Don't Poke the Bear [western 02] Page 4

  “What bastard put that rope in his nose like that?”

  “His trainer did that when he was six months old. It’s why you’re here.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “That’s what you’re goin’ to remove.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “Doc, look at him. He’s so used to mistreatment we probably won’t even have to hold him down.”

  He leans in a little closer. “That nose is infected. Probably been infected off and on his whole life.”

  Gentry comes up behind us. “Rudy needs you, Doc. It wouldn’t be right to let him keep suffering.”

  Doc turns to Gentry and removes his hat. “This a dancin’ bear?”

  She don’t bother to correct him. “He’s retired.”

  He nods. “I won’t be party to patchin’ up an animal that’s only gonna be abused.”

  “You’ll get none of that here,” I say, pointin’ across the way to the six holes in the piano.”

  Doc Workday smiles. “You’d shoot a piano to keep this bear from havin’ to dance?”

  “I would. And if you walk in playin’ a mouth harp, I’ll shoot that, too.”

  He looks around. “Where’s Wing?”

  “I’ll get him.”

  11.

  THE OPERATION TO remove the rope turns out to be the nastiest, smelliest thing I ever been around, apart from buffalo hunters. The only worrisome moment comes when we put the ether over Rudy’s nose, which he don’t care for at all. His eyes go wide and I can feel a surge of power as his muscles tense. But Gentry soothes him with her talk, and he quiets back down right quick. In the end, it’s just like Gentry predicted, and Rudy comes through it just fine.

  While Rudy rests up from his surgery, Wing Ding and I make him a body harness from some old horse reigns. I know I won’t be able to hold him back if he’s determined to go forward against my will, but Rudy don’t seem like the kind of bear that’s gonna be trouble. I guess the proof’ll be in the puddin’. After finishin’ the harness, Wing and I go back to diggin’ the indoor jail hole. It’s my turn to haul the dirt to the toss area, and as the day turns to afternoon, I dump another load and look up to see Earl Gray drivin’ his wagon toward town faster than need be. I look behind him to see if Indians are attackin’, but there’s no one chasin’ him that I can see.

  So fast is his approach, I drop the empty dirt bucket and circle around the buildin’ to see if he plans to stop in front of my place. When he does, I run up to him.

  “We’re at war!” he shouts.

  “What? Who’s at war?”

  “The whole blamed country!”

  “What’re you talkin’ about?”

  “They just finished takin’ your money for the burial when a telegraph message come through. The North has declared war on the South!”

  “Wait a minute. Which side are we on?”

  “Damned if I know! But we better figure it out soon!”

  “Maybe we should hold a meetin’,” I say.

  “Maybe we should.”

  “We can do ’er in my place.”

  Word gets around and a couple hours later there’s about forty people in the Spur’s main room. I start by sayin’, “As you probably all heard by now, Earl was at Fort Dodge this mornin’, and learned the North declared war on the South. In January we became a Union free state, so I assume we’re with the North. At the same time, we’re a western state, with no militia. I’m not countin’ the soldiers at Fort Dodge, since there ain’t enough of ’em to help either side, right Earl?”

  “I saw eight or nine,” Earl says, “plus a couple officers and a cook. There might’ve been one or two more, but I doubt it.”

  “The Fort Dodge soldiers are there to protect settlers from Indians,” I say, “so I doubt they’ll be reassigned to fight southerners. But if anyone’s got any information about any of this, we’d love to hear it.”

  There’s a lot of mumblin’ and grumblin’, but no one gets overly worked up, since none of us are quite sure which side we’re on, or even if the war involves us. After ten minutes of brave talk and idle threats directed at nameless people who may or may not be fightin’ against us, we shut down the meetin’, and everyone gets drunk.

  12.

  THE NEXT MORNIN’ Gentry and I take Rudy for a stroll. Most of the town folk know about Rudy, and only the local dogs ain’t happy to see him. Gentry is pretty as a picture, all decked out in the new dress she bought with the money we stole from Roy Ellsworth, back in Grand Junction. Ellsworth was a scoundrel who was marryin’ mail order women and stealin’ their money. He apparently killed a couple of ’em, too. That don’t justify stealin’ his money, but Gentry and me did it, anyway. Afterward, we spent a few days in St. Joe, where we had a little vacation, and Gentry built her wardrobe. Then we traveled west, to purchase The Lucky Spur from a friend of mine who’d been wantin’ to retire.

  Gentry’s been a respectable woman ever since, though she runs a string of whores out of my saloon and card emporium. We ain’t tryin’ to hide the fact she used to be a whore, since two of the whores she knew in Rolla are workin’ for her. The other one she knew from Rolla is One-Eyed Mary Burns, who runs her own whore house out of The Third Street Saloon.

  We walk Rudy a mile out of town to a place we’ve picnicked before. Gentry wanted to bring Rudy here because it’s an area where tubers are known to be plentiful. She wants to show Rudy a good time, but also wants to see if he has the instincts he’d need to survive without our help.

  The weather’s warmer than it’s been, but the sky’s gray, and there’s still a faint chill in the air. Not enough to let us see our breath, but enough to make us glad we’re wearin’ jackets. Spring’s tryin’ to poke through, but it’s a week or two away yet.

  We stop in the dip of a wide valley.

  We’re nervous about lettin’ Rudy run wild. Got no idea what might happen. After lookin’ around to make sure the three of us are completely alone, we hold our breaths, let go of his leash, and wait to see what happens.

  And nothin’ does.

  After standin’ there a minute, Rudy plops down at our feet.

  Gentry and I look at each other and bust out laughin’.

  We’re determined to show him how to dig tubers, so Gentry and I try to make him get up. She pulls on his body harness and I push from behind, but he just rolls onto his back and yawns. Gentry motions for me to follow her, so I do, and we leave Rudy where he is. About a minute later he realizes we’ve walked off, and he makes a frightened bleatin’ sound and gets to his feet. When he spies us near one of the few trees in the area, he waddles over to us and lies down at our feet again. I shrug, and start kickin’ at the dirt beneath the tree, till I uncover a tuber. I’d a’ thought the smell would be enough to get Rudy up and diggin’, but he’s content to lie there.

  I reach down and dig it out with my hands and lay it on the ground an inch from Rudy’s nose. He sniffs it, but gives it no further attention. I look at Gentry. She shrugs. Then she slaps my butt and starts runnin’ away. I chase her a few yards, catch her, and turn to see Rudy watchin’ us. I tag Gentry, and she starts chasin’ me. She tags me and I chase her. The whole time we’re taggin’ and chasin’ and laughin’, Rudy watches from a distance, with no change in his expression.

  Finally we’re wore out, so we give each other a hug, and walk back over to Rudy. I bend over to pick up his leash and he taps me on the back, hard enough to make me fall. I holler, “What the—” but when I turn toward him, Rudy jumps to his feet and runs about ten yards, and waits.

  Gentry’s face is full of life. She claps her hands and says, “Go tag him, Emmett!”

  So I run toward him, and tag him, and start runnin’. It takes him about two seconds flat to catch me and swat me to the ground again. I roll head over heels two or three times before comin’ to a stop.

  “Tag him again, Emmett!” Gentry yells.

  “He’s likely to kill me!” I shout back.

  “Don’t be a sissy!” she yells. “He wants to play!”

  “Why don’t you tag him, then?”

  “I would, but he wants to play with his daddy.”

  “His what?”

  She laughs.

  I make another run toward Rudy, and he lets me tag him. This time he tries to swat me before I can get away. But I see it comin’, and duck under his paw. He gets a funny expression on his face and makes that bleatin’ sound, and I take off runnin’. This time when he comes thrashin’ toward me, I dive onto the ground, and he trips over my legs and rolls over. I look up and see him do somethin’ I never seen an animal do before.

  Gentry sees it too.

  “Oh, my God!” she says, her voice full of wonder. “He’s laughing!”

  He is laughin’.

  I never seen anythin’ like it! This goofy bear is rollin’ around on his back, laughin’.

  On the way back home, Gentry’s quiet.

  “You’re workin’ somethin’ out in your mind,” I say.

  “I am.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’m thinking about Rudy laughing.”

  “It was somethin’ to hear, all right!”

  We walk a few minutes without speakin’. After awhile Gentry says, “Rudy hated to dance, but I don’t think most people knew that.”

  “I’d guess that’s right.”

  “He made people happy when he danced.”

  “He did.”

  “They were laughing at the Spur, night before last.”

  “When Rudy danced? They were laughin’ like crazy!” I agree.

  “He probably heard people laugh his whole life.”

  “Probably did.”

  “You think he knew he was making people happy?”

  “Probably.”
r />   “You suppose he’s been around people so long he’s picked up our traits? Like laughing?”

  “I can’t think of a better explanation,” I say.

  13.

  A WEEK PASSES, with no news about the war. Wing Ding and I finally finish buildin’ the jail hole, and now I’m almost hopin’ someone acts up tonight, so I can try it out. About eight p.m., a man comes by the saloon and says he’s recruitin’ men under thirty years of age who know how to shoot.

  “There’s a rumor President Lincoln is going to be kidnapped and killed,” he says. “I’m working with Senator James H. Lane to recruit some Kansas patriots to move into the White House and protect the President from his enemies.”

  “How long would we have to be there?” one man asks.

  “No more than a month,” he says.

  “What’s it pay?”

  “Pay? You’d accept pay to protect the President?”

  “I would,” he says.

  “I would, too,” another man says.

  “I’m keen to help,” a third young man says, “but I’m needed at home, unless there be pay.”

  The recruiter sighs and gives up and heads for the next saloon. I can’t for the life of me figure out why the President can’t find some young men closer than Kansas to protect him from his enemies.

  A couple hours later, a young man gets up from a card table after losin’ his money, takes two steps, and faints. I rush over to him and splash some water in his face, and ask, “When’s the last time you ate somethin’?”

  “Two days ago.”

  I recognize him as the young man who said he was needed at home if he couldn’t be paid to guard the President. I help him back to the kitchen, where Emma Nickel’s doin’ the cookin’ tonight. We don’t have a regular cook, so the whores take turns. None of ’em are any good, but Emma’s the worst. Still, some food is better than none, and since this young customer has lost all his money, I tell Emma to fill him up.

  The young man is about three inches shy of six feet, maybe twenty-two years of age, with a handlebar mustache that makes his baby face look silly. But Emma likes what she sees, and begins puttin’ a flirt on him that renders her virtually useless as far as keepin’ up with the food orders goes. For his part, the young man appears to find Emma distasteful, and tries his best to ignore her advances.

  The first thing you notice about Emma is when she speaks, she fondles her breasts without realizin’ it. While that makes her quite popular among the whore house customers, it’s distractin’ to the card players. Also, she’s got six fingers on one hand, four on the other. Emma whored in Rolla, Missouri, at Lick and Casey’s Dance Hall, down the street from where Gentry used to whore. She made the trip with us to Dodge a few months back. When I bought the Spur and decided to run whores, we offered Emma a spot, for old time’s sake. She’s enthusiastic in bed, regardless of who the customer might be, which is as good a quality as any whore can have. But when I hear her offerin’ this hungry man an apple bob, I decide to come to his rescue.

  “Emma, you’re fallin’ way behind on the supper orders,” I say.

  “I need help, Emmett. It’s too busy tonight.”

  I call Hester down to help.

  “No fair! I cooked for six hours last night!” she whines.

  “Sounds like you need a cook,” the kid says.

  “Don’t suppose you want the job?”

  “Nope. But thanks.”

  “What’s your name, son?”

  He starts to speak, pauses, then says, “William Clarke.”

  The way he paused before answerin’ makes me wonder if he’s still feelin’ fainty.

  “If you don’t mind my sayin’, you ought not to be a card player.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “When the others saw they could bluff you, they clipped you good.”

  “Bluffin’s dishonest.”

  I laugh, then say, “Well, like I say, cards ain’t likely to be your livelihood. What else are you good at?”

  “Gambling’s in my blood, but I’m a school teacher by trade.”

  “Well hell, we need a school teacher right here, if you’re willin’ to give up the gamblin’.”

  Emma puts a plate of beans in front of Bill Clarke and asks if she can feel his muscle. He sighs and flexes his arm. She giggles and grabs his crotch, sayin’, “That ain’t the muscle I was referrin’ to!”

  “Jesus!” he says.

  “Emma?” I say.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Cook.”

  “Where’s Hester?” she says, rubbin’ her nipples.

  Bill’s eyes grow wide watchin’ her do it.

  “Hester’s on her way. Now quit fondlin’ your tits! And that goes for our school teacher, as well!”

  She frowns. “Everyone else has a beau. Don’t see why I can’t have one.”

  Bill shudders.

  “Sorry ’bout that,” I say. Then add, “We do need a school teacher. Right now all we have’s a buildin’, and a woman who’s got the learnin’, but not the time to devote. I s’pect the town could afford to pay a decent wage if you offer your services full-time.”

  Bill digs into his beans and don’t stop to answer till he’s worked his way through half the plate.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  Between bites he says, “I taught school in Illinois, then headed west, joined the army, fought in the Utah War. When that ended, I tried the gamblin’. Was always better at dice than cards, but couldn’t make a livin’. Too many cheats. Two years ago I moved to Lawrence and taught school. But I’m done with that now, ’cause of the war.”

  “What’s the war got to do with not teachin’ school?”

  “I aim to join the Missouri State Guard.”

  “Lawrence is east of here. As is Missouri.”

  “I traveled to Pearl, to see if my Aunt and Uncle could spare some money to fix me up with a horse and guns. They done what they could, but it weren’t enough. I hoped to win enough at cards to complete my provisionin’.

  “Well, I won’t arm a man to shoot other Americans, but I can fill your belly and give you a place to spend the night.”

  “I’m obliged,” he says.

  “When you’re done eatin’, we can use a dish cleaner. When that’s done, you can take the second room on the left, upstairs. You’ll find it clean, and no one will bother you. Tomorrow mornin’, if you’re willin’ to sweep, we’ll feed you again, before you head out.”

  He nods. “That’ll be fine. Again, I’m much obliged.”

  The next mornin’ Gentry and I take Rudy outside of town, west this time, figurin’ if he ever runs off he’ll be able to find his way back, if he’s familiar with the area. Not that we think he’ll get far if he does run away. Due to the abuse his feet have suffered, he’s limited as to how far he can travel. After we get where we’re goin’, we start playin’ tag and continue playin’ until all Gentry and I have to do is shout, “Rudy: tag!” and he tries to swat me. If he misses and I start runnin’, he bounds after me. And every time he tags me, he knocks me ass over heels and laughs his silly head off.

  We stop to rest awhile, and I notice Gentry’s beamin’ like a proud mama. I ask, “What’s got you so pleased?”

  “Rudy knows his name!”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive. Let go of the harness and stand with him, and I’ll prove it.”

  I let go of the harness and rest my hand gently on Rudy’s shoulder. Gentry walks twenty paces and shouts, “Come here, Rudy!”

  Rudy’s ears perk up.

  She repeats the command, fillin’ her voice with enthusiasm.

  Rudy yawns and lies down on the ground.

  Gentry walks back over to us and says, “Well, disregarding that, he still knows his name.”

  “Maybe he thinks ‘come here’ means take a nap.”

  Gentry pushes me and yells “Tag!”

  Rudy jumps to his feet and puts his arms up and grins. He’s waitin’ for me to tag him so he can knock me down again.

  “How come he never plays tag with you?” I ask.

  “He doesn’t want to hurt me.”

  Before I can say, “What about me?” she says, “He knows you can take it.”