Buffalo Trail (15 page)

Heath Lee waved his hand. “So, Billy, who are you inviting?”

Billy grinned again. “It ain't a matter of issuing invitations. All who care to come are welcome, so long as they're willing to be part of the general group.”

“How we going to handle the Indians?” Bermuda Carlyle demanded. “I want hides, but not at the expense of my hair or my privates.”

Billy said that as far as he could tell from his recent scout south, the Indians had backed off considerably. The Army had recently administered some ass whippings to them.

“Don't mistake me, they're still dangerous,” Billy said. “But that's why we'll have the big permanent camp. The Co-manch, the Cheyenne, the Kioways—their way is to attack in small raiding parties, maybe two dozen braves at the most. That size bunch won't dare take on all the guns we'd be able to muster, particularly as the Indians are always short of ammunition.”

A voice with an unmistakable Yankee twang rose from the back of the saloon: “Might I pose a question or two?”

“Pose as many as you like, Mr. Mooar,” Billy said politely.

Mooar smoothly maneuvered through the crowd until he stood beside Billy at the bar. “So you're asking us to go down south under your command? Is that the case? You are the boss?”

“I'm not boss. I don't think anybody is going to be. Just a bunch of hide men working together for the common good.”

“Precisely,” Mooar said, and he smirked. “So let's consider once again what you term the nature of hide men. We're business folk, wouldn't you say?”

“Of course. We look to our efforts for profit.”

“So in the strictest sense, whether here or down south, we compete with each other to shoot the most buffalo, get the most hides?”

Billy looked annoyed. “I guess, if you put it that way.”

Mooar turned slightly so he that addressed the crowd rather than Billy. “I believe I can safely rate myself as the senior hide man here. My brother and I came to this area early on. I take credit for bringing down more than twenty thousand buffalo since. As a result I'm well positioned financially, and intend to remain that way. I will not go down to be part of some group that shares equal chances to kill buffalo and shares the money besides. I don't believe any of the rest of you who are
real
hide men will want to do that, either. In our profession it's every man for himself, and let the best shots thrive the most. Don't you all agree?” Because everybody liked Billy, and most of the other hide men didn't care for Mooar, there wasn't much reaction. But there was still a sudden restlessness; this was an issue that no one seemed to have previously considered, Billy included.

Billy took a moment to think through an appropriate response; he finally settled for: “That's not the point of a big group. During the day's hunting, we go our own ways with our crews and test our skills. But afterward at night we bunch up together at the settlement. You come on down with us, Mr. Mooar, and you can kill all the buffs you want. No man among us will try to horn in on your share, whatever it may be.”

“Ah.” Mooar seemed so easily mollified by Billy's answer that McLendon knew the Yankee hide man was about to spring his main attack on the proposed expedition. Mooar drew the moment out by scratching his head and looking reflective while everyone waited to see what he'd say next. He was a showman. Finally he said pleasantly, “And all of the hides, Billy. What of them?”

“Why, we'd sell them, of course. That's the purpose of the hunt, to take and sell hides.”

Mooar smiled. “Sell them to who, Billy? The Indians who'll be surrounding you down there? Perhaps to the buzzards who'll circle your great big camp? You'll be some hundred fifty miles from Dodge City, so I suppose you could interrupt your hunts every so often and take another four or five days to bring the hides back here to sell, then another four or five to get back to camp. Even if the buffs decide to lie down along the Canadian and take long summer naps, you'll still miss most of the passing of the herd. Meanwhile, everyone left behind in your camp will have to survive on buffalo chips and water, and if they go out to hunt, they'll have to shoot the buffs with pebbles, for your supplies of ammunition will soon run out.”

Jesus,
McLendon thought,
Mooar's got Billy.
But Billy simply smiled in his own turn.

“You're a smart fellow, Mr. Mooar,” Billy said. “You think of everything. But some other smart people have helped me solve those very problems. Jim Hanrahan, A. C. Myers, Mr. Rath, would any of you care to step forward and address Mr. Mooar's concerns?”

“I'll start,” Hanrahan said. He stuck his thumbs in the waistcoat of his expensive suit and nodded in Mooar's direction. “First thing is, Billy Dixon and I are going partners in his part of the hunt down south. I'm going to bankroll his initial supplies, the best guns and horses and gear to be had, and those who sign up for his crew will have free use of it all.” That got the crowd excited—basically, Hanrahan and Billy would subsidize the rides and equipment of everyone who hired on with them. Their crew's share of the profits would be free and clear.

“You hear that, C.M.?” Masterson said exultantly. “You and me are going to make a pile of money!”

“Further, after a day's hard shooting and skinning, we'll have something better on offer than buffalo chips and water,” Hanrahan continued. “I'm going down with Billy and the boys, and wherever they choose
to settle I'm going to open a saloon. Beer, whiskey, sarsaparilla, bitters—whatever your drinking pleasure, we'll have it on hand.”

“And there's more,” A. C. Myers put in. “I'm going to open up a general store, with all the ammunition and amenities in constant stock. We've got some teamsters signed on, like the Scheidler boys—you back there? Give a wave, Isaac and Shorty—who'll keep me constantly resupplied. Fred Leonard's partnering up with me in this endeavor, and Fred's going to be right there with Billy and the rest. Oh, and don't fear inflated costs. I intend to charge about the same for all goods as I do here in Dodge. Cheerful, friendly, and reasonably priced service, as has always been the custom of the Pioneer Store ownership.”

Mooar flinched as though he'd been struck. He was a proud man and hated being shown up in public. For a moment it looked as though he'd stalk out of the saloon, but then he caught himself and said, “But what of us selling the hides in a timely manner? All the liquor and luxuries in the world are of no use if you lack the coin to buy them.”

Billy said calmly, “I believe that Mr. Rath can speak to that.”

Charlie Rath knew he wasn't especially popular with the hide men; he'd bargained all of them down too many times on prices for the skins they brought him. So, unlike A. C. Myers, who emphasized congenial customer relations in the new south camp, he spoke directly to business issues.

“I'm going to open a hide dealership wherever Billy chooses to stop down there; also a café of sorts. I don't have a cook yet, but I'll hire one. And every day I'll buy the skins brought in, unless they're chock-full of holes from faulty marksmanship. Fair prices as always. The teamsters will haul the hides back here to Dodge. It'll be business as usual. Oh, and I'll have a general store too. Best goods available”—he nodded at Myers—“and competitive pricing.”

“Tom O'Keefe is going to come with us and operate a blacksmith
shop,” Hanrahan added. “All we'll lack there by the Canadian'll be dancing girls, and we may bring in some of those by midsummer if we can find any who are willing.”

“Well,” Billy said, sounding pleased. “If that resolves your concerns, Mr. Mooar, I hope you'll consider throwing in with us. As you know from your own scouting, the buffalo will be coming along the Canadian in great numbers. Of that, there is no doubt. We'll have the firepower to discourage the Indians, and the means to keep ourselves paid for our skins and stocked up with supplies on a daily basis. Everything's been thought of. Come take advantage.” Mooar waved a deprecating hand in Billy's direction and shouldered his way out of the crowded saloon.

“All right, I'll be glad to talk to anybody with a mind to join my crew,” Billy said. “I guess that's it—wait, Jim Hanrahan wants to say something more.”

Hanrahan clapped his hands together sharply to get the crowd's attention. Everyone was buzzing excitedly. “One last thing. You heard me say I'll be going south with Billy next month. For those who remain behind, don't fear—Waters and Hanrahan's Occident Billiards Hall and Saloon will remain open for business here in Dodge, under the guidance of my partner Mose Waters and, after my departure, new assistant manager Cash McLendon. And now, to celebrate, one free round of beer for all. Don't try and hornswoggle a second one, for I'm keeping a sharp eye on the bartender.”

There was a surge toward the front of the room, with some men moving toward Billy and others pushing to the bar. A few paused briefly to slap McLendon on the shoulder and murmur congratulations. Masterson looked at him sorrowfully for a moment, then burrowed into the crowd around Billy. McLendon watched the merry melee for a few minutes, then went back to his room at the boardinghouse, where he tossed and turned for the rest of the night and tried, for perhaps the millionth
time, to calculate how long he would have to work at Hanrahan's before he had enough saved to get from Dodge City to Mountain View, and from there to San Francisco with Gabrielle and, maybe, her father.

•   •   •

B
AT
M
ASTERSON NEVER
got back to his room that night. In the morning McLendon found him slumped outside Hanrahan's. He roused his bedraggled friend and said, “Bat, surely you didn't sleep in the street.”

“I believe that I did. Are all my parts intact, or did stray dogs dine on me?”

“You got that drunk?”

Bat shrugged, then moaned as though the brief flexing of his shoulders hurt him. “I suppose so. I was celebrating. Billy said I could be part of his crew: skinner to start, but I'll be allowed to kill five buffs of my own during each day's hunting. So I figure five skins sold for, say, three dollars each, and also two bits for each of Billy's kills I skin, maybe ten of those at a time. Seventeen and a half dollars a day, less a little for food and reviving drink—that ain't bad. Plus, I'll so dazzle Billy with my marksmanship that he'll eventually promote me to full-fledged shooter. I'll be rolling in riches by summer's end.”

“I'm happy for you. That was what you wanted. Now let's get you cleaned up and ready to go out and work. Billy's not leaving for at least a couple of weeks, so you'll need money 'til then. Those buffalo bones won't collect themselves.”

“Give me a minute. I feel so bad, I'd have to get better to die. I can't wait to be done with buffalo bones. Pretty soon I'll be selling their hides instead, and the profits will be overflowing my pockets. God bless Billy Dixon.”

McLendon chuckled. “We should seek out Mrs. Olds, see if she might spare you a cup of coffee before we set off. That'll perk you up.”

“Maybe so.” Bat took a deep breath, straightened up, and blinked in the sun's glare. As they made their way slowly toward the boardinghouse, McLendon gently leading Masterson by the arm as though guiding an elderly invalid, Bat said, “And don't think I forgot Jim Hanrahan's announcement about you, C.M. But mark my words, you ain't going to spend a minute working for him here in Dodge. You're meant to come south with Billy Dixon and me. I know it in my heart.”

McLendon didn't argue, because he knew his friend's throbbing brain wasn't up to it. “We'll see, Bat. We'll see. Right now, let's just get you some coffee. We've got a long day ahead.”

•   •   •

D
ODGE FINALLY HAD
its own newspaper, and the
Dodge City Messenger
split space between predictions of when the tick line would move west and listing the latest locals to join Billy Dixon's southern hunting expedition. This was smart journalism, Cash McLendon reflected, because those were the two subjects everyone was talking about.

Rumblings from the state legislature indicated that a tick line decision would be coming by late summer or early fall. Factoring in time for Texas ranchers to get official notification and change their herds' route accordingly from Wichita to Dodge, many in town anticipated the first influx of cattle and cash-flush drovers by November or, at worst, March 1875, since cattle drives were routinely suspended during the harshest portion of winter.

That news as reported in the
Messenger
impacted the newspaper's other main topic, since some of the hide men and potential crew members who planned going south with Billy decided they had new, attractive career options. Bat Masterson was disgusted that his brothers Ed and Jim anticipated better prospects by staying in town and working in
saloons. Heath Lee said he would “stick around town—the hide business is just about done, so in one way or another I'm going to find a place in the cattle trade.” Gruff Henry Raymond astonished everyone by announcing he was staying on in Dodge too. His decision was dictated not by professional concerns but by romance.

“Me and Becky Travis are hitching up,” he told his stunned friends. “Becky don't favor a life of waiting around for me to return from long trips out on the hunt. So she's got me a job making repairs and such at Dodge House, where she does the cooking. We'll spend our days working shoulder to shoulder and our nights—well, a gentleman don't speak too plainly of that.”

“Jesus, Henry, you can't mean it,” Masterson protested. “That kind of life will never suit you. You were born to hunt by day and sleep out under the stars at night.”

“Perhaps up to now, but my present nightly choice is between wrapping up in a blanket on hard ground, listening to other men snore and fart, or snuggling in a warm bed with my honey. And that's no choice at all.”