Crows & Cards (11 page)

With that, the doctor lined me up before the chief's pony and none too gently either. Above and beyond the pony floated the chief's milky whites, and if that wasn't enough, off to the side the princess was watching me with them perfectly brown peepers of hers. With all those eyes peering into me, there wasn't anywhere to hide. I could feel emotions and stray thoughts and such swirling around inside me faster than I could name 'em.

"Speak up," Dr. Buffalo Hilly said, giving me a rough nudge.

"Is it okay to cheat a cheater?" I asked. "One who's rich."

After the princess switched that into Indian for the chief, me and him faced each other for a couple of years' worth without a stir, reminding me of how long Pa used to say grace over Sunday victuals. It went on so long that latecomers kept asking what was happening. People up front whispered back that there didn't seem to be much of anything going on, while those in the middle were shhhing the others for all they were worth. Finally even Dr. Buffalo Hilly got impatient and raised his voice to say, "Wants to know if he can sleep nights after cheating a cheater."

Once the princess had shared the doctor's words with her father, the chief answered something back that the princess translated. "This boy needs a lot of looking."

Another couple of years hung fire, solemn as a courthouse.

Finally the chief seemed content that he'd looked over everything there was to see inside me, and he lifted his eyes away and cocked his head a touch, as if listening to a voice from clear across the river. He even cupped a hand around an ear to help hear. But I couldn't catch nothing, even though Ma and Pa always claimed my ears were too keen for my own good.

Satisfied at last, the chief lowered his hand and proceeded to rattle off a flood of Indian talk. The princess took it all in, asked a question or two, and got another long answer from the chief. When convinced she'd got all her father's meaning, she turned to me and said, "That's not your real question, is it?"

"I sure thought it was," I answered, blinking fast.

The princess relayed that to the chief, who snorted, then asked her something back. Leaning toward me so that no one else could hear, she whispered briefly. Her voice swished around and around in my ear, tickling like moonbeams. But slowly, one by one, her words drained into my head, and I realized she was quizzing me hopeful-like, saying, "Did Birdman send you?"

"Sorry," I whispered back, and I was. "Don't know any Birdman."

"So what
did
you come for?"

"To, ah, find out about cheaters?" I answered lamely.

That made her puff out her cheeks as if I was a lost cause. By then the crowd behind us was growing restless about our huddle, so the princess quieted them by raising her voice to ask, "You're far from your folks?"

"I reckon so," I admitted, still racking my brains over this Birdman, though nothing come of it. With such a name as that, I figured him for an Indian, but I hadn't met up with any other Injuns, except on the
Rose Melinda,
and I hadn't talked to a one of them.

"Missing them?" the princess asked, still talking about my folks.

"Guess so," I said, my voice getting squeaky without my permission, especially with the chief gazing over the crowd and kind of upriver, in the general direction of my home. After a bit, he spoke some more.

"Don't worry about your family," the princess translated, all serious. "They're fine. But they worry about one thing."

"What's that?"

"Are you getting enough to eat?"

That sounded so much like Ma that I couldn't speak for a bit.

"Especially hot, buttered biscuits," the princess added.

I found me enough voice to answer like a week-old kitten. "That's my favorite."

Those words came out so low and soft that most everyone in the crowd was buzzing, "What'd he say?"

Regaining my footing, I said loud enough for all to hear, "I ain't losing any weight."

"Good," the princess said. "The chief will tell your ma."

And somehow or other I trusted he would find a way to do it too. He hadn't done anything but name what could have been said 'bout anyone freshly cut loose from home, but I gobbled it all up, especially when he stared upstream a bit more and again cupped a hand around his ear as if catching some far, distant message. I guess it's fair to say that I wanted what he said to be true.

When he spoke again, the princess relayed, "He also wants to know if your mother will sell her picture of the two-humped horse."

"Beg pardon?"

"He'd like to buy it. To show his father."

Huh? At least this answered what a blind man wanted with a picture, though it was a stretch to believe the chief's father was still among the living. Rather than ask about that, I said, "She don't have a picture of a two-humped horse, not so far as I know."

"He's seen her looking at it," she insisted.

"Okay," I answered, figuring it might be best to jolly them along. "If she's got one, I'd guess she might part with it."

When the princess relayed that, the chief looked real pleased.

"As for your father," the princess said, moving right along, "he thinks you're worth every dollar he gave you and's prouder of you than his mule."

I almost asked if Pa had come down with a fever, 'cause that mule of his had won every pulling contest he'd ever been in. Pa had been offered good money for that critter and had people show up from clear over in Illinois just to take a look at him. But in the end, I couldn't get a word past my lips on account of a new suspicion that overtook me. Pa hadn't acted so bright and sunny when he'd had to sell off half his livestock on account of my apprenticeship. Why so cheery now? The only answer I could dredge was that he was happy to be rid of me. That'd explain his change of heart, all right. What spared me from hitting myself over the head about it? A new notion that reared up and bit me on the toe, right through my boot. How could the chief have known about Pa's prize mule? Or the money my folks had given me? They both could have been lucky guesses, I supposed, but what if he really did have visions? That was a possibility filling every head around me. A gent in back called out cautious-like, "Your pa got a mule?"

"Sure enough," I said.

"That he's proud of?"

"Busts his buttons," I answered, which started everyone to buzzing so loud that Buffalo Hilly had to whistle for quiet, which gave me a chance to ask the chief, "Should I give up on this new trade I picked?"

"Not yet," the princess answered after conferring with her father.

Such an answer as that landed me on an awful muddy bank. I'd been hoping for a
yes
or
no.
Those were answers with some teeth. But
not yet?
What use was that? There wasn't time to ask for more details either, not the way Buffalo Hilly was turning me around by the shoulders and pushing me out of the way to make room for paying customers, who were shoving closer now that the chief had gone on about Pa and Ma.

But how was I supposed to know when
yet
would arrive? Could be tomorrow, could be forty years up ahead. I had a bothersome hunch this was turning into one of those questions that I was supposed to answer for myself. I hated those worse than slivers, deep water, heights, and blazing campfires all combined.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

B
Y THE TIME
I
WRIGGLED FREE
of the crowd, they were peppering Chief Standing Tenbears with mysteries enough to knot up a dozen sphinxes, and all the while I was slinking off, Dr. Buffalo Hilly was promising people there wasn't any need to push or shove. The chief had vision enough to go around. After what I'd heard, I didn't doubt it either, which made me wish he'd at least gotten around to sharing his thoughts on cheating a cheater.

But I didn't have time to dilly-dally, not with Chilly waiting on me, and pointed my nose toward Goose Nedeau's place, except that it didn't seem a day for going anywhere in a straight line. I hadn't trotted but two or three blocks before spying someone else I had run across before. It come close to striking me dumb to think that I knew anyone in a place so overgrown as St. Louis, but right across the street—lovely and fresh as ever—stood the lady from the
Rose Melinda,
the one who'd collected money for orphans. I mightn't have noticed her, busy as I was dodging wagons and mules and jug-bitten loafers, but she was singing the same song as before, "The Last Rose of Summer." She still sounded every bit the nightingale too. I wasn't the only one who had pulled up helpless at the sound of her voice, though I was the only one near run over by a wagonload of bricks. Dusting myself off, I headed across the street as if lassoed. Soon as she was done warbling, I asked how the orphans were doing without even introducing myself.

"Ever so well," she said, smiling down on me warmer than spring sunshine.

Being looked at so gracious and kind wiped away all my worries in a flash. And to think that I wouldn't have been beamed down on at all if I hadn't hooked up with Chilly. It put a whole new shine on gambling and cheating the cheaters, just the way Chilly said it ought to. Didn't I feel small and wormy for daring to question all the good that Chilly and the Brotherhood were doing for those less fortunate than themselves? Why, quitting my new trade just
yet
was out of the question. To make amends for even thinking such a thing, I up and asked, "Are you still collecting for 'em, ma'am?"

"Alas, I am," she sighed. "Poor things are in greater need than ever. This cold, cruel world knows no bounds."

I didn't need any more convincing than that. Now that I'd been forced to fend for myself, I was more than primed to help those orphans any way I could. Digging into my pocket, I come up with the nickel left over from buying telegraph wire. When I held it out for her to take, she didn't reach for it a bit. Not that lady. She was too genteel and refined to do such a thing as that. No, she turned to the side and lifted the top of the basket she was carrying. Inside sat a china bowl with several coins already in it.

"St. Jerome blesses you," she said as I dropped the coin into the bowl.

I stood there speechless, gazing up into her eyes like some kind of thick-skulled ape. She must have been used to spreading stupefaction wherever she went, 'cause she took my admiration serious as could be. Bending over, she planted a little peck on my cheek to prove it. I felt like never, ever dabbing water on that cheek again but making a kind of shrine out of it. Those poor orphans couldn't hardly have been better cared for if the clouds had parted and two hands the size of Goliath's, or bigger, reached down from the heavens to tuck 'em in every night. A toasty feeling warmed me up just thinking of it.

"Your ma and pa must be awfully proud of you," she said before leaving.

I'd have given anything to believe those words as I watched that orphanage lady chat up gents all the way to the end of the block. I was just about to drift after her, to bask in her glow a little longer, when something latched onto the top of my ear. Looking up, I found Chilly glaring down.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

M
Y PA HAD NEVER GRABBED HOLD OF ME
thisaway, and when I tried squirming free, Chilly only twisted my ear all the harder. I flopped around like a snagged fish till he pinched the meaty part of my shoulder, locking me up on the spot. He knew right where to squeeze to stop my thrashing.

"Didn't I send you after wire a good two hours back?" he asked, and none too friendly about it either.

"Could have been longer," I fessed up, standing on tiptoe to ease the ripping on my ear.

Such honesty seemed to throw him off track, though not for long.

"So what have you been doing all that while?" he thundered. Spittle flew off his lips, which were raging sort of purplish.

"I seen a medicine show," I squeaked.

"And?" He was pretty near lifting me off the ground.

"I watched it. Never seen one before."

Chilly let up on my ear, though he wasn't done with my shoulder yet. Leaning over, he got close enough for counting eyelashes and growled, "So why were you talking to Rebecca?"