Medicine Show Read online

  Wilson knew that Sam was right, in a way, but it hadn't really been his fault that he'd run the kid down. Hell, they were trying to get away from a bunch of angry citizens with guns and rifles. Who would've thought some damn kid would come running out into the street right in front of them. It was like the little bastard didn't have good sense.

  "You can't get away with killin' a little kid," Sam said. "Folks don't like things like that. You take their money, they're gonna forget after a while. But you kill a kid, they think about it for a long time."

  "I didn't kill him," Wilson said, knowing that it didn't really make much difference.

  "Hell, you might as well have. Those damn laws kept after us for six months. I never thought I'd have to leave Kansas over a thing like that. You'd have thought it was their own money we took out of that bank."

  "Yeah," Ben said. "And it don't look like we'll ever get to spend a dollar of it, the way things are goin'."

  "We'll spend it," Wilson said. "Some day folks will forget about that kid. Besides, this is about the best hide-out we could've found, right out in the open like this. The Kansas lawmen don't get this far from home, and it won't be long before it'll be all right to go back to Kansas and enjoy that money. We'll have some more money by that time, too."

  "Yeah," Sam agreed. "That's about the only thing that I like about this. We make a little money and have a little fun. I guess it ain't all bad."

  "It ain't Kansas, though," Ben said, looking at the tall pines surrounding them. "I get tired of all these damn trees."

  Sam nodded in agreement, but both the brothers knew that they had secretly enjoyed their stay in East Texas. They would never have admitted it to Wilson, but what they liked even better than the money they took in was their harassment of the townspeople. The money was all right, but for them it was just part of the game.

  It was the same with the banks they had robbed in Kansas, for there had been more than one. The money was good, but what really mattered was the thrill of walking into a bank and showing the tellers and customers who was the boss. It was the looks on their faces when they saw the drawn pistols, the fear in their eyes as they were forced to lie on the floor, knowing that if they so much as looked up again they would probably never look at anything again.

  Here, it wasn't quite the same, but it was just as good. If they were paid what they demanded, that was all right. But if they were refused, that was better. Then they could ride in shot out windows, trample yards, run roughshod over picket fences. And all with the cooperation and even the protection of the law.

  In a way it was like shooting the terrapin. There was no reason for it, but it was fun to see it blasted apart.

  "Yeah," Sam said finally. "Those trees do get worrisome after a while. When you reckon we can leave this place, Coy?"

  That was a topic that Wilson had given considerable thought to lately. He had a plan.

  "I been thinking about that," he said, looking around at the trees, listening to the faint breeze stirring in the pine needles and smelling the freshness of the trees. He liked the place, himself, and he wondered why he hadn't come there long ago. The thought of heading back to the treeless plains of Kansas had absolutely no appeal for him. His plan was to stay in Texas and let the bothers go back without him. He would be glad to be free of them.

  "Hard to believe you actually been thinkin'," Sam said. "You gonna tell us what you've come up with, or are we supposed to guess?"

  "I'll tell you. I figure that you two have taken in about all you can around here, except for one little bit, and I'll tell you about that in a minute. Anyhow, I think it's time that I started to take my job serious and ran you off."

  Ben stood up slowly, stretched, and spit. "Run us off? Did I hear you right, Coy? You say you were gonna run us off?"

  Wilson shifted his weight in the saddle, and the horse snorted nervously.

  "I didn't mean that like you took it, Ben," Wilson said.

  "How did you mean it, then?" Sam said. He too had stood up. His head nearly touched the roof of the porch.

  "I meant that's what it would look like had happened. I'd tell folks that I'd finally had enough of you and ride out here. Then I'd ride back and tell 'em that I'd run you off. That they wouldn't have to be worried about you anymore."

  "And what is it that's gonna get you fed up like that?" Ben said.

  "That's the other part of what I was gonna tell you," Wilson said. "You see, there's a medicine show in town . . . . "

  * * *

  The crowd began to gather early. There wasn't a great deal of excitement in the small town, and the medicine show was a welcome spectacle.

  There were mostly men, but a few women were mixed in. Most of them would pretend to be scandalized by the Squaw Ro-Shanna's talk, if they stayed for it, and they might not even have to pretend about Banju Ta-Ta's dance. They would certainly all be gone before the anatomy lecture if things went along as they usually did.

  Or at least so The Boozer devoutly hoped. He was beginning to wonder just what he had let himself in for, and his throat burned as if he had been walking in the desert for a week without a sip of water.

  He desperately needed a drink, and not of water, either, but there was nothing available. The Colonel kept the supply under strict control, and there was nothing for The Boozer to do but sit in the tent, sweat, and stare at his trembling hands.

  Outside, the Colonel was getting the crowd in the right mood for the show.

  "I know that many of you have already met Mr. Kit Carson in town earlier today," he said, waving his hand in the direction of Ray Storey, who was standing modestly to one side, still wearing his fringed buckskins. There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd.

  "And no doubt many of you have heard of Mr. Carson's legendary ability with a six-gun," the Colonel went on.

  "Kit Carson,s, mebbe," someone called out from the crowd. "But not this here fella's."

  There was laughter at the remark, but the Colonel was not perturbed. He had half expected both the comment and the laugh; it certainly wasn't the first time that the authenticity of Kit Carson had come into question.

  "Well, now," the Colonel said. He was standing on the little platform that he and Storey had erected, with the red, white, and blue medicine wagon as his backdrop. He was wearing a top hat and a cut-away coat, a white shirt and flowing tie. "It appears that one of you harbors some doubts as to Mr. Carson's mastery of his weapon. I propose to offer you a small sample of his abilities at this time."

  "How much you gonna charge us?" a voice said, to the accompaniment of more laughter.

  The Colonel smiled tolerantly. "Not one penny, my friends. This little exhibition is absolutely free. Are you ready, Mr. Carson?"

  Ray walked to the front of the platform. "I'd like for you all to step back a little and give me some room," he said.

  The crowd moved back, clearing a space of about six feet in front of the platform.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," the Colonel intoned, "may I present the Squaw Ro-Shanna!"

  His wife emerged from the back of the wagon to the muffled sound of an Indian tom-tom being beaten somewhere inside and walked to the platform. At that moment, not a single person in the crowd was looking at Ray Storey. All eyes were on Ro-Shanna in her "authentic" Indian garb, which consisted of a very short buckskin skirt fitted with silver medallions around its hem and fringed like Ray's Kit Carson outfit. But it was the beaded buckskin shirt that attracted the most attention, and not for its beads. It was cut quite low, and it was very tight. The buttons seemed to strain to contain the Squaw Ro-Shanna's ample breasts, whose rounded tops were fully exposed to view. The men were torn, not knowing whether to look first at her breasts or at her ankles.

  As they strained their eyes, they grew very quiet, almost holding their breaths. The outraged women hissed at their husbands, jabbing them in the ribs with sharp elbows or pulling at their arms to urge them to leave.

  One of the men felt the sweat pop out on the top of h
is bald head as his face suddenly reddened. The Reverend Lawton Stump had not expected to see a sight such as this, and it shamed him to realize that his sinful human nature was excited by it. He knew that some of his parishioners had already noticed him there and that he would hear about it later, but he could not stop himself from looking.

  On the other side of the crowd, carefully concealing herself among the others there, Naomi Stump was not looking at her husband. She too was watching Ro-Shanna, but she was not thinking so much about how the woman looked; she was wondering what effect a woman like that would have on Mr. Kit Carson. And she was wondering how she herself, dressed in the same outfit, would compare to Ro-Shanna. She thought the comparison would be a favorable one, for though the woman on the platform was quite attractive, she was obviously some years older than Naomi was.

  Ro-Shanna was carrying a small cloth bag that she now handed to the Colonel. Storey's hands had started to sweat. He hoped that he wouldn't make too much of a fool out of himself.

  The Colonel reached into the bag and took out one of the hollow clay balls, proclaiming, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Kit Carson!"

  He threw the ball into the air without warning as he spoke, and Storey's hand flashed for his pistol. While he had never become extremely accurate, he had developed a facility for the fast draw that was quite effective in performance. He had never been forced to test it under any other conditions.

  The gun cleared leather smoothly, and when the shot blasted the still air, there was a sharp intake of breath.

  The ball shattered into five or six pieces above the heads of the crowd, the breath was released, and there was scattered laughter and applause.

  Ray Storey began to relax a little. He always felt better after the show had actually started, and hitting the first one was a good sign.

  The Colonel tossed up another ball, a bit higher this time, and Ray hit that one, too. Then both the Colonel and Ro-Shanna threw balls. This part was always tricky, but they had practiced throwing so that the balls were fairly close together, though not so close that they would be shattered by the same shot. The idea was for Ray to be able to trigger off two shots very rapidly without really having to move the muzzle of his gun a great distance. When it worked, it was quite effective, and it worked this time.

  Two shots rang out, both balls splintered apart, and the crowd applauded enthusiastically.

  Naomi Stump thought that Kit Carson was quite probably the most wonderful man she had ever seen. He would know how to take a woman into his muscular arms and crush her to him, not treat her like some porcelain doll the way her husband did.

  Her husband, on the other side of the crowd, was not really interested in the shooting exhibition. He was still focused on Ro-Shanna, and he pulled a spotless white handkerchief from inside his coat and patted the top of his head.

  Ray shot five times, not missing a single time. It was a good beginning for the show, and the Colonel decided not to press his luck by any more shooting.

  "A remarkable demonstration, Mr. Carson," he said, bringing the exhibition to an end, "and we thank you heartily for it. As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, the competence of Mr. Kit Carson has not been exaggerated, no matter what the stories you might have heard of his exploits with a six-gun."

  "What about that there big knife he carries?" a heavy-set man with a ragged vest said.

  "Ah, the knife is another story, to be told at another time," the Colonel said. To avoid being questioned further, he turned to his wife. "Let me introduce to you once again the Squaw Ro-Shanna."

  Mrs. Mahaffey smiled and bowed demurely, but not so demurely as to avoid showing a bit of cleavage. There was robust applause from all the men.

  "This wonderful and wise woman," the Colonel said, "has assisted me in the development of one of the most potent medicines known to modern man, the incomparable Indian Vitality Pills. She has a story to tell you that will, quite literally, I think, change many of your lives for the better. It will remove forever the pain of every man's--" the Colonel's voice dropped to a near whisper, though it still carried far beyond the edge of the crowd "--Secret Sorrow."

  It was very quiet now, and Ray Storey heard a bird call back in the trees.

  "But first," the Colonel said, his voice assuming its usual robust tones, "I want to tell you about Indian Miracle Oil. Do any of you have wounds or sores that are slow to heal? Indian Miracle Oil, applied directly to the skin, speeds the healing process. Do you suffer from irritated kidneys? Stomach wind? Taken internally, Indian Miracle oil will effect an almost instant cure! Do you have a cow or a sheep suffering from the bloat? Indian Miracle Oil is good for man or beast!"

  The pitch went on, the Colonel's voice having an almost hypnotic effect except on those who were most used to hearing his pitch. Ray Storey looked out over the crowd to see who was there. His eyes almost instantly met those of Naomi Stump, who blushed and lowered her own gaze modestly. He remembered her from the dry goods store.

  There could be trouble there, he knew. It would not be the first time that a woman had found herself attracted to him, and he had no interest in seeking entertainment with any woman of the town. That was one of the first lessons the Colonel had given him.

  "A man can't be too careful," the Colonel had said. "Some of these women, they have no excitement in their lives, and they might see one of us as a way to find some. To them, we might appear to have a freedom and a romance about us that their lives do not provide. They are mistaken, of course, but you must never allow yourself to become involved. Especially should the woman be married. The complications are too hazardous to contemplate."

  Storey let his eyes wander on.

  "But," the Colonel was saying to the crowd, "even Indian Miracle Oil is not efficacious merely on its own. It must never be administered by one who has not beheld the Indian Healing Dance. Let me repeat that and caution you: Never let someone else have your bottle of Miracle Oil. Never lend it to a friend who has not witnessed the sacred dance. Never! I cannot be responsible for the consequences if you do!"

  "All right, then, how's about the dance," yelled a squint-eyed man with a gray beard. "I'd sure like to see that there squaw do one!"

  The Colonel drew himself up. "The Squaw Ro-Shanna does not perform the sacred healing dance. It is not of her tribe. But we have one associated with us who has been initiated into the secrets of the dance, one who can perform it for you right here on this platform."

  From inside the wagon the low beating of the tom-tom which had accompanied Ro-Shanna's entrance could be heard again.

  "Well bring her on, then!" a voice cried.

  "First I must ask you one thing," the Colonel said. "I must ask you never to reveal what you have seen here tonight. The Indian Healing Dance is a secret of one of the great tribes, and Banju Ta-Ta, the Indian maid, has vowed never to dance again if her secret is uncovered to any except those who view her here on this platform."

  "We know how to keep our mouths shut," a bearded man near the front said. "Let's get on with it."

  "Very well then," the Colonel said. "May I present the Indian maiden! Banju Ta-Ta!"

  By the time Louisa Mahaffey had gotten to the platform, writhing sinuously to the beat of the small tom-tom she carried in the crook of her left arm and beat with the fingers of her right hand, it was safe to say that most of the men in the crowd were no longer looking at her mother.

  Her skirt was much longer than the one Ro-Shanna was wearing, but as Banju Ta-Ta swirled and spun onto the platform, the dress billowed out and up, exposing her trim calves, even affording a glimpse of her firm thighs.

  There were audible gasps from the women in attendance, several of whom stalked away with an explosive "Well, I never!" or "Brazen hussy!"

  Their husbands continued to watch avidly, particularly the Reverend Stump, whose handkerchief was now quite soaked with perspiration from having passed numerous times over the top of his head.

  Banju Ta-Ta, however, had eyes only for one m
an, Ray Storey, who stood uncomfortably off to one side and tried to pretend that he did not know where the heat of her gaze was directed.

  His daughter's looks were not lost on the Colonel, who had been trying to tell himself for some time that there was nothing in them.

  He knew now that he was lying to himself. Louisa was fiercely interested in young Mr. Storey, no doubt about it. The Colonel hoped that no trouble would come of it. Storey had joined their little troupe and fit in quite well and done his job without undue complaint, but he had never confided in the Colonel his reasons for joining them, reasons which the Colonel had often wondered about. He knew that it went beyond the desire for money or the travel that the show provided.

  It was not the Colonel's business to question his employees about such things, as a general rule, but it was becoming apparent that he was soon going to have a right to do so. He would have felt somewhat better about matters if Storey had shown a greater interest in Louisa, but it often seemed that Storey was preoccupied with matters he preferred not to discuss with anyone.

  Banju Ta-Ta continued to twirl and beat the tom-tom, slowly increasing the tempo until it seemed that she might fly into the air. The Colonel and his wife had unobtrusively moved off the stage so that their daughter could have the entire space to herself.

  There was not a man present there at the platform whose blood was not stirred by the dance, not a one of them who was not ready--in fact, more than ready--to buy at least one bottle of Indian Miracle Oil.

  But there were two others present who were not at all interested in buying. True, they were not at the platform, but their interests lay in other things.

  "She ain't bad lookin' for an Injun, is she?" Ben Hawkins said, spitting accurately between his horse's ears and onto the trunk of a tree three feet away.

  "Don't look bad from here, that's for sure," Sam said.

  "What say we ride in an take over?" Ben said.

  Sam looked at his brother with mild disgust. Sometimes Ben could be exasperating.

  "Not yet," he said. "We do it like Coy said. We wait till they've sold their stuff, then we ride in. We don't want to have to rob ever' man there. If we wait, the money's all in one place and we just take it."