Beginner's Luck (23 page)

They shook hands, and Duane climbed down from the buckboard. Atchison flicked the reins, and the horses turned around in the yard, hauling the buck-board back toward Titusville. Duane stood next to the white picket fence and looked at the big barn.

Not a soul was in sight. He turned to the main house, a large two-story deserted wooden building. I guess that's where Mister Petigru lives when he comes out here, he thought. Duane tossed his bedroll over his shoulder, and headed for the bunkhouse. He had no idea what job they'd give him, and was prepared to shovel horse manure and sweep floors. I hope I can make friends with one of the cowboys, and he'll teach me how to ride, he said to himself.

The bunkhouse was a rectangular shack behind the barn, with smoke twirling from its chimney. Nearby was a hitching rail, a pile of wood, and a privy with a crude half-moon cut into its door. Duane inclined toward the bunkhouse, his new home for the forseeable future.

He opened the door, and a dozen pairs of eyes
drilled through him. He was surprised to see cowboys sitting around, wearing hats, boots, and guns, with barely suppressed amusement on their faces. A bottle of whiskey sat on the table, near glasses and a deck of cards.

A man with a black handlebar mustache stepped forward. “I'm Jake Russell, the foreman. And this is ... Jethro.”

Duane looked into the battered features of the big drunken cowboy he'd fought on his first night in town. Oh no.

But Jethro grinned, as he shook Duane's hand. “You got a helluva punch, boy.”

Russell introduced Duane to the other cowboys, and Duane shook their hands. He was suspicious of their apparent affability, because Atchison had said that new cowboys sometimes died under mysterious circumstances, before being accepted by the bunkhouse. If that wasn't enough, Jethro was there as well, but somehow the great hulk didn't seem so antagonistic now that he was sober.

Russell said warmly, “Pick out an empty bunk, and the washbasin's in back. I understand that you don't know how to ride a horse?”

“That's right,” Duane admitted. “I don't.”

A cowboy nearby guffawed, and covered mirth with his hand. Duane looked at a mean bunch of armed desperados; some carried knives in sheaths attached to their belts, and others had them sticking out of their boots.

“We'll have to teach you,” Russell continued, “because you can't do this job less'n you can ride. But there's two schools of thought ‘bout larnin' ter ride.
One school says you start with gentle old nags, and work yer way up to the real horses, while the other school says a man should hop on the wildest son of a bitch in the barn, and ride ‘em cowboy. Which way d'you want, kid?”

This evidently is the first of their pranks, Duane realized. But I'm not going to break my neck to amuse them on a boring Monday afternoon. “If you don't mind, I'd like to start off with an easy horse.”

Russell turned toward his cowboy crew. “Why don't a couple of you boys go to the barn and saddle up Old Ned fer Mister Braddock. We might as well give him his first lesson naow.”

Edgar sat behind his desk, but no matter how he figured the numbers, he was deeply in debt to Mayor Lonsdale, Banker Holcomb, Councilman Finney, Judge Jenks, and numerous other citizens of Titusville, and he even owed money to himself as owner of the Carrington Arms Hotel.

He wasn't broke, but it was close. He could borrow more from his mother, but conscience wouldn't allow it. I'm stuck in this town, and my life is danger. The local bumpkins have been swindling me all along, and I underestimated them because they didn't speak like Wall Street lawyers! he chided himself.

There was a knock on his door, and he reached for his Colt. “Come in.”

Saul Klevins entered the suite, thumbs hooked in his gun belt. “You wanted to see me, Mister Petigru.”

“Yes, have a seat, Mister Klevins. Could I get you something to drink?”

“Whiskey.”

Petrigru scurried to the bar, filled a glass with his finest stock, and carried it to Klevins. “I'd like to hire you as my bodyguard.”

“'Bout goddamned time you seen the light,” Petigru replied. “It's a wonder you haven't been shot by now.”

Thank God there are people like Klevins in the world, Petigru thought. “What are your going rates?”

“Fer you, two hundred dollars a month.”

Petigru's eyes bugged out of his head, and he felt as though his gut would bust. “Two hundred dollars ...”

“Guess you ain't innerested,” Klevins said. He poured the whiskey down his throat, and headed for the door.

“Wait a minute!” Petigru hollered, jumping up from his desk. “Let's talk!”

“My price just went to two-fifty,” Klevins said, gripping the doorknob.

“I'll pay!”

Klevins smiled faintly, as he returned to the desk. “In advance.”

“Of course. Certainly.” Petigru kneeled in front of his safe, twirled the dial, and opened it up. Inside were stacks of paper money and bags of coins. Petigru counted out the amount carefully, as Klevins contemplated putting a bullet through the back of his head. This Yankee is even dumber than I thought, Klevins said to himself. Maybe I should take it all right now. Before Klevins could make up his mind, Petigru slammed the door shut, and turned the knob.

Maybe some other time, Klevins thought, as he
accepted the money from Petigru's hand. “What'll my duties be, sir?”

“Protect my life and property, as circumstances require. Essentially, you'll be living with me. I'll have the clerk send up a cot for you. And you'll eat at my table, too, of course. There may come a point where I'll want to be alone, and I'll tell you to leave. I hope you won't take it personally.”

“I'm a perfessional bodyguard,” Klevins replied. “I don't take nothin' personally.”

Duane saw a horse in the middle of the corral, with a cowboy on either side, holding the bridle tightly, a bandanna tied around the horse's eyes. Other cowboys sat on rungs of the fence, a row of spurs sticking out behind them.

“Why's the horse blindfolded?” Duane asked Russell.

Russell spat a gob of something brown at the ground. “Wa'al, Old Ned, he likes to get as much sleep as he can, and he can't sleep in the light, so we blindfold him.”

They came to the edge of the fence and looked over the slats. Old Ned was coal black, lean, and appeared skitterish, an unusual quality for a horse supposedly docile. The horse's tail swished back and forth impatiently, and he looked like a coiled spring ready to leap through the sky.

Duane was not the fool they thought, and he perceived a cowboy joke in the making. Old Ned is probably the most cantankerous horse in the barn, and these cowboys are here to see me get stomped. But he
knew that he had to play along with their pranks to some degree, otherwise they'd never accept him. He looked at the horse's proud head and long, muscular legs. The animal reminded him vaguely of Vanessa Fontaine, with the same excitable energy. He remembered what Boggs had told him about hanging on with his heels, and becoming one with the horse. Duane's youthful optimism came to the fore, as he thought: Maybe I can turn this prank around, and have the last laugh.

Russell turned toward him. “You ain't backin' out, are ya?”

“Hell no,” Duane replied. “Let's do it.”

He climbed over the fence and walked toward the horse, who perked up his ears and turned in his direction. The closer Duane came, the bigger and younger the horse became, and Duane wondered if he were being incautious. What if this horse bucks me, and I break my neck? he wondered. What the hell've I got myself into this time?

He looked around the corral, where cowboys watched him avidly from grandstand seats. It reminded him of an ordination ceremony in the monastery, with the same portentous gravity. He approached the left side of the horse, as Boggs had taught him.
Swing yer arm fer balance,
he heard the cowboy say in his ear.

Two cowboys struggled to control Old Ned, who appeared raring to go. Duane hesitated, because in a few seconds he'd be riding a cyclone. But he had to learn, and if this was the way God wanted it, he'd see it through. Maybe I can stay on his back if I hold on tight and go with his motions, he speculated.

He touched his hand to the side of the horse's immense neck. “Just hold steady, boy.”

Duane heard a snicker behind him, as he prepared to place his boot in the stirrup. If I can ride this horse, my troubles will be over, the orphan thought hopefully. “I'm ready,” he told the two cowboys.

“He's all yers,” one of them replied.

Duane thrust his toe into the stirrup, grabbed the pommel, swung his other leg up, and settled into the saddle. One cowboy handed him the reins, and the other cowboy removed the blindfold from Old Ned. Duane knew that his hat wouldn't remain on his head long, so he held it in his extended left hand.

The horse blinked his huge eyes at the world that suddenly had reappeared. He'd been worried that he'd gone blind, but now could see again! An uncomfortable weight sat on his back, and he didn't want it there.

Meanwhile, Duane wondered why the horse wasn't moving. Maybe he really is a docile old animal, he conjectured. I don't know anything about horses, and these cowboys wouldn't kill me for a few laughs, would they?

Suddenly Duane felt a violent kick in the butt, and next thing he knew, he was flying through the air. He performed an unintentional somersault, and landed on his head near the slats of the fence.

“Watch out!” hollered a cowboy.

Duane rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. Old Ned cantered toward him, and it was clear to Duane, even with his scant knowledge of horseflesh, that the animal had malice in his heart. He heard cowboys roaring with laughter, as he scooted beneath the
fence. Old Ned came to a halt a few feet away, glaring at him through the slats.

Russell slapped Duane on the back. “Not a bad ride fer the first time, eh, boys?”

The cowboys gathered around, gleeful expressions on their faces, and Jethro slapped him on the back so hard, Duane nearly fell on his face. The Pecos Kid turned toward the corral, looked the horse in the eyes, and even Old Ned seemed to be laughing. You'll never ride me, you puny two-legged fool, he seemed to taunt.

Jethro pointed at the horse. “My God—I thank we made a mistake, Ramrod. That ain't Old Ned. That's Thunderbolt—meanest horse we got!”

Russell widened his eyes in mock surprise. “I'll be damned, but I reckon yer right.” He turned toward Duane. “Sorry, but the boys got mixed up. We'll take Thunderbolt back to the barn, and bring out Old Ned.”

Sure, Duane thought, and the next horse'll be even meaner than this one. These cowboys won't stop until every bone in my body is broken. But maybe, if I really dig my heels in, I can stay on the son of a bitch. “Hold on, Ramrod,” he said. “I'd rather learn on a spirited animal like Thunderbolt, instead of a nag like Old Ned.”

Ramrod frowned. “I wouldn't push it too far if'n I was you. We had our little joke, and you fell fer it like a ton of bricks. Now we can git one of the tamer horses.”

“You said yourself that the best way to learn is to jump on the wildest horse in the corral.”

I was exaggeratin',” Russell replied. “You keep after Thunderbolt, he's liable to kill you.”

I must impose my will on this animal, Duane realized. He looked into the horse's eyes, and Thunderbolt took three steps backward, then swished his tail and perked up his ears. Duane remembered the words of Lester Boggs, his cowboy mentor:

Ain't never been a horse, what couldn't be rode.

Ain't never been a cowboy, what couldn't be throwed.

Duane wondered whether or not he was insane, as he climbed over the fence. The cowboys grumbled among themselves, because the joke was being carried too far, and they didn't want anybody to get stomped. I'm going to ride this horse, Duane vowed, as he jumped to the ground in front of Thunderbolt. “Now take it easy, boy,” Duane said soothingly, attempting to approach the animal from his left side.

But Thunderbolt kept changing position, so that he could see Duane head-on. Duane gazed into the animal's immense bulbous eyes, and wondered what kind of intelligence lurked within.

“I wouldn't want anybody on my back, either,” Duane murmured to the horse, attempting to pat his mane.

Thunderbolt stood still, and let Duane touch him. It's like Boggs said, Duane mused. You've got to make friends with them. “There, there,” he said warmly.

“Watch out!” shouted one of the cowboys.

Thunderbolt craned his huge head around, and tried to bite Duane, who pulled his hand back at the last moment, leaving part of his sleeve in the horse's
mouth. Duane became furious at the betrayal of trust, and punched the horse on the side of the head.

Thunderbolt, jolted by the sudden blow, blinked his eyes. Duane took the opportunity to leap into the saddle, thrust his feet through the stirrups, grab the reins, and kick his heels into Thunderbolt's withers. “Come on, horse—show me what you've got!”

Thunderbolt leapt into the air, and Duane's spine whiplashed violently. Duane removed his hat, held it out for balance, and hugged Thunderbolt tightly with his legs, as the horse switched ends, twisted, leaped, and dived.

“Ride ‘em cowboy!” shouted one of the men behind the rail.

“Yippee!” hollered another, throwing his hat in the air.

I'm riding him! Duane thought happily, and then found himself lurching into the air. A bird flew past, glancing at him curiously, and then Duane plunged to the ground in the middle of the corral, where he lay still.

“Get up!” hollered one of the cowboys.

Duane opened his eyes. Thunderbolt towered above him, standing on his hind legs, ready to plop his front hooves on Duane's nose, but Duane spun out at the last moment, and Thunderbolt's hooves slammed into the ground, sending up a cloud of dust.

Duane limped out of the way, the horse charged, but Duane switched direction suddenly, and Thunderbolt couldn't reposition himself quickly enough. Duane rushed Thunderbolt's flank, leapt into the air, and landed on the saddle again.