Butch Cassidy the Lost Years (12 page)

CHAPTER 18

T
he drive went well. It was three days of hard work and eating dust, but I expected that. And when we reached the county seat and drove the cows into the stock pens along the railroad tracks, I felt a real sense of accomplishment.

I also got my first look at the county seat. Largo could almost pass for the sort of cowtown I'd known in the old days, except for the presence of a few automobiles and the telephone wires coming into town.

The county seat was different, though. It was a real city, with paved streets, cars and trucks everywhere, and electric lights. I had seen such places before, of course. I'd been to Europe, as well as New York, not to mention Denver, San Francisco, Dallas, San Antonio, places like that. So I wasn't some yokel who'd never been to the big city.

Still, it had been a while since I'd been around so many reminders of what the rest of the world was turning into. This went far beyond Morris Dobbs of Continental Oil and his Hupmobile.

The offices of the cattle company were in a four-story brick building. I took Santiago with me and left the rest of the crew at a café near the stock pens. Santiago introduced me to the buyer Abner had always dealt with, and I explained that I was the new owner of the Fishhook. We struck a deal pretty quickly, with me glancing at Santiago every now and then and getting tiny nods that let me know the terms were all right, and then the fella had a clerk draw up the paperwork and write me a check.

When we came out of the building, I looked at the piece of paper in my hand. Santiago said, “I will show you the bank where Señor Tillotson had his account.”

It occurred to me that Abner's account would still be there. Dying like he had, he'd never had a chance to close it out. If Santiago found out about that, he was bound to wonder why Abner hadn't taken his money with him when he left.

“That's all right, I can take care of this part,” I told him. “You go on back to the café and let the others know about the sale.”

I thought I saw a flicker of something in Santiago's eyes, like maybe he thought I didn't trust him. He didn't fully trust me, though, because he said, “You would not cash the check and then, how would you say it, take off for the tall and uncut, would you, Señor Strickland?”

“Santiago!” I said, taking on like I was mortally offended. “You think I'd run out on you boys while I still owe you wages?”

“If a man is going to run away, that would be the time to do it,” he said.

I shook my head and said, “I thought you knew me better than that. I owe you fellas more than wages. You're all my friends. I couldn't hope to make a go of the Fishhook without your help. I'd never run out on you.”

“My apologies, Señor Strickland,” he murmured.

“Just to prove that you don't have anything to worry about, you come on with me to the bank after all.”

He shook his head.

“It will not be necessary. If we are going to work together, we should trust each other, no?”

“Well . . . you've got a point there. Just tell me where the bank is, and I'll take care of the rest.”

“The First National, three blocks down this street on the left.”

“All right. I'll see you back at the café in just a little while . . .
with
the money I owe you.”

He nodded and said, “Sí.”

I didn't figure shaming him like that would work, and sure enough it didn't. He trailed me to the bank, thinking that I didn't see him. But when it comes to skulking around, I had a lot more experience than he did and knew what to look for. At least he didn't come inside with me, though, and that was really all I was after. I was able to open a new account, deposit some of the money and get what I needed in cash, and never once mention Abner Tillotson's name.

When I got to the café I found all eight members of the crew sitting in a round booth at the back of the room. They made space for me. I took the envelope of cash out of my pocket and handed out the wages. As Santiago took his and muttered, “Gracias, señor,” he had the decency to look a mite crestfallen. From here on out he would trust me.

“Well, the roundup's done, boys,” I said with a certain amount of satisfaction. “What do you plan to do now?”

I admit, when I looked around that table at them, an idea tickled the back of my brain. There were things I could do with eight good hombres. Enoch and Gabe still had plenty of bark on 'em, despite their age, and I would have been willing to bet they had smelled some powdersmoke in their time. They were old enough they might have ridden some lonely trails, back before the turn of the century. Santiago and the Gallardo brothers were tough as nails, too, although they'd never given me any reason to think they might have strayed across the line laid down by the law. I knew Randy had been on the other side of that line, although by his own admission he hadn't been very good at it. That was only because he'd fallen in with some fools who didn't know what they were doing.

That just left Bert and Vince. The idea of making owlhoots out of them put a smile on my face. Some chores were too big even for me.

But six good men—seven counting me—there were jobs we could pull off, I thought. Money to be made without much risk, the sort of money that would make what I'd just been paid for those cows seem like chicken feed. And maybe even more important, it would be fun. Just like the old days, a band of boon compadres, a life full of deviltry and reckless excitement, the sort of things that had been like air and water to me for so long, the necessities of life . . .

I let those thoughts prance around in my brain for a minute or two, then put them aside. Those days were gone, I told myself. They weren't coming again. All I had to do to prove that was to step outside and see all the signs of progress and civilization around me.

Some things, once they were gone, you could never get them back. I just had to accept that.

They hadn't answered my question. Finally, Randy said, “We, uh, we sort of thought we'd keep on working for you, Mr. Strickland.”

That took me by surprise. I said, “All of you?”

“Not my cousins and I,” Santiago said. “We have our own rancho to look after. But any time you need extra hands, we will be glad to pitch in and help.”

Enoch said, “The rest of us thought we might stick around, though. If that's all right with you, Jim.”

I didn't know what to make of that. I said, “I hired you fellas to work the roundup. I might be able to keep a couple of you on to help around the ranch. It's a little big for one man to keep up with. Randy was hired first, so I reckon he's got first claim on one of the jobs.”

“I'll take it,” he said without hesitation. I knew he didn't have any family or anywhere else to go.

“And Gabe and me will work cheap,” Enoch said. “Hell, at our age, a place to sleep and some grub is almost enough. We don't need much else. Ain't that right, Gabe?”

“I'm a little tired of driftin',” Gabe admitted. “Besides, if you have to go back to eatin' your own cookin', you're liable to starve to death.”

I didn't think my cooking was that bad, but maybe he had a point. I might be able to stretch the ranch's income to cover all three hands.

But that left Bert and Vince, and Bert was giving me a look like a lost soul.

“We really don't want to go back to pushing brooms at the depot, Mr. Strickland,” he said.

“Maybe you could find something better,” I suggested. “You said Vince's pa works for the railroad.”

“Yeah, but he's just a brakeman,” Vince said. “He called in the only favor he had to get us those jobs the first time. He wouldn't be able to help us again.”

“Well . . . well, dadgum it . . .”

That's always been my problem. I'm just too blasted softhearted. I couldn't bring myself to throw any of them to the wolves.

So I said, “All right. The five of you can all come back to the ranch with me. I warn you, though. There may be some lean times ahead of us.”

“That's all right, Mr. Strickland,” Bert said with a relieved grin. “We'll all work together to make the Fishhook the best spread west of San Antonio!”

How could you argue with optimism like that? I said, “Damn right we will, Bert.”

“You know,” Randy said, “I heard there's gonna be a dance in Largo tomorrow night. We all ought to go, to celebrate a successful roundup and cattle drive.”

“Yeah,” Bert agreed. “That sounds like a good idea. What do you think, Mr. Strickland?”

I looked around the table at them again and thought about how crazy my speculations of a few minutes earlier had been. Three green kids, two old-timers, and a trio of vaqueros . . .

Not exactly what you'd call a Wild Bunch.

But they were my friends, so I nodded and said, “Sure. We'll go to the dance.”

CHAPTER 19

T
he three youngsters talked about the dance all the way back to the ranch. We didn't get there until well after dark. Enoch and Gabe and I weren't quite so enthusiastic about it. Dances are for young men. But I planned to go anyway because I knew I'd enjoy the music and the good fellowship. I might even take a turn or two around the floor with a gal in my arms, if there were any there who struck my fancy and would be willing to dance with a disreputable old cuss like me.

About three-fourths of the way back to the Fishhook, Santiago and his cousins bid the rest of us farewell when we reached a trail that angled off to the west. Their ranch lay in that direction, Santiago told me.

Before they left, Bert asked them, “Will you fellas be at the dance tomorrow night?”

“The dances in Largo are not for the likes of us, amigo,” Santiago told him. “We have our own fiestas and dances.”

“Oh. Well, I reckon that makes sense,” Bert said, although he sounded like it really didn't. He was young and innocent enough that he hadn't learned yet about all the things in the world that don't make sense but just are, anyway.

When we reached the ranch, Scar came out of the barn to meet us. I had worried about leaving him there at the ranch alone, but there was water in the creek and he could find plenty of jackrabbits around there, as well. He barked, but he didn't growl this time. He even wagged his tail a time or two, like he was glad to see us.

The next day the fellas were almost too excited about the dance to tend to their chores, but with Santiago gone, Enoch sort of took over the role of foreman and made sure that all the essential jobs got done. Around mid-afternoon, though, he told them they ought to start getting ready for the dance.

“I reckon it'll take a while for scoundrels like you to make yourselves presentable enough to be around civilized folks,” he said.

Randy, Bert, and Vince didn't waste any time. They headed for the creek to wash off all the trail dust from the past week.

I cleaned up as well. Washed, shaved, slicked down my hair, splashed some bay rum on my face. I remembered that photograph my pards and I had had made in Fort Worth more than a dozen years earlier. That day I'd been freshly barbered, dressed in a fancy suit, and had a derby hat on my head. I was a real dandy, let me tell you.

I couldn't make myself look that spiffy for the dance because I didn't have any duds like that anymore, but I put on my best jeans and a clean white shirt with pearl snaps instead of buttons. I brushed my hat to get all the dust off it and polished up my boots. I thought I looked presentable enough. When I asked Scar for his opinion, though, he just looked at me. The lesson being, never ask a dog for fashion advice, I suppose.

When it came time to leave, I was a little surprised to see that Enoch and Gabe had cleaned up, too. I said, “I thought you fellas weren't goin'.”

“We never said that,” Enoch insisted. “Just that dances are more for the young folks than for old pelicans like us. We like listenin' to the music, though.”

“Speak for yourself,” Gabe said. “If there are any comely widow women there, I intend to dance with 'em.”

The sun was still well up in the sky when we mounted up for the ride. We would get to Largo about dusk, I thought, and that was when the dance was supposed to get underway.

Randy, Bert, and Vince chattered the whole time we were riding. For the first few days when they started working together, Randy had been a little standoffish from the other two, probably because Bert and Vince had been friends for a long time. Gradually, though, and mostly because Bert was so naturally friendly, Randy had been drawn into their circle, so now they were a trio instead of a duo.

I followed behind with Enoch and Gabe, who weren't near as talkative. That had something to do with their ages. The old-time Westerners didn't believe in flapping their gums without a good reason. They considered such behavior a waste of time and energy. The tight-lipped cowboy you see in the moving pictures, there was a lot of truth to that character, not just Hollywood hokum.

As we got closer to town, I saw columns of dust rising here and there, all of them converging on Largo. I knew they came from wagons and groups of riders, all of them bound for town. A dance like this would draw nearly every able-bodied person for miles around. The population of Largo tonight would be four or five times what it usually was, maybe even more.

I even spotted a couple of Model A and Model T automobiles bouncing and jouncing over the rough ground when we were nearly to town.

The dance was being held in the schoolhouse. When we arrived, the open area around the big, whitewashed building was already full of parked wagons and automobiles. Dozens of saddle horses were tied to anything sturdy enough to hold them. Kids ran here and there among the wagons, shouting and laughing, while men shook hands and women hugged each other. Ranch families might see their friends only a few times each year, so they took advantage of those opportunities to visit.

“It's a big crowd,” Randy said while we were dismounting. I heard a slight edge of nervousness in his voice and knew what he was thinking. He hadn't forgotten that he'd taken part in that attempted train robbery, and even though the likelihood of him being recognized was very small, I could tell he was still worried about it.

I clapped a hand on his shoulder and said quietly, “Nothing wrong with big crowds. They're easier to blend into.”

He gave me a narrow-eyed look.

“You sound like you're speaking from experience, Mr. Strickland.”

“Just common sense,” I said. “You don't have anything to worry about, son, except maybe finding some pretty gals to dance with you.”

We joined the people who were streaming inside. The school's benches, chairs, and desks had all been shoved over to the wall or carried outside to make room for folks to move around. Streamers and paper lanterns were hung here and there for decoration. Crates had been brought in and placed at the front of the room so the musicians could stand on them. A table with a punch bowl and cups on it sat to one side. On the other side of the room was another table, this one loaded down with pies and cakes that would be raffled off later.

“Think I'll go have a look at them pies,” Enoch drawled. “I might buy a chance on one of 'em. I got a hankerin' for a good apple pie.”

“Nothin' wrong with the pies I make,” Gabe said.

“No man can bake a pie as good as a woman.”

Gabe snorted and said, “That's just plumb loco! I'll stack my pies up against any you'll find here.”

“Why didn't you bake one and bring it with you, then?”

“Because I didn't think of it, that's why! Anyway, there wouldn't have been time.”

“Yeah, sure,” Enoch said. The two of them went off sniping at each other.

Two men with guitars, one with a fiddle, and one with a big bass fiddle carried their instruments to the front of the room near the crates and started tuning up. That wasn't enough to make all the folks in the room hush, but they would once the men actually began to play.

I looked around the room and saw a number of girls and young women congregating along the wall where the table with the punch bowl sat. They cast sly looks at every man who came through the door.

I nudged Randy with an elbow and said to him and Bert and Vince, “Looks like there's the bunch of fillies you'll have to choose from tonight.”

“Not me,” Bert said with a nervous swallow. “I, uh, I don't actually . . . dance.”

“He's got two left feet,” Vince said, “and that's being generous. They're more like two leftover feet, but I don't know what they were left over from.”

“Now don't be like that,” I told him. “I'm sure Bert can dance just fine.”

Bert shook his head and said, “No, Vince is right, Mr. Strickland. I don't dare try to dance. If I did, it might cause a real calamity.”

“Oh, I doubt that. You just need to seize your chances, Bert, and devil take the hindmost.” I laughed. “Besides, life'd be mighty boring without a few calamities now and then.”

I wasn't sure he'd take my advice, but at least he seemed to be thinking about it.

I heard my name being called—the name I was using in those days, anyway—and looked around to see Clyde Farnum waving to me. When I went over to him, he said, “I thought maybe you and your hands would come in for the dance, Jim.”

“Are you still gettin' that gasoline pump for the store, Clyde?” I asked him.

“The Continental Oil Company is gonna put it in next week,” he replied, beaming with pride. “It'll be the only one in the northern half of the county.”

“Well, I wish you luck with it, even though I don't think I'll be drivin' an automobile and needin' to buy gasoline anytime soon.”

“You never know. You might decide to up and join the twentieth century one of these days.”

“Only when they make me,” I said.

Not long after that, one of the guitar players got up on a crate and hollered for everybody's attention. When the room had quieted down, he said in a loud voice, “Welcome to the dance, folks. We hope all of you enjoy yourselves, and just as a reminder, there's a hat on the floor up here, so if any of you want to throw a nickel or a dime in it, me and the boys will appreciate it. Now, everybody on your best behavior—that means no fightin', no spittin', and no drinkin' in the schoolhouse—and here we go!”

The other three musicians had climbed up on their crates while he was talking, and when he finished they broke into a lively tune that he joined in on with his guitar, his fingers moving so fast they were almost a blur as he wielded that pick. Men and women paired off and started whirling around the floor, and those who weren't dancing drew off to the sides to give them room and clapped along with the music.

I had enjoyed my trips to Largo in the past, I suppose, but now for the first time, I really felt like part of the community as I stood there clapping and enjoying the sight of all those people dancing. Randy and Vince had found partners, but Bert stood alone near the punch bowl, watching. Maybe he would come around later, I told myself. Sometimes it just takes a while for a fella to work up his courage, especially when he's doing something as scary as asking a girl to dance.

I really wasn't paying attention to anything except what was going on out on the dance floor, so I didn't notice right away when someone came up beside me. In the old days I never would have let anyone get that close to me without being aware of it, but I wasn't expecting trouble at a dance.

And it wasn't trouble I got, either, at least not the kind that had plagued me off and on for most of my life. But maybe it was another kind.

The redheaded, green-eyed, milky-skinned kind of trouble.