The Magic Wagon (15 page)

"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 wanted 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?"

Albert stepped right up to him. "I hear, nephew."

Billy Bob went for his pistols, and even drunk he was fast. But it didn't do him no good. When Albert had stepped close, he put his hands just above Billy Bob's pistol butts, and Billy Bob's hands pushed Albert's down on the guns.

Albert drew the pistols out of Billy Bob's sash, stepped back and held them loosely. "Darky trick," he said.

Albert put one of the pistols under his arm and began unloading the other, letting the shells drop in the mud.

"Now don't do that, Albert," Billy Bob said. "That ain't right."

Albert began unloading the other pistol. He stepped over to Rot Toe's cage, threw back the tarp, and tossed both pistols between the bars. Rot Toe waddled over, picked one of them up, and smelled of it.

"You . . . you tell your grandpa to hand those out," Billy Bob said.

Albert stepped toward Billy Bob quickly, and Billy Bob swung.

Albert didn't even try to block or duck. Billy Bob's fist caught him on the side of the head, but Albert's head barely I moved. Albert grabbed Billy Bob by the shirt collar with one huge hand, used the other to slap Billy Bob. He did that three or four times, real quick, then he shoved Billy Bob into the mud.

Before Billy Bob could scramble up, Albert had him by the back of the collar and the seat of the pants, and he lifted and drove Billy Bob's head into the mud a few times, sucking the hat off his head, filling his mouth and eyes with muck.

Rot Toe was hopping up and down in his cage, chattering wildly, banging one of the pistols against the bar. He was like a drunk at a girlie show.

Now Albert had Billy Bob upright again, and had gone back to slapping. Every time he'd slap, mud would fly out of Billy Bob's hair and his knees would droop. When Albert
got tired, he just let Billy Bob fall back on his butt in the mud.

About that time, Skinny opened the door of the Magic Wagon and looked out. He saw Billy Bob sitting in the mud, the rain washing streams of the same out of his hair and

down onto his face. Skinny let out with a strange laugh. It sounded a lot like a cow bawling. He jerked both fingers at Billy Bob, said, "Bang."

Shivering more from anger than the cold rain, Billy Bob stood up. He looked first at Albert, then Skinny, then me, and when he did I felt weak. There was pure murder in his eyes.

He picked up his muddy hat and shook the mud off of it and put it on. He pointed a finger at Albert. When he spoke he sounded almost winded, but it was just plain mad, is what it was. "You make that monkey hand over my pistols now. You hear?"