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."
I look at Rudy and think, If I came upon him at dusk, on the trail, he'd scare the shit outta me! But here, in this environment, knowin' him as I do, I can't imagine him raisin' a paw to strike neither man nor beast.
Next thing I know, he's runnin' away from us, almost as fast as my horse, Major, can gallop!
"What the heck?" Gentry says. "Rudy!" she hollers. "Come back here this instant!"
But Rudy doesn't so much as slow down. Gentry takes a deep breath, ready to shout at him again, but I motion her to hush. When she does, I close my eyes and listen.
I don't hear a thing except Rudy thrashin' off in the distance, gettin' further and further away from us. Then I open my eyes and say, "Uh oh."
"What?"
"Honey bees!"
"So?"
"Where there's bees, there's honey."
"So?"
"There ain't nothin' in the world a black bear loves more than honey."