The Carpetbaggers (13 page)

Nevada glanced at Rina. She was looking out the window of the ticket wagon, watching the last act of the Wild-West show going on in the arena. The faint sounds of the whooping and yelling drifted back to them on the still, warm air.

"How much trouble?" Nevada asked, his eyes coming back from her.

"Enough," the cashier said flatly. "We're booked in a week behind Buffalo Bill Cody's show for the whole summer. If these two weeks are any indication, we'll drop forty thousand this season."

A bugle sounding a charge hung in the air. Nevada shifted in his uncomfortable wooden chair and began to roll a cigarette. The performance was almost over now. The cavalry was coming to the rescue of the beleaguered pioneers. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth.

"How'd you let a stupid thing like that happen?" he asked, the cigarette dangling unlit from his lips.

"Wasn't my fault, Nevada," the cashier answered quickly. "I think the agent sold us out."

Nevada didn't answer. He lit the cigarette.

"What you going to do?" the cashier asked worriedly.

Nevada filled his lungs with smoke. "Play out the season."

"For forty grand?" The cashier's voice was shocked. "We can't afford to lose that much money!"

Nevada studied him. The cashier's face was flushed and embarrassed. He wondered why the man seemed so upset. It wasn't his money that was going to be lost.

"We can't afford not to," Nevada said. "We fold up, we lose all our top hands. They won't sign with us for next year if we dump 'em now."

Nevada got to his feet, walked over to the window and looked out. The Indians were riding out of the arena with the whooping cavalry hot after them. He turned back to the cashier. "I'm takin' Mrs. Cord down to the railroad station. I'll drop in at the agent's office after that. You wait for me here. I'll be back."

"O.K., Nevada," the cashier answered.

Nevada took Rina's arm as they went down the wagon steps. They cut across the field to his car. All around them hustled performers, hurrying their horses to the corral, racing to their wagons to change clothes, yelling to each other about their plans for the evening.

Rina turned to him as they reached the car. "Let me stay with you, Nevada, please."

He smiled slowly. "I thought we had that settled."

"But, Nevada," Her eyes grew serious. "There's nothing for me back East. Really. Here, at least, I can feel alive, excitement—

"Stop actin' like a kid," he said. "You're a grown woman now. This ain't no life for you. You'd be sick of it in a week."

"I’ll buy half your losses this season if you let me stay," she said quickly.

He looked at her sharply. He thought she hadn't even heard the conversation back in the wagon, she had seemed so engrossed in the show. "You can't afford it," he said.

"And you can?" she countered.

"Better'n you," he said quickly. "I got more'n just the one thing goin' for me."

She stared at him for a moment, then got into the car. She didn't speak until they were at the station and she was ready to board the train.

"You’ll write me, Nevada?" she asked.

"I ain't much for writin'," he said.

"But you'll keep in touch?" she persisted. "You'll answer if I write you?"

He nodded.

"You'll let me come and visit you sometimes?" she asked. "If I’m lonely and frightened?"

"That's what friends're for," he said.

A hint of moisture came into her eyes. "You've been a good friend, Nevada," she said seriously.

She kissed him on the cheek and climbed up the steps of the Pullman car. At the door, she turned and waved brightly, then disappeared inside. He saw her face appear in the window for a moment as the train began to move. Then she was gone and he turned and walked out of the station.

He walked up a rickety flight of stairs that led into a dust-ridden corridor. The paint on the door was scratched and worn, the lettering simple and faded.

DANIEL PIERCE — BOOKING AGENT

The office lived up to the reputation of the corridor outside. A girl looked up at him from a littered desk. Her hair bore traces of its last henna rinse, the gum cracked in her mouth as she asked, almost hostilely, "What d'ya want?"

"Dan Pierce in?" he asked.

She studied Nevada for a moment, her eyes taking in his worn leather jacket, the faded Levi's, the wide-brimmed cowboy hat. "If you're lookin' for a job," she said, "there ain't any."

"I'm not lookin' for a job," he said quickly. "I’m lookin' for Mr. Pierce."

"You got an appointment?"

Nevada shook his head. "No."

"He don't see nobody without an appointment," she said brusquely.

"I'm from the Wild-West show," Nevada said. "He’ll see me."

A spark of interest appeared on her face. "The Buffalo Bill show?"

Nevada shook his head. "No. The Great Southwest Rodeo."

"Oh." The interest vanished from her face. "The other one."

Nevada nodded. "Yeah, the other one."

"Well, he ain't here," she said.

"Where can I find him?" he asked.

"I don't know. He went out to a meeting."

Nevada's voice was insistent. "Where?"

Something in his eyes made her answer. "He went over to Norman Pictures. He's on the back lot trying to sell them some client for a Western."

"How do I get there?"

"It's out on Lankershim Boulevard, past Universal, past Warner's."

"Thanks," he said and walked out.

He saw the big billboard in front of Universal as soon as he turned onto Lankershim.

UNIVERSAL PICTURES

THE HOME OF TOM MIX AND TONY

SEE

RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE

A UNIVERSAL PICTURE

A few minutes later, he passed another sign in front of Warner Bros.

WARNER BROS. PRESENT

MILTON SELLS

IN

THE SEA HAWK

A VITAGRAPH PICTURE

The Norman studio was about five miles farther down the road. The usual billboard was out in front.

BERNARD B. NORMAN PRODUCTIONS

PRESENT

THE SHERIFF OF PEACEFUL VILLAGE

WITH AN ALL-STAR CAST

He turned in at the big gate where a gateman stopped him.

"Is Dan Pierce here?" Nevada asked.

"Just a moment. I’ll see." The guard went back into his booth and checked a sheet of paper. "You must be the man he's expecting," he said. "He's on the back lot. Follow the road there right out. You can't miss it."

Nevada thanked him and put the car into gear. He drove slowly, for the road was filled with people. Some were actors in varying costumes but most seemed ordinary working men, wearing overalls and work clothes. He rolled past some very large buildings and after a few minutes was out in the clear. Here there was nothing but scrub grass and hills.

He came to another sign as he reached the foot of the first hill.

PEACEFUL SET

PARK CARS HERE

He followed the arrow. Just off the side of the road were a number of cars and trucks. He pulled in next to one of them and got out.

"Dan Pierce up there?" Nevada asked a man sitting in one of the trucks.

"Is he with the
Peaceful
crew?" the driver asked.

"I reckon," Nevada said.

"They're just over the hill."

At the crest of the hill, Nevada paused and looked down. A little below was a knot of people.

"Roll 'em, they're coming!" a heavy voice shouted.

Suddenly a stagecoach came roaring along the dirt road below him. Just as it took the curve, Nevada saw the driver jump off and roll to the side of the road. A moment later, the horses broke free of their traces and the coach tilted off the side of the road and went tumbling down the hill.

The dust had scarcely subsided when a voice shouted, "Cut! Cut! God damn it, Russell. You jumped too soon. The stage didn't go over the hill for a full forty frames after you!"

The driver got up from the side of the road and walked slowly toward the group of men, dusting his jeans with his hat.

Nevada started down the hill. He searched the crowd for Pierce, but didn't see him anywhere.

A man walked past, carrying a can of film. "Is Dan Pierce around?" Nevada asked.

The man shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. Ask him," he said, pointing at a young man wearing knickers.

"Is Dan Pierce around?"

The young man looked up. "He had to go up to the front office for a phone call."

"Thanks," Nevada said. "I’ll wait for him." He began to roll a cigarette.

The stentorian voice was shouting again. "Is Pierce back with that goddam stunt man yet?"

"He went to phone him," the young man said. A startled look came to his face as he looked at Nevada again. "Wait a minute, sir," he yelled and started toward Nevada. "You the guy Pierce was expecting?"

"I guess so."

"Come with me," the young man said.

Nevada followed him into the group of men clustered around a tall man next to the camera.

The young man stopped in front of him. "This is the man Pierce was expecting, sir."

The man turned and looked at Nevada, then pointed at a cliff on the next hill. Below the cliff flowed a wide stream of water. "Could you jump a horse off that cliff into the water?"

Nevada followed the pointing finger. It was about a sixty-foot drop and the horse would have to leap out at least fifteen feet to land in the water.

"We have the stream dug twenty-five feet deep right there," the director said.

Nevada nodded. That was deep enough. "I reckon it can be done," he said.

The director broke into a smile. "Well, I'll be goddamned!" he roared. "We finally found us a man with balls." He clapped Nevada on the back. "You go over there and the wrangler will give you the horse. We'll be ready just as soon as we get this shot here."

He turned back to the cameraman. Nevada tapped him on the shoulder. "I said I reckon it can be done," he said. "I didn't say I'd do it."

The director stared at him curiously. "We're paying triple the stunt rate; isn't ninety dollars enough for you? O.K., I’ll make it a hundred."

Nevada smiled. "You got me wrong. I came out here lookin' for Dan Pierce. I ain't no stunt-rider."

The director's mouth twisted contemptuously. "You cowboys are all alike. All talk and no guts."

Nevada stared at him for a minute. He felt the hard knot of anger tightening inside him. He was tired of this, of the runaround he'd been getting ever since Pierce's office. His voice went cold. "It'll cost you five hundred dollars for me to take a horse off that cliff."

The director stared at him, then broke into a smile. "You must've heard that every man in Hollywood turned that jump down."

Nevada didn't answer.

"O.K. Five hundred it is," the director said casually and turned back to the cameraman.

Nevada stood near the horse's head, feeding him an occasional lump of sugar. The horse nuzzled his hand. He patted the horse's neck. It was a good horse. The animal responded quickly and there wasn't a frightened bone in his body.

"We're about ready," the director said. "I've got cameras covering you from every angle, so you don't have to worry which way to look. You go when I give the signal."

Nevada nodded and mounted the horse. The director stood limned against the edge of the cliff, his hand raised in the air. Suddenly, his hand dropped and Nevada dug his spurs into the horse. The animal leaped forward in almost a full gallop. Nevada gave him his head and led him into the jump.

Nevada took him high and the horse started down, his legs stiff, braced for a short fall. Nevada felt the great beast's heart suddenly pound between his legs as his hoofs didn't meet the expected ground.

The animal writhed in sudden panic as it began to tumble forward. Quickly Nevada kicked free of the stirrups and threw himself over the horse's side. He saw the water rushing up toward him and hoped he had jumped far enough so that the horse didn't land on top of him.

He hit the water in a clean dive and let the momentum carry him deep. He felt an explosion in the water near him. That would be the horse. His lungs were burning but he stayed down as long as he could.

At last, he had to come up. It seemed like forever till he broke the surface, gasping. He turned his head and saw the horse floating on its side, its head twisted in a peculiar manner. There was a look of great agony in its eyes.

He turned and swam quickly toward the bank. Angrily he strode toward the director.

The director was smiling. "That was great. The greatest shot ever made!"

"That hoss's back is probably broke!" Nevada said. He turned and looked out at the horse again. The animal was struggling to keep its head above water. "Why don't somebody shoot the poor son of a bitch?" Nevada demanded.

"We already sent for the wrangler to bring a rifle. He's back on the other hill."

"That hoss’ll be drowned before he gets here," Nevada snapped. "Hasn't anybody got a gun?"

"Sure, but nobody could hit him. A revolver's no good at that distance."

Nevada stared at the director. "Give me a gun."

Nevada took the gun and hefted it in his hand. He spun the cylinder. "These are blanks," he said. Someone gave him bullets. He reloaded the gun quickly and walked over to the side of the stream. He fired at a piece of wood in the water. The gun dragged a little to the left. He waited a moment until the horse raised its head again, then shot the animal between the eyes.

Nevada walked back and gave the director the gun. Silently the big man took it and held out a pack of cigarettes. Nevada took one and the director held the match for him. Nevada let the smoke fill his lungs.

A man came running up, gasping and short of breath. "I’m sorry, Mr. Von Elster," he said hoarsely. "I just can't locate that stunt man anywhere. But I’ll get you another one tomorrow."

"Didn't anybody tell you? He showed up already, Pierce. We just made the shot."

Pierce stared at him. "How could he? I just left him back at— "

The director stepped to one side, revealing Nevada. "Here he is. See for yourself."

Pierce looked at Nevada, then at the director. "That's not the one. That's Nevada Smith. He owns the Great Southwest Rodeo and Wild-West Show." He turned back to Nevada and stuck his hand out. "Good to see you, Nevada." He smiled. "What brings you out here?"