Boone's Lick

"We had a spot of trouble earlier in the day," Uncle Seth said. "I believe my niece may have stopped by to talk to you about it."

"Oh yes, Miss Geneva," Mr. Hickok said. "She's a fetching lass, if I do say so. I fed her a big juicy beefsteak and she put it away so quick that I fed her another. That young lady can eat."

"It was generous of you," Uncle Seth said. "If I hadn't just et I'd have a beefsteak myself."

"What was the trouble?" Mr. Hickok inquired.

"Oh, Baldy Stone borrowed all our mules, and the girls thought he was stealing them. Then Mary Margaret shot Baldy's horse. At the time she was under the impression that the horse was an elk."

The part about the elk, which struck me as so curious, didn't seem to interest Wild Bill Hickok at all.

"Now why would Baldy Stone need to borrow a passel of mules?" he asked.

"He was hoping that good mounts would attract a posse," Uncle Seth said.

"I believe he has had about enough of Jake Miller and that bunch over at Stumptown."

"Well, I don't agree with his thinking," Wild Bill said. "You can get shot just as dead off a good horse as off a bad horse. The quality of the posse is more important than the quality of the horses. How many posse men does he have signed up?"

"One, himself," Uncle Seth said.

"It would take a gallant fellow to ride off alone to tackle the Millers,"

Wild Bill said. "I haven't noticed that Baldy is that gallant."

After that there was a silence. Wild Bill seemed to be thinking about something. The bartender came over with a whiskey bottle and two glasses.

Uncle Seth accepted a shot of whiskey, but waved off the second glass.

"This youth don't drink," he said. "But I do. You might just leave that bottle--that way you won't have to be traipsing back and forth. It'll give the dust a chance to settle."

Uncle Seth had spoken politely, something he didn't always bother to do, but the bartender, who was a feisty little fellow with a scar just under his lip, took offense at the remark.

"There's not a speck of dust on this floor," the bartender said. "What do you think I do all day and most of the night?"

15

"Just leave the bottle--there's no need for a dispute," Uncle Seth said.

"What does he think I do all day and most of the night?" the bartender asked Mr. Hickok, who didn't reply. The floor of the saloon had so many cigar butts strewn on it that it would have been hard to find much dust, but there was a pretty good pile of mud just inside the door where several mule ski

"That man has been working too hard--it's made him touchy," Uncle Seth said. "I get touchy myself, when I'm overworked."

"Let's hear more about this expedition to arrest the Millers," Mr. Hickok said. "The Millers have never disturbed me personally, but that goddamn Little Billy Perkins, who runs with them, has done me several bad turns."

"Little Billy has few morals--few to none," Uncle Seth said.

"He won't need morals, if he crosses me again," Mr. Hickok said. "It would be doing a favor to humanity to dispose of Little Billy, and I'm in the mood to do the favor.

"If the pay is decent, that is," he added.

He finished his little cigar and flipped the butt across the room. Then he pulled three more slim cigars out of his shirt pocket and offered one to Uncle Seth and one to me. He was a very polite man.

"This boy don't smoke, either," Uncle Seth said. "Mary Margaret is determined to raise him Christian."

"I doubt it will take," Mr. Hickok said, smiling at me. He lit his new cigar and tilted his chair back again.

"I believe Sheriff Stone is prepared to offer you fifty dollars for your services, Bill," Uncle Seth said. "He only offered me five dollars, a sum I looked askance at."

Wild Bill Hickok laughed heartily at that piece of information. He seemed so relaxed and so friendly that I couldn't figure out why Uncle Seth had seemed nervous about going to see him. Behind us, the men in the front of the saloon didn't seem relaxed at all. Several of them were still glaring at us, a fact both Mr. Hickok and Uncle Seth continued to ignore.

"I wouldn't expect you to enjoy being offered forty-five dollars less than me, if I've got my subtraction right," Mr. Hickok said.

"You're accurate, both as to the sum and the opinion," Uncle Seth said.

Mr. Hickok blew a smoke ring or two and looked thoughtful.

"If they paid us fifty dollars apiece that would be a hundred dollars,"

he said. "I doubt the town has it. Do you suppose there's a rich citizen they could ask for a loan?"

"Well, Rosie McGee," Uncle Seth said. I perked my ears up at that. Rosie McGee lived over the saloon. Once or twice I caught a glimpse of her, fa

a few glimpses, too, because Rosie was the woman he wanted to marry. "I recall that Rosie harbors a grudge against Jake Miller," Uncle Seth said.

"If she's still harboring her grudge she might be willing to make the community a loan.

"That's the best outlook," Uncle Seth went on. "If the town hired you, and Rosie hired me, we wouldn't have to put up with some ignorant posse men who would probably just be in the way."

Mr. Hickok blew another smoke ring.

"I don't know Miss McGee very well," he said. "It's possible that she harbors a grudge against me, too."

"She could even harbor a grudge against the town of Boone's Lick, in which case she might not care to contribute a cent," Uncle Seth speculated.

"Seth, it's time I tried to scare up a card game," Mr. Hickok said. "I can't just idle the night away discussing grudges--there's such a passel of them. But I'll contribute my services to this Stumptown expedition for fifty dollars--you'll have to scare up your own wages. I'm available anytime but Friday."

"Why not Friday?" Uncle Seth asked, as he got up from the table.

"I don't work Fridays--it's a firm rule," Mr. Hickok said. "Nice to meet you, Sherman."

"You see, he's superstitious," Uncle Seth said, as we were leaving the saloon. "All these fine gun-fighters have their superstitions."

There was a flight of stairs outside the saloon, going up to the room where Rosie McGee lived. Just as we were passing the steps I looked up and saw a little red glow at the top of the stairs--somebody was sitting on the landing, smoking a cigar. A cloud had crossed the moon--all I saw was a little glowing tip.

Uncle Seth saw it too. He took a step or two, and stopped.

"Shay, you go on home," he said. "I believe that's Rosie with the cheroot. I think I'll sound her out about the state of her grudges.

"Look out for Granpa," he added. "He might still be hunting that panther."

Then he turned back, and I soon heard him going up the stairs beside the saloon. The abrupt way he left me on my own gave me a lonely feeling, for some reason. It wasn't the dark--I walked around in the dark all the time, sometimes with G.T. and sometimes without him. I had enjoyed my visit with Wild Bill Hickok, but now I felt lonely. What I wished was that I could be grown-up, like Uncle Seth--grown-up enough to stop and talk with a woman bold enough to sit and smoke a cigar, at the top of the stairs, outside a saloon.