Boone's Lick (5 page)

“What? Say that again?” Ma asked, so I said it again.

“You're just a babe in the woods, Shay,” Ma said. Then she chuckled, kind of deep in her throat.

“Rosie don't pay men fifty dollars,” Ma said. “It's the other way around—men pay Rosie fifty dollars. Maybe a little less, maybe a little more, depending. But Rosie don't pay men.”

I had thought the notion that Rosie McGee would chip in fifty dollars to send Uncle Seth with the posse was a little far-fetched, myself. If the sheriff was only willing to pay him five dollars to go shoot at the Miller gang, why would Rosie McGee want to pay him fifty dollars to do the same job? Of course, the fifty dollars only came up because that was what the sheriff offered to pay Wild Bill Hickok. It seemed like a world of money to me.

“What was she supposed to pay Seth the fifty dollars for?” Ma asked. She seemed a lot more cheerful now that we had started talking about Uncle Seth. Even without being there, he was helping to cheer Ma up.

“He seemed to think she'd want him to catch Jake Miller,” I said. “That's what he and Mr. Hickok were talking about. Uncle Seth wants to take me and G.T. along with the posse when they go to Stumptown.”

“I heard you slip that in the first time,” Ma said. Marcy was wide awake—she had been trying to crawl lately. Ma put her down on the ground on her belly, to see if she was making any progress with her crawling. Marcy hadn't made much. She just waved her arms and grunted.

“You can do it!” Ma said, to encourage her. “Get up on your hands and legs and crawl.”

Marcy continued to wave her arms and legs and grunt.

“She'll figure it out in a few more days,” Ma said. She left Marcy to struggle with the problem.

“Your Uncle Seth don't know anything about women,” Ma said, looking at me. “He's God's fool, where women are concerned. Rosie McGee won't give him a cent, although it is a fact that she hates Jake Miller.”

“Why?” I asked.

She didn't answer, which meant that in her opinion, why wasn't any of my business.

“Can we go with the posse, then?” I asked. I was excited at that prospect, but Ma had been so careful about us during the wartime that I didn't know if there was much hope.

“If Seth wants to take you, you can go,” Ma said. “But I can't bear to lose no more boys, so you've got to promise to look after G.T.”

I expected her to tell me to be careful and look
after myself—when she only asked me to look after G.T. I got my feelings hurt, for a moment. G.T. had always been an expert at looking after himself. Didn't Ma care about me?

“You're the mature one,” Ma said, as if in answer to the question I hadn't asked. “Seth don't know anything about women but otherwise he can take care of himself. But G.T. don't know anything about anything, and besides that he's reckless. You make sure he don't get hurt.”

“I'll do my best, but he don't mind me,” I reminded her.

Ma looked at me a long time, then.

“Here's a piece of news for you, Shay,” she said. “The reason I'm letting you boys go with the posse is because you're going to need a little exposure to the wild side of things.”

I didn't know what to say.

“I've got some news for you all,” Ma said. “I'm tired of sitting here in Missouri, going hungry and losing weight. When we finish eating this horse I shot, we're going to take a trip—all of us.”

That was startling news. The bunch of us had always lived in the same place. G.T. and me had only been up and down the river a town or two from Boone's Lick, and the towns weren't very far apart. Other than that we had always just lived in the cabin near the river.

“Where will we go?” I asked.

“To wherever your pa is,” Ma said. “I'm out of patience with him. This baby's about ready to crawl and he's never laid eyes on her. He's not been home
in fourteen months, and then it was only for two nights. If he won't come and see us, then we'll go and see him. And if he don't like it I'll leave him.”

Then she scooped up Marcy and headed for the cabin, leaving me where I sat, with thoughts buzzing around in my head like bumblebees. Just the fact that Ma was going to allow us to go off with the posse would have been enough to think about, but on top of that came the news about a trip to see Pa, wherever he was. Once the fact of it sunk in a little I got so excited I wanted to run around in circles. I wanted to wake up G.T. and tell him the double good news, about the posse and the trip, but it turned out I didn't have to wake him up. Just as I was trying to think of some way to work off my excitement, G.T. came walking up from the river, carrying a dead coon by the tail.

“I slipped up on him while he was cracking a mussel,” G.T. said. “Coon meat's just as good as horse meat—there just ain't as much of it.”

I was dying to spill my news but I knew I had better take a minute to admire G.T.'s kill, or he'd pout for a week.

“What'd you do, chunk it?” I asked.

“Chunked it,” G.T. said.

“Guess what, we're going on a trip—two trips, that is,” I said, unable to hold the news a minute longer. “First we're going with the posse, and then we're going upriver to look for Pa.”

“You're lying!” G.T. said. Then he stomped off in a sulk, because I hadn't paid enough attention to his coon.

G.T
. and I had a fistfight—a short one—before the night was over. I crawled up in the loft of the cabin, where we kids slept, and was trying to calm down and get some sleep when G.T. shot up the ladder and started punching me. That was the way G.T. started all his fights—he was a firm believer in getting in the first lick. He got in about three licks and I managed two before Neva woke up and yelled at us. Ma heard Neva and got into it right away.

“G.T., do you want me to come up there?” Ma asked.

G.T. definitely didn't, so that was the end of that fight.

“I'll beat the stuffings out of you tomorrow,” he whispered, before settling down to snore.

It was only then that I remembered that Ma had
said she would leave Pa, if he didn't welcome our visit—that was an unsettling thought, for sure.

It seemed like only a few minutes later that the racket started in the freight yard. When Uncle Seth shook me awake the world was white, with a close, chilly mist off the river.

“Bring your brother,” Uncle Seth said, which was easier said than done. G.T. was a sound sleeper. I shook him and shook him—finally Neva stuck a pin in his toe, two or three times, which brought him around. We could hear horses in the freight yard—or maybe they were our mules. Ma gave us chickory coffee, a rare treat.

“You need to get your wits stirring, if you're going off with these long riders here,” she said.

The only long rider I could see, besides Uncle Seth, was Sheriff Baldy Stone, who was evidently cold natured. He stood by the fireplace, warming his hands.

“Eddie, it's just eight miles to Stumptown,” Ma said. “What's the point of leaving so early?”

“The point is, there might be a siege,” the sheriff said, “and if it's a long siege we stand to leave the services of Mr. Hickok. This is Thursday and he don't work on Fridays. I want to take advantage of as much of Thursday as I can.”

“There's another thing,” Ma said. “I've told Seth and I'll tell you and I'll even tell Mr. Hickok, if he puts in an appearance.”

“What's the other thing?” the sheriff asked.

“I expect you to bring both my boys back alive, that's the other thing,” Ma said.

Then she gave us a few strips of horse meat to
stuff in our saddlebags, after which she went outside and disappeared in the mist.

“You heard her, now stay alive,” the sheriff said. “I would rather not be on the bad side of your ma.”

“For that matter, I'd rather not be dead,” I remarked. G.T., who was still half asleep, thought it was so funny that he cackled—even Neva giggled.

When we went out to the lots we found that Uncle Seth had already saddled each of us a mule, and Mr. Hickok
was
there, sitting off to himself on a good sorrel horse. Ma was just walking away from him when we came out. I imagine she was warning him, just as she had warned the sheriff.

She didn't say another word to us, which upset G.T. a little.

“I hope she don't forget to skin my coon,” he said—his lower lip was trembling. I doubt it was really that coon that he had on his mind.

Uncle Seth seemed to be in a quiet mood, which was unusual for him. Everybody had rifles
and
pistols except us, which didn't sit well with G.T.

“I need a pistol and so does Shay,” he said.

“No, no side arms for you boys,” Uncle Seth said. “Side arms are only reliable in the hands of experts, and sometimes not then. I'm not too comfortable with the notion of Baldy having a pistol, but it's too early in the day to be disarming the sheriff. Is that your opinion, Bill?”

“I am rarely up this early,” Mr. Hickok said. “I don't have an opinion.”

“I've put you boys on the fastest mules,” Uncle Seth said. “That way you can outrun the Millers if you have to.”

Mr. Hickok was all wrapped up in a gray slicker. He took one hand out from under his slicker and pointed his finger several times.

“Shooting a pistol is just a matter of pointing,” he said. “If you can point straight you can shoot straight.

“Very few people can point straight,” he added, and then he didn't say another word until we were almost to Stumptown.

It was the thickest mist, that morning. If there hadn't been a well-marked track between Boone's Lick and Stumptown I have no doubt we would all have got lost from one another. Some of the time I couldn't even see my mule's head. I had to listen for the jingling of the bits and the creaking of the saddle leather to convince myself that I was still with the group. Sometimes the mist would clear for a minute and I would see everybody plain as day, but then it would close in again, white as cotton, and I'd have to proceed on hearing.

G.T. was bothered by the ground mist, too. He was so anxious not to lose me that he kept bumping my mule, Little Nicky, a mule with a tendency to bite when he got irritated.

“You best quit bumping Nicky,” I told G.T. “He'll take a bite out of you, if you're not careful.”

“If he bites me I'll shoot him,” G.T. said. “It's spooky out here. I wish I'd stayed home and butchered my coon.”

“Well, you didn't,” I pointed out.

“I'd go back, if I could find my way,” G.T. said. “If you'd go with me I expect we could both make it back.”

“Hush, G.T.,” Uncle Seth said. “We're trying to take the Millers by surprise, which we won't do if you keep chattering.”

“That's right, button up,” Sheriff Baldy said.

There was no more talk from G.T. but I knew he was resentful—he never liked being scolded.

Myself, I was feeling queasy in my stomach, even though I'd had no vittles except Ma's chickory coffee. I felt like I usually felt when Uncle Seth took us bear hunting. We saw no bears on any of the hunts but of course a bear can appear at any time.

“They like to spring at you from hiding,” Uncle Seth said cheerfully, and all day, that's what I kept expecting would happen. A bear would spring at us from hiding.

The prospect worried G.T. too.

“How many shots does it take to kill a bear?” he asked Uncle Seth, several times. G.T. had a habit of repeating his questions over and over again. Uncle Seth told him that the number of shots depended on where the bear was hit but the explanation wasn't thorough enough for G.T. What he wanted was a clear notion of how many times he'd have to shoot a bear, if one sprang out at him from hiding.

Uncle Seth finally lost his temper.

“How many licks of a hammer would it take to make you shut up, you hardheaded fool?” he asked G.T.

“I just wish the dern bear would spring out, if it's going to,” G.T. said.

I felt the same way about the men we were going
to attack. I wanted the Millers to spring out, if they were going to, so I'd know whether my fate was to be alive or dead. All three of the older men had strict instructions from Ma to see that we got back alive, but of course, in the heat of battle they would have to look out for themselves first. There were no guarantees—or so few that I was still a little shocked that Ma had let us go. I guess she figured it was time we grew up and learned to fight, in case there was fighting to be done on the trip we would be making shortly, once the Stumptown business was over with.

All the same, things were happening too quickly. Only yesterday I had been a boy, with nothing on my mind except watching my brother fish for crawdads, or my uncle shoot the heads off turtles. When the sun was going down I was peacefully helping my mother cut up a dead horse; now the sun was just rising—it had begun to burn away the mist, turning patches of it a golden color—and here I was an armed man, riding off with other armed men, to kill or be killed.

“I am pleased to see there's going to be a fine sunlight today,” Uncle Seth said.

“That may be, Seth,” the sheriff said, “but there's something I
ain't
pleased to see: the dern Tebbits.”

He pointed toward two men in black coats, just visible through the drifting mist. They were sitting their skinny horses right in the path.

“Now, Sheriff, reinforcements can't hurt,” Uncle Seth said. “The Millers might be having a family
reunion or something, in which case a little more firepower would be to our advantage.”

Mr. Hickok glanced at the two men in black coats, but made no comment.

“What's the matter, Baldy?” Uncle Seth asked, lowering his voice. “Is it that you think they mean to rob us—or do you just doubt their allegiance?”