Buffalo Girls (5 page)

“The drunker she gets, the more she lies,” he put it, not unkindly—whatever his faults as a mate, Blue was a loyal friend to Calamity.

“No general would have let a woman scout for him,” Blue pointed out. “He'd have been court-martialed, unless he was General Lee, and she sure didn't scout for General Lee. She didn't ride for the Pony Express, either—they shut down the Pony
Express before I was even old enough to ride for it, and I'm older than Calamity.

“What she might have done,” he added, in an effort to make their friend seem less of a braggart, “is tag along on a few scouts with Ragg and Bone. I think they took her with them sometimes, when it looked safe.”

To Dora what he said just made the matter more sad; it made it seem that Calamity hadn't actually done much of anything except wander here and there on the plains, the little reputation she had the result of invention, or the indulgence of a few kind men; her stories and her story were mainly based on whiskey and emptiness.

Of course, the stories of half the people in Miles City, or perhaps in the west as a whole, were based on pretty much that, whiskey and emptiness; every night Dora's house filled up with braggarts who hadn't done half the things they said they had done. If every man who drank in the saloon had killed as many Indians as he claimed to have killed, there wouldn't have been an Indian left west of the Mississippi; if every miner had found as much gold as was claimed, palaces would stretch down the Missouri all the way to St. Louis.

But the men were just customers—Calamity was a friend. Dora didn't try to be much, but she did try to be truthful, and it made her nervous and a little uncomfortable always to have to suspect Calamity of lying.

“Oh, she just exaggerates,” Blue said. “Everybody exaggerates, once in a while.”

“You don't,” Dora pointed out. Bragging was not among T. Blue's many failings; if anything he tended to understate his achievements as a cowboy.

“Well, you don't know that,” Blue said. “I might exaggerate once in a while when you're not around.”

“She's been talking about Wild Bill lately,” Dora said. “I didn't know she even knew him, but now she acts like they were in love. Do you think he was ever in love with her?”

“No opinion,” Blue said immediately.

“Why wouldn't you have an opinion?” Dora asked. “You told me yourself you knew him.”

“Now you see, right there I'm caught in a fine exaggeration,” Blue said. “I seen the man walk down the street a couple of times, and was once in a saloon where he was playing cards.”

“That ain't what you said,” Dora insisted. “You said you knew him well. Seems like if they were together you would have known.”

“Myself, I was mostly with the herds,” Blue said. “I didn't squander much time in Dodge City.”

“Oh, hush, you liar,” Dora said. “Calamity said you had at least twenty girlfriends in Dodge. How'd you get 'em unless you spent some time there?”

Blue looked amused—he rarely tried to deny that he was a sport.

“I'm cursed with a weak memory,” he said. “I can't recall that I had a single pal in the town.”

“You don't need to be such a devil,” Dora said. “I wasn't even asking about you. I had a few loves myself before we met, what do I care if you had a thousand? I just wonder about Calamity and Wild Bill.”

“He's dead, what does it matter?” Blue asked.

“He's dead, but Calamity ain't,” Dora said. “I feel sorry for Calamity. I don't believe any man's ever loved her—plenty of women never get loved, you know. I get a sad feeling when she talks about Wild Bill, because it just don't sound true.”

“That was years ago,” Blue reminded her. “Maybe she forgot the true part. People do forget.”

“Not the great love of their life, they don't,” Dora said. “Do you think I'd forget you? Hell and everything else will freeze over before I forget you.”

“I do doubt that Calamity ever had such a true love as ours,” Blue said. His eyes grew misty and he kissed her—for all his brass he was a sentimental man at heart.

Now Blue, sentimental still, was married and living on the Musselshell. Many a day Dora sat wrapped in her robes all morning, watching the plains to the north, and if a dot of a rider appeared far away her heart quickened despite her; most times, of course, the rider wasn't Blue, and her hope turned to ache, to regret, to tears and listless misery. But every month or so the rider
would
be Blue, and a joy flooded her that she couldn't suppress, despite his betrayal.

“The Marquis de Mores gave me this robe with the pearl buttons,” Dora mentioned to Fred, but the information was of no interest to the parrot. It wasn't of much interest to Dora, either, though it was a nice robe.

The Marquis de Mores had also been nice. He had once said something about taking her to Paris and getting her an apartment, but that was just the usual silly talk. After all, he had just moved to South Dakota to go into the cattle business. Then his tall, aloof wife arrived, and there was no more talk of Paris, and no more presents, either.

Still, the Marquis
had
liked her while it lasted. He wasn't T. Blue—no one was—but he had offered a decent affection. What Dora wondered was whether anyone had ever offered even that much to Calamity?

If they had, it didn't show—and true joys did show a little, Dora believed. Hers did, she knew—the miserable stretches didn't completely erase them. It was her sad suspicion that Calamity had had no joys, nothing for time to erase except her youth itself.

“What do you think, Fred? Loves me, loves me not?” Dora asked.

Fred looked up from the robe and cocked his head toward his mistress.

“General Custer,” he said.

Darling Jane—

They call this dry old crack Powder River, it's easy to see why. Today for a change I made good time, otherwise I wouldn't be
here, I'm a fair ways from where I started. I can't stand the rattle at Mrs. Elk's, she must have fifty grandkids and they all cry at the same time. Whoever said Indian babies don't cry ought to spend a night at Mrs. Elk's.

I no longer have the patience I once had, Janey, squalling babies make me want to grit my teeth, the little squirts hold no charms for me. However why complain? I owe them my early start.

Today I ran into a horse trader who had news of the boys, he says they're down on the Little Missouri traveling with old No Ears. At least they won't get lost, No Ears is the best scout left. General Crook tried to take him to Arizona to help catch Geronimo but No Ears wouldn't go, too hot he said. I doubt General Crook will catch Geronimo, he'll have to trick him if he does.

You'd think the boys would get tired of wandering, I do, Janey. I was around Miles City for two months and there's not much to do in Miles City. Fred the parrot is more intelligent than most people in Miles City and Fred only knows two words. You must think your mother is harsh to criticize people so, I should be kinder, I try, but then some old snoot with five or six corsets on will look down her nose at me and act like I have no right on the street with her, though the street might be just a mudhole anyway. It hurts—I know they're just old biddies, most people are friendly to me in Miles City, but somebody will always come along to treat me like dirt. Dora's tougher in some respects, she stares them down when they try to act uppity with her.

Dora has offered me a home, she says we're like sisters, I guess we are. I had no sisters, but Dora had three, they all died, I think Dora misses them. She offered to fix me a nice room with a feather mattress on the bed—she knows how partial I am to feather mattresses.

Sometimes I don't know what to think of myself Janey, my own behavior is a puzzle. I could be sleeping in comfort on a feather mattress, in the home of my best friend, too, but here I am, I'll be lucky to find a soft rock to use for a bed tonight, there
are few soft ones along the Powder. I am lucky to have Dora DuFran for a friend, she has been loyal, someday I will tell her about you Janey. Dora has no child herself, I fear she won't have one now that Blue has jilted her, she expected better of Blue.

I had better tell her about you though Janey and give her your address, I could always get called to the Great Roundup as Blue calls it, heaven is what people call it who haven't been raised in the cow country. Well, heaven if you're hopeful, I'm not particularly.

When Blue gets drunk he becomes sentimental about all his friends who have been called to the Great Roundup or who rode the long trail, he better watch it, he'll be riding it himself if he pushes Dora too far. I don't suppose Dora would really shoot Blue, though I have known women who shot at men, I shot at three myself but missed. I was so mad once I nearly shot a bartender instead of the card cheat I was aiming at, all three times it was over cards—I have never tried to kill anybody over love. Of course I might have shot Wild Bill I guess, he did marry another woman, just as Blue did. It never occurred to me to shoot him, I would have been the one shot if I had tried anything of the sort. Wild Bill had no mercy, I hope that ain't too harsh a thing to tell you about your father, it's the truth though, he just didn't, he would have shot me immediately if I'd shown up waving a gun.

Look at me, I never thought I had so much to say, I have used up nearly a whole tablet just since I started writing you Janey, it is something to do at night other than stare at the campfire. I am a little worried, I have not seen my dog Cody since around noon. He took after some antelope and I have not seen him since. I hope a bear didn't get him, he is a big dog but not big enough to handle a bear.

I feel a bond to Dora, Janey, I feel she needs me, maybe she is the only one who does. I think I will just ramble with the boys for a month or so if I can find them, then I might go back to Miles City and see how I feel about the feather mattress.

Old No Ears will be glad to see me, we are old friends. It was
him that found me the time the horse threw me north of Fort Fetterman, he found me in a blizzard and led me in. I could not see six inches, he tied a rope to my belt, if he had let go the rope I'd have been riding in the Great Roundup ten years ago.

Goodnight Janey,
your mother Martha Jane

I
THINK YOU MISSED YOUR LAST CHANCE FOR GLORY WHEN
you decided not to go with Crook,” Bartle said to No Ears.

“I'd have gone myself,” Bartle added. “I consider Crook the best general left. I just didn't much feel like wandering around being shot at by Apaches.”

“You'd have gone alone then,” Jim Ragg said. “It's nothing against Crook. I just won't put up with that heat.”

No Ears had decided to travel with the mountain men for a while. The cranes were less likely to settle where three men were camping together, which meant less temptation for his soul.

He had been thinking about his soul a lot since the encounter on Crazy Woman Creek. He wondered if perhaps his soul would grow feathers as it traveled with the birds. The business about Crook held no interest for him. He had heard of Geronimo and thought he would be a lot of trouble to catch. It would mean traveling with soldiers, something No Ears found inconvenient.

Even traveling with the mountain men had its inconveniences, the main one being that Bartle wanted to talk all the time. Jim Ragg also seemed to find this tendency of Bartle's annoying—he seldom said much himself and often refused to make any reply at all.

No Ears felt it was impolite not to reply; he would generally try to make some answer to Bartle's queries, but courtesy took
energy, and No Ears would really rather they just all walked along quietly. That way he could apply more of his energy to thinking about his soul.

To everyone's disappointment the Morning Star Saloon stood abandoned when they arrived in Ten Sleep. Indeed, Ten Sleep itself—all three buildings of it—had been abandoned. The only resident was a black chicken that had apparently been left behind. The chicken lived behind the bar, and it squawked irritably when the three men arrived.

“I hate a black squawker,” Bartle said. He wrung the chicken's neck and they ate it for supper. No Ears ate the gizzard and the neck, two chicken parts he had always had a craving for. In his youth he would run down prairie hens, mainly for the pleasure of eating their tasty gizzards.

“This was once a lively town,” Jim Ragg said, depressed to find Ten Sleep abandoned. “It was more than ten years ago that we were through here, and it had three saloons. I hate to see a place dry up.”

“I guess Ten Sleep just dwindled,” Bartle commented. “I kind of like it abandoned. We could capture it without a fight and have it be our town. No Ears can be the mayor, I'll be the judge, and you can be the sheriff and arrest anybody that shows up if they displease you. We'll hold court once a week and charge big fines for trespassing or spitting in the street. Owning a town might beat beavering or gold mining, either, as a way to get rich.”