Paradise Sky

Dodge City stank like cow shit and unbathed men on the day we showed up, and it was my figure it stank that way on the days we didn’t show up. There was cloud cover cloaking the town. It was as if we was having a sack pulled over our heads the air was so thick. It was cold, too, a dry kind of cold that was given a knife’s edge by a prairie wind blowing at our backs.

There was tents on the outskirts and large signs posted up that said we had to turn in our weapons. That was different from Deadwood, as turning in guns was only that way at the Gem, an idea I put into action, and as soon as that idea come about the murders in the place dropped considerable if didn’t disappear. There was always someone who sneaked a pistol in or was willing to gnaw someone’s throat out or beat them to death with a chair leg, but on the whole it was a little less rowdy. Thing was, after I quit being the bouncer, I can’t say if the rule was enforced anymore.

We rode by a big ca

We passed by the cattle yard, and there was cowboys hustling longhorn cows down the street and into catch pens. A goodly number of the cowboys was colored, and I seen a lot of Mexicans in their crowd as well, though some was so covered in dust I couldn’t quite figure what color they was, only that they were cowboys and knew how to move cattle.

There was a general store, the Long Branch Saloon, a dry-goods store, and all ma

Bronco Bob said, “When I first come through Dodge it wasn’t nothing more than a line of tents and a handful of cows. Look at it now.”

“It still smells like shit,” I said.

We arrived at the livery, unsaddled our horses, turned them into a corral, took off our guns, and gave them to the liveryman, a short little guy wearing a wool cap—which had been home to some moths at one time—and loose red gallusses that could be seen when he moved and his blue-jean coat swung wide. He appeared to have some Mexican or Indian blood in him, way his skin was colored and how his eyes was dark, but I figured his bald head was all Irish. He gave us what he called claim checks; it was a piece of paper with our names written on it and a brief description of our weapons. It matched the papers that was tied to our guns.

Bronco Bob said he and Red was going to the saloon where he intended to buy Red his first beer and maybe a whiskey. Then they might go whoring. Knowing Red’s upbringing was in good hands, I chose to find a place to sleep.

Thing that was different in towns out there on the plains was that a colored could occupy any hotel if the owner was willing to room him. There wasn’t no law against it, as there was in the South. I can’t tell you it was all even out there for people my skin color. I can only say it was more so.

I got a room in a hotel run by a fat white man. I was given a key. I felt strange about it and very good. In that moment I had been accepted as an equal, if for no other reason than I had the price of a room. I thought that was fair enough.

It was midday, and I was as tired as if it was midnight. I paid out for a tub and some hot water and retired to my room until the bathwater was brought to fill the tub, which was already there under one of the windows. I pushed up the windows to let some air in, being used to the outside those long weeks, and the smell of cow mess sailed in on the breeze like birds. I finally pushed the window closed except for a crack and sat down in one of the two chairs that was there. It was thick with cushion and comfortable.

The bathwater come in trips delivered in steaming buckets, carried a bucket at a time by a very nice-looking colored girl who gave me a friendly eye.

Had I wanted, I surely could have had a sweet night with her, but I didn’t act on it. I wouldn’t do that to Win. I pretended her beautiful face and dark brown skin was of no allure to me, and when the water filled the tub and she left, I stripped down and soaked, washing my long, wild hair. Drying off, I fell into bed without a stitch on, and even with the light shining in through parted curtains I fell into a deep sleep in the nicest and softest bed I had ever spent a night in.

I didn’t wake until the rest of the day had passed, the night had journeyed, and late morning arrived and crept on well past first bird’s song.

I dressed, went downstairs, and had breakfast, which was two pickled eggs, toast, and coffee. I asked the fat man at the desk where a colored man like myself could get his hair cut.

It was a tent at the back of Main Street, and when I stepped inside I saw at least four colored men ahead of me. The barber was a big, dumpy, coffee-colored man with a bald head. Bald barbers make me nervous.

Some chairs was provided, so I sat and read a dime novel that was laid there for the purpose. It was the biggest batch of balderdash I have ever read, as it had to do with Wild Bill Hickok, and the personality of the character in that story wasn’t anything like Bill, but it was pretty entertaining once I made up my mind it wasn’t no true-life story.

When my turn came, I had to lay the book aside right when Bill was about to have a shoot-out with a dozen men. I never did learn how that come out, but I had a pretty good idea. I sat in the chair and had my long hair cut short and shaved at the neck and powdered. It might have been nice had the barber run the razor over the strop a little more before he went about his work. There were times when it dragged over the back of my neck like a plow over solid rock.

I threw in another coin to have myself shaved. It was done quick and rough, and I was only cut twice. The barber gave me a mirror to look in. Without all that long, thick hair, my ears really stood out. I had almost forgotten about them.

I paid up, strolled over to the dry-goods store, and bought me a fresh shirt.

I went back to the hotel and put on my new shirt, which was bright red, and waited around for what I didn’t know. What I needed to do was start asking around about Ruggert and Golem, but I was a little uncertain where to start until the obvious hit me. I walked over to the livery and asked the liveryman, who was currycombing Satan as I got there.

He turned and seen me, said, “If I remember correct, this here is your horse.”

“It is,” I said.

“He is one fine animal—a little too lean, I figure, but well taken care of.”

“He is a little lean,” I said. “We been traveling.”

“Few days’ grain, and he’ll fatten up,” he said.

“Sir,” I said. “Might I ask your name?”

“Cecil Jenkins,” he said, like it was a title akin to captain or governor.

“There are two men I’m trying to find, and I was wondering if you might have seen them.” I then went on to describe them.

“Should I tell if I have? You sound like you don’t like them much.”

“Do I?”

“You do.”

“You haven’t seen them, no problem. If you have, it’s up to you if you want to tell me about them or not.”

He hesitated for only a moment. “I have seen them. They quarreled right here in this livery.”