There was at that time in Bella, pitching its canvas tents and touching up the paint on its wagons, in the Old Tartar Paddock, an entertainment entitled the Major James Elphonsus Dandy’s Great Texas and Wild West Show; it was really a rather small outfit, a generation or so ahead of its time, but it always managed to pay the bills. Jim Dandy himself, an old goat-looking man and a veteran of the Mexican and Civil Wars, had been giving licks here and there with his paint-brush when along came his partner, Tex Teeter, looking mighty thoughtful.
“Roan Horse has got the spirit up, Jim. Moanin and carryin on. I wanted you should know.” He squatted down on his hunkers.
“Drunk again, I spect.”
“Nooo. Not drunk a-tall. Keeps moaning that Yellow Hair is in bad trouble. Says he hears the death whistle. And like that.”
“Who in the Hell is Yellow Hair?”
“Well now Jim I don’t rightly know. But hain’t that what the Injuns call George Custer?”
Dandy snorted. “Know whut I call George Custer. His outfit was next to mine at Bull Run, he weren’t hardly used to war, twas whut you might call his first stand and he hardly stood it a-tall. Well. How come he sendin smoke signals to Roan Horse — if it be him?”
Teeter pushed to one side on his head the high-crowded derby which he like most cattlemen preferred to the broad Stetson with its ridiculous fiappy brim, though newspaper and magazine artists somehow preferred to depict the latter. “Oh it beats me Jim. But I say that the Horse has got the spirit up, an — Ho. Hey! Looky thar! In that buggy yander! Hain’t that that old jack-ass Hiram Abiff Abercrombie?”
Jim Dandy squinted and peered. “Why I do b’lieve tis. Might’s well give’m a hoot and a toot.” He moved into the vehicle whose paint he had been touching up. A moment later a blast of steam smote the air, followed at once by a rather rough but immediately recognizable bar of Rally Round the Flag. The buggy drew up till it was enveloped in its own dust, the driver stood up and, leaning forward, looked around; then waved his arm, sat down, and drove towards them. “But say, you ott not t’call him a old jack-ass; he is after all a high government official an a veteran of the Great Rebellion.”
Teeter snorted. “Great.. . Humbug. Spent the war in them Territories, sellin bad booze to the Injuns an the paroled Rebel prisoners supposed t’ward ’em off, of which I was one — bad pies, too! Oh Lordy them was bad pies — crusts soft as mush, and the dried apples hard as leather.” And together the two men recited the well-known verse:
I loathe, detest, abhor, despise,
Abominate dried apple pies. . . .
“Major Dandy,” said Abercrombie, getting out of his buggy. “Corporal Teeter.”
“How do,” said the major, offering his grizzled paw.
“Mm,” said the corporal. Not doing so.
“Oh come come now. Let us bury the bloody shirt and clasp hands across the something-or-other chasm; boys, my rye’s all gone — anything to drink?”
Jim Dandy said he supposed they could broach the barrel of bourbon. “Though mind you, sparingly. The treasury is mighty low, and if no customers show up we’ll have to cancel the evenin show.”
General Abercrombie said, “Some sort of religious rally has got downtown tied in knots. No idea why; I do not hold with superstitions they being largely spread by Irish Jesuits, no offense to any mackerel-snappers who might be present. As for the other matter, poot! Breach the barrel and pour its contents out with a lavish hand; the Government of the United States shall pay for it; I’ll put it down as entertainment of irregular cavalry.” He fluttered his eyebrows and he licked his lips.
After a moment, former-Corporal Teeter asked, only slightly grudgingly, “How’s the Mrs.?”
“Sweating. That woman could sweat in the middle of a blizzard.” He nodded thanks, raised his glass. “To the glorious American eagle, long may it scream.” They drank.
“Well, now, your Mrs. a fine woman. Though the union did seem to me a bit mysterious. You’n her, I mean. Different”
Abercrombie uttered a suspiration of content “Mystery? Not at all. She was a woman of a certain age who had never been married and I was an office-holder out of office. Her uncle is Senator Adelbert de la Der- riere, of Delaware, Chairman of the Senate Foreign Affairs Committee, and a staunch Republican with his pockets full of patronage; there is no mystery; say, aren’t you going to give all hands a drink?”
Jim Dandy re-entered the cabin of his steam-calliope. Another blast of water music smote the air, followed by the music to the line, “There’s Whiskey in the Jar.” Figures seemed to arise out of the earth, holding cups, mugs, jam-glasses, and pannikins. “Make you all acquainted,” said Tex, as Major Jim poured. “Bloodgood Bixbee; Cockeyed Joe; Dead- wood Dick; Vermont Moses; Hebrew Moses; Shadrack Jackson, a former black buffalo soldier; Gettysburg Sims —”
“Gentlemen. Delighted.”
“Lance-Thrower, Big Prairie Dog, Minnetonka Three Wolves, Roan Horse, Crow-Killer —”
“Don’t stop pouring. My Redskinned friends. Delighted. In war, enemies. In peace, friends. But. Roan Horse. Why the paint?”
In a dolorous chant, Roan Horse announced that Yellow Hair was in trouble, that he (Roan Horse) saw many smokes and heard the deathwhis- tle and heard the eagle scream ... and that the sun either wouldn’t rise or wouldn’t set. He uttered a groan, and began to drink.
“What’s all this about, boys?”
Teeter grunted. Smacked his lips. Told him. “Pshaw,” said the United States Minister. “More superstition!”
“Well. Gen’ral, you think just as you like, but last time Roan Horse had the spirit up, was’t the last time — the first time — don’t matter; why he set around moaning Frog, Frog, complained he had pains in the small of his back something fierce; whut come to pass? Hardly a few days later we heard the French Emperor had a attack a thuh kidney colic something fierce and had surrendered his hull army to the Proosians, now didn’t we, Jim?”
“Well, that’s for true. We did. Say, who is this?”
“This” was a uniformed figure who came galloping up on a light- cavalry-type horse; quickly dismounting, he asked, “Sir. Are you not the American Minister?”
“I am, young sir. And you?”
The young sir said that he was Engelbert Eszterhazy, an Imperial Equerry; he seemed extremely agitated, maintaining his composure with some difficulty. “Ah, thank God, Your Excellency, I thought I recognized your vehicle — Sir! A terrible situation has arisen. The Count Calmar has evidently been kidnapped, and I am unable to get across the city or through the city in order to report it to any of our authorities; I don’t know what is happening, and I entreat your help as an emissary.” “Have a drink, Cornet.”
“No, no, I —”
“Cornet, an emissary of a friendly nation to the Court of your country, I direct you to have a drink!” A tin cup being put in his hand, young Cornet Eszterhazy drank. To be precise, he gulped. He shuddered. He staggered, put out an arm for balance. The cowboys laughed. Even the Indians smiled.
“This is not Tokay!” he gasped.