaming I began to cry, which was an absolute delight for Ruggert.
It was near morning when the men loaded Win and Madame, naked and bloody from abuse but, thankfully, still alive, into the wagon and threw their clothes in after them. If Win had been dead, maybe I would have just gone on and died myself without there needing to be any sun to squeeze the life out of me inside that skin, but the fact they was alive gave me some hope.
Weasel saddled up Satan, who let him, much to my dislike, and then mounted with my rifle in the rifle sheath and my pistols stuck in his belt and coat pockets. He also had my money in the saddlebags, though he didn’t know it yet.
Two of the men took over the wagon, having hitched the mules back up and having tied their horses and the lone cow to the back of it. As they rumbled over the grass, heading toward the deeps of the Black Hills, I turned my head as much as I could and watched them and all those men on horseback go. Weasel, sitting on Satan comfortably, turned and looked back at me and grinned. At least he was far enough away I couldn’t see those damn ugly teeth.
He and those men rode on, leaving only Ruggert and me.
So there we was. Stars was beginning to dim. The moon had slid to one side of the sky and faded. A crack of flame grew on the horizon. Ruggert was squatting next to me, facing away from the rising sun. Now and then he would reach out and pat my cowhide-covered chest.
“Seems to me,” Ruggert said, “this is going to be a hot day. You know, I think those women of yours might last until sundown. When the men get hungry and probably eat that cow, get full up, they’ll want their pleasures again. After that, they’ll want to split up, not having my money anymore to hold them together. At that point, I figure they’ll put the waste to that pretty little gal and that old lady. Though I was them, I’d keep that gal alive and in fair condition, take her down to Mexico and sell her. Down there they are always buying. Then again, they’d have to feed her, watch her, and so on, so maybe it’s best they just have their fun and end it for her. What do you think, Willie? That sound right to you? I am a little saddened that I didn’t take me a piece off the nigger gal, but the truth is, Willie, I can’t get it up. Not after what those Apaches done, and I blame you for that, Willie. You insulted me, and then you took my manhood.”
“I did nothing to you,” I said.
“I had a place in the world, and you upset it.”
I didn’t understand him at all, and so I said nothing. There was nothing left to say.
Ruggert looked at me and smiled. He shifted to one knee, picked up the rifle that lay on the ground beside him, and stood up. I saw he was looking off in the distance at something.
“I have to leave you near as satisfied as I can be. What the hide don’t do, others will.”
Then he was up and moving swiftly toward his horse. He rode away in a westerly direction. Slow at first, then a little faster, looking back over his shoulder at something behind me and beyond my sight.
Knowing that Ruggert had finally been in a place of enjoyment after all this time, I wondered what could scare him like that, but no matter what it was, I was glad for it. I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of seeing me die.
It took some time before what had put the fear in Ruggert came up to scare me. It was horses, and on them horses was six Sioux warriors that I could see. They had come up behind me as silent as the rising of the sun. They was armed with bows and rifles that was fixed up with brass tacks driven into the stocks for decoration. A couple of them rifles was old muzzleloaders, and had I been them I’d have been afraid they’d blow up in my face.
I didn’t know how many more was behind me. They didn’t chase after Ruggert. Wasn’t no need in it. They had me. I was a bird in hand, not one in the bush.
Well, them near-naked savages sat there on their ponies eyeing me for some time, then there was movement behind me, and a fist grabbed my hair a
nd picked up my head as far as it would go, that cowhide being tight around my neck. He was wearing a worn beaver top hat he’d probably bought at a trading post at one time, and the only other thing he had on was a frown, a loincloth, and a scabbard with a big knife in it. He gave out with a little yip, pulled the knife, and put it to my forehead. I was going to be scalped alive. But as the blade pricked my skin, blood trickled down my face, and it caused the scalper to pause. He stuck the knife in the ground and rubbed that warm blood on my forehead furious-like. He jerked his head around to look at the others so fast his top hat flew off. It took me a moment, but I realized they had never seen a colored man before and thought I was painted up. When the blood slipped out and didn’t run the paint, they was startled.
They gandered on me all together, and pretty soon all them that was on horses in front of me climbed off, and then them behind me did the same. There was eight altogether, and they gathered around me and studied me like I was a cipher problem. They bent down and took turns rubbing my forehead, which was painful, as they damn near chafed it raw.
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t know what to say. And whatever I would have said, I figured they wouldn’t have understood it. They, on the other hand, was chattering about, and one brought over a skin of water and poured it on my face and went to rubbing with his breechcloth. After a bit they decided my hide was indeed black and there to stay. The Indian who had started to scalp me picked up his knife, and I figured, well, here it comes. I hoped if he did it he went on and killed me, because I was growing mighty uncomfortable in that warming skin.
He put the knife away and gave a chuckle. The other Indians started to laugh. They got so tickled and guffawed so long I almost laughed with them.
I don’t know why they didn’t scalp me, as I had a really full head of long hair back then, and it would have been a prize. But instead, that same Indian, one with the scalping knife, got a smaller leather bag out of a large one on his hip, opened it, and dipped his fingers in. They came out white-tipped. I figure it was some kind of clay, but whatever it was he bent down and went to work on my face with it. As he rubbed it on me, all the others laughed, and one even giggled like a little girl. I was a little embarrassed for him.
After a time my painter got done with his intentions, stood up, turned his head first to one side then the other, and practically hooted he was so happy with his work. They all started laughing about it, and then the laughter died out easy as it had started. They got on their ponies, and each of them rode around me, leaning off their horses and touching me with their bows or rifles. Then, hollering it up, they rode off.
Why they left me like that I don’t know. I guess they decided I was a curiosity, one that deserved whatever fate had been given to me. After that little lapse in boredom for me and the Indians, they abandoned me.
The sun rose up high and turned hot as hell’s oven. That hide began to clench me something terrible. Steam come off the hide and rose up in slow wads of white, and the stink of it was so thick in my nose it was like plugs of rotting meat had been shoved in there. I was starting to have trouble breathing as that skin tightened. I wouldn’t have been no more uncomfortable if a blacksmith had come in and laid an anvil on my chest and then sat on it, and I was messing myself in that damn cow skin. I could feel it squirting down my legs. It wasn’t just painful, it was humiliating.
A slight shower came up, and though it wet the hide again, which wasn’t a good thing in the long run, in the short run it actually caused it to loosen a smidgen. The shower went on for hours. I could feel the paint on my face cracking and crusting up, but it was a rough sort of paint and wouldn’t wash away easily.
When the sun was back out, I began to stew again. But the day was near an end, and I had been given some breathing room. The hide, though still tightening, had loosened just enough to allow me a long night and another miserable day tomorrow that would end as it might have ended if not for that rainstorm.
That’s when I heard horses behind me. I figured the Indians was back and had thought it over and decided to come and scalp me after all. But I paused that thought. I could hear these horses, where I didn’t hear them Sioux until they was right up on me. That was because these here horses was shod and coming from a distance.
I waited, listening.
It was two horses. They rode up in front of me.
The riders got off their mounts.
I began to weep silently.
It was Cullen and Bronco Bob.
23
There is no way I can express the gratitude I felt as Cullen cut me free of that skin with a hunting knife, folded it back, and clipped them ropes that held me.
Bronco Bob had squatted down to watch Cullen work, and when the cowhide was folded back, he stood up and stepped back a pace, which, due to the stink, was understandable.
“You got white stuff on your face,” Cullen said.
“Some Indians thought I needed painting.” My words was as dry as the dust in a summer street, hardly understandable.
“It’s clay and ashes mixed with animal fat,” Bronco Bob said. “They’ve made of you a white man. I suppose it is from their point of view an insult.”
I tried to stand up but couldn’t. Cullen got his canteen and gave me a good swig, said, “Just a little right now.”
“Thank goodness you come,” I said. “But why are you here?”
“Bronco Bob here was in the Gem, and it was mentioned by a fellow there that some men planned to take care of that Deadwood Dick fellow.”
“He seemed quite happy about it,” Bronco Bob said. “I overheard him speaking to a young gentleman, and when the speaker went outside, I went, too. I spoke with him. We had a very enlightening conversation.”
“Bob means he beat the hell out of him,” Cullen said.
“It was a mild beating, though it made a wound or two over his eyes. While lying on his back in the dirt, he spoke to me at my urging, which means I kicked him a lot with the toe of my right boot. Said he had been paid to be one of the bunch to follow you out, but had gotten drunk instead. He had his money already, an error on the part of his employer, so he decided to spend it and not follow you. That was your good fortune, for I heard word from him, and me and Cullen followed you. Or rather we took the obvious route you would take with a wagon.”
“How come you’re here, Cullen?” I asked.
“My doing,” Bronco Bob said. “I had seen this gentleman with you. When I saw him in the street, I told what I had overheard, and what I had been able to get out of the loudmouth. Though too late to keep you from suffering. We came when we knew the situation.”
“All that matters is you came,” I said.
I was on my feet now, but still having trouble.
“They got Win and Madame.”
“I feared as much,” Cullen said. I knew what he was thinking. Men who would do what they had done to me might do the same or worse to women. I didn’t mention that they already had.
The barrel they had poured the water from lay on its side in the grass. I hadn’t seen it until now, as it was behind me. The lip of it was slightly raised on a rise of ground. I waddled over naked to the barrel and tipped it up. There was some water in it.
To make it short, Cullen and Bronco Bob helped me gather up the pieces of my shirt, and I used them and the water to clean myself, wiping the paint off my face best I could, cleaning the shit from my body. Then I put on my pants and boots and socks.
I pointed. “That’s the direction they took,” I said, “and if you don’t want any part of it, loan me a gun and a horse, and I’ll take care of it. You two have done more than anyone could ask.”
“Hell, I’m already out here,” Cullen said.
“I’ll come along,” Bronco Bob said. “Though I have had a few adventures, I admit readily that I have never fired a shot at a human being. Not that I want to do that now, but I might write better about such things if I experienced them.”
“Close enough,” I sai
d.
I rode on the back of Cullen’s horse, him complaining about my stink all the way. Wiping myself down had only gotten rid of the main of it. We rode through the night. The moon was still rich, so the seeing was good. My head ached, and I felt weak. Part of it was lack of having eaten.
We rode for a couple of hours, following the moonlit wagon tracks. Then I seen Satan standing in the grass, head dipped, chomping. He raised his noggin as we came, and damn if he didn’t start trotting over. He still had his saddle on, and the rifle was in the pouch. I slid off Cullen’s horse, held out my hand, and made clicking sounds until he come up. I petted his nose.
“He’s bucked Weasel,” I said. “The devil let him climb on pretty as you please, and then he bucked him.”
“That would be his way,” Cullen said as I mounted Satan. “He has always had a sense of humor.”
We three rode on. Wasn’t too long before we come to a white mound in the moonlight, and as we got closer, I seen it was a body. It was a woman.
I rode over quickly, and from the saddle looked down on the dead and badly mistreated body of Madame. There was hardly a place on her that didn’t appear to have been cut, stabbed, or clawed.
Slipping off Satan, I went and bent down and looked her over. Her eyes was open and full of the moon. I tried to close them, but they was contrary.
“We have to bury her,” Bronco Bob said.
“Ain’t no time for that,” I said. I pulled my bedroll off the back of Satan, unrolled it, and threw it over her corpse. “Win is still with them, and she might be alive.”
It bothered me to no end to leave that poor lady there with nothing but a blanket over her ravaged body. I didn’t like the idea that varmints and bugs would be about her, but she was beyond help. Win, maybe, could be saved.
I guess we had gone another couple hours when we seen a man staggering along in the moonlight ahead of us. I could tell from the way he moved it was Weasel.