TZU-LU WOKE THE NEXT MORNING to find his mother sitting at the end of his bed, gently patting his feet through the quilt.
“What time is it?” he asked her. The oil lamp on his mother’s dressing table was lit. Through the open window he could see stars.
“Quarter of six.”
“Why so early?”
“Your grandfather has an errand for you.”
Fully awake now, Tzu-lu wondered if this had anything to do with Jack Straw. Part of him hoped so. The more he saw of the famous gunfighter, the more stories he’d have for the other kids.
“What sort of errand?” he asked.
“Arms up.” His mother peeled his nightshirt off over his head and threw it in the hamper. Across his legs she spread a pair of rough woolen trousers and a matching work-shirt.
“Aren’t I going to bathe?” he asked.
“Not this morning.”
Tzu-lu glanced at the washtub in the corner beside his mother’s bed, and was surprised to see it dry. He’d never known his mother to miss a day’s wash. For some reason, the idea frightened him.
“Why am I wearing these?” he asked as he pulled on the pants.
But his mother didn’t answer. She had a cotton sack, just like the ones Tzu-lu had used to haul yesterday’s laundry, and was rapidly filling it with clothes from his dresser drawers. On top of the extra underclothes and shirts she placed his finest blue suit. It was made of silk, with black embroidery around the neck and wrists.
“Those are clean,” Tzu-lu protested.
“Finish dressing and come down to the store.”
“But where are my shoes?”
“Your grandfather says you must wear these.” Madame Yen pointed at a pair of old work boots standing beside the washtub.
Tzu-lu didn’t know what to think. He finished buttoning his shirt and pulled on the boots. The leather bit into both his ankles and toes. The heels clunked noisily with every step. Tzu-lu felt ridiculous.
As he stepped into the store, Tzu-lu was surprised to see both his mother and grandfather already hard at work. His mother was stacking baskets filled with rice, beans, and varying sorts of green produce, around the front door—which had for some reason been propped open—while his grandfather selected tools from the shelves and set them carefully into a pasteboard box. As soon as they saw Tzu-lu, both stopped what they were doing. His mother looked about ready to cry.
“Ready?” his grandfather asked him, cane hanging forgotten over one bony wrist.
“For what?” Tzu-lu asked.
“Impossible to say. By the end you ought to reach San Pablo and the Pacific, though even that’s not certain. If this Mr. MacLemore or his daughter should die along the way, well, I shouldn’t be surprised if the rest of you backed out of the whole adventure.”
“What adventure?”
His grandfather started to answer, but was interrupted by the sound of a wagon pulling up in front of the store. “That must be the other men,” he said. “Right on time.”
Seconds later, a black man sauntered through the open door. He was tall, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. A gun-belt was strapped high and tight over his right hip, and tied to his thigh with a bit of leather string. “I’m Henry,” he said.
Master K’ung greeted him warmly, offering him tea.
Henry looked at the baskets of vegetables stacked to either side of the door and shook his head. “Chino’s ready to load the wagon.”
They followed him outside. In the street stood the two largest horses Tzu-lu had ever seen. Both were the color of charcoal and neither an inch less than seven feet tall at the shoulder. Their hooves were as big around as dinner plates. Behind the horses was a Conestoga wagon, and climbing out of the back of that was what looked to be a Mexican man. He wore revolvers over both hips, and the cherry-wood grip of a derringer single-shot pistol poked from his vest pocket. He grinned at Tzu-lu’s mother, swatted the road dust from the front of his trousers with his hat, and said, “Listos?”
“Vegetables are over here,” Master K’ung said. “Tools are on the counter.”
Chino took a roll of bank-notes from his hip-pocket and handed them to Master K’ung. “That’s from Jack,” he said. His accent wasn’t too thick, but it was noticeable, and unlike any Tzu-lu had ever heard. “Jack” came out sounding like “Jyack.”
Henry had already begun to load the wagon. Madame Yen tried to help, but he waved her away. “Your boy can do it,” he said. “It’s his job.”
Tzu-lu didn’t even think to protest. He picked up a basket of rice and lifted it over the open drop gate. They shoved everything toward the front, stacking the foodstuffs between the bundles of lumber and the spare wheels. Tzu-lu was amazed at how much could be piled into a single wagon. Directly behind the driver’s seat was a huge wooden crate, covered by a heavy tarpaulin. There were also a half-dozen boxes marked “Bacon.” When all of the baskets had been packed away, they loaded Master K’ung’s tools, followed by the sack of clean clothes Tzulu’s mother had packed. Then Chino lifted and slid the drop-gate into place.
“I’ll tell Jack we’re ready,” Henry said. He mounted a horse that’d been tethered to a post across the street. It was a normal-size animal, nothing like the monsters that pulled the wagon. A rifle in a fringed scabbard bumped against Henry’s thigh as he rode away.
“Time to say adios,” Chino said to Tzu-lu.
“Adios?”
“To your Mama, chico.”
Tzu-lu looked at his mother. “Am I going with them?” he asked.
She responded by flinging her arms around his neck. Tzu-lu was shocked. He could feel the tears running down her cheeks and onto his shirt, but could think of no words to comfort her.
They stayed like that a full minute. Finally, and though his mother was still sobbing uncontrollably, Master K’ung pulled them apart.
“You must listen to Jack,” he said, as he led his grandson to the front of the wagon. Chino was already in the high seat, reins lying across his open hands. The enormous draft-horses pawed at the road, ready to be off.
“But why?” Tzu-lu asked. “Why are you sending me?”
Master K’ung smiled. “I am too old to go and your father is dead. It is Hsiao.” He patted the boy on the shoulder. “Time for you to be a man.”
Tzu-lu climbed up to the wagon seat. As soon as he was settled, Chino gave the reins a shake. The enormous horses started forward.
As they rounded the corner, Tzu-lu glanced back. To his surprise, it wasn’t his mother he saw standing in the street, watching the wagon as it pulled away, but his grandfather. Lion-dog sat at the old man’s feet.
“What was that your grandfather said to you?” Chino asked.
“Hsiao,” Tzu-lu said. “It means family honor, or something like that.”
“Good word.”
“I guess. What kind of horses are these?”
“God-awful.” Chino laughed at his own joke. “They’re Percherons. Soldiers at Fort Jeb Stuart think they’ll be good for hauling cannons.” He scoffed.
“How far is that?”
“Jeb Stuart? About five hundred miles. Mas o menos.”
Tzu-lu had never been more than a mile out of St. Frances. He’d only rarely left Chinatown. Now he was going half a world away. The idea made him queasy.
They rolled through a few more intersections, passing the homes of many of Tzu-lu’s friends. As they passed Jimmy Chiu’s house, a cold shiver ran up Tzu-lu’s spine. He wondered if he’d ever see any of his friends ever again. A lump formed in the back of his throat and tears welled up in his eyes.
Ten blocks on they came to a livery stable and Chino reined them to a stop. Henry’s horse was tied up out front. Chino made no move to climb down from the wagon, so Tzu-lu stayed where he was. The stable doors swung open and out strode Henry, followed closely by a stable boy leading a pair of horses. Behind the horses was Jack Straw.
Only one of the two horses was saddled. It had spots all over its coat, swirling to a single white splotch on its rump. Jack and Henry climbed onto their respective mounts, and then the stable-boy handed the lead for the unsaddled horse to Jack.
“Watch out for this one,” the stable-boy warned. “He’s fiery. I’m not sure your appaloosa can handle him.”
As though to prove the point, the stallion reared, nearly yanking the lead out of Jack’s hand. With a vicious jerk, Jack pulled the horse’s head back down. Then he spurred his horse, driving it into the side of the stallion and wedging him against the wall of the stable. The stallion tried to buck its way free, but Jack wouldn’t give it room.
“Calm down,” he said, looping his arm around the neck of the willful horse. Its eyes opened wide as the gunfighter leaned over and began talking in its ear.
Tzu-lu couldn’t understand a word he said, didn’t even recognize the language, but the horse must have. As Jack talked, the stallion not only calmed down, but also nodded its head, as though it agreed with every point Jack made, right down the line.
Finally Jack let the horse go. “Now, we’ve come to an agreement, right?” he said.
The stallion whinnied and shook out its mane, but made no further attempt to get away.
“That’s fine.” Jack tied the stallion’s lead to the back of his saddle.
They made one final stop before leaving town, at The Stars and Bars. It was generally considered to be the finest hotel in St. Frances, fit for presidents or royalty, though none had ever come to stay. According to Mr. Chung, who handled the hotel’s laundry, the maids changed the bed-sheets every single day. Tzu-lu would’ve liked to have gotten a peek inside, but never got the chance. As soon as their wagon drew up out front, a pair of uniformed doormen came racing down off the veranda, demanding that they move farther up the street. Reluctantly, Chino complied.
Only Jack was allowed to tie his horses in front of the hotel and go inside, though Tzu-lu thought Henry was more presentable. His clothes were only slightly better than Jack’s, but he’d shaved, and his boots were polished.
While they waited, Chino unbuckled his gun-belts and set them on the crate behind the wagon seat. He was missing the pinky finger on his left hand, Tzu-lu noticed.
“Chino,” Tzu-lu said. “I’ve never heard that name before.”
“My name’s Manuel Garcia. Folks just call me Chino.”
“Why?”
“Because I have slanty eyes. Like you.”
Henry, still sitting astride his horse, glanced over. “Maybe we ought to find you a new nickname,” he said, and winked at Tzulu. “This boy can be Chino from now on.”
“Oh, sure,” Chino agreed. “If you want to smile through a hole in your neck.”
“Well, we’ve got to call him something. What’s your name, boy?”
Tzu-lu told them.
Chino frowned. “If you’re coming with us you’ll need a nickname.”
“What do your friends call you?” Henry asked.
“Mostly they just call me Lu.”
“Needs spice,” Chino said. “But I can live with it ‘til I think of something better.”
They waited the better part of an hour before Jack finally returned. By then it was almost eight o’clock, and the streets were bustling with activity. Lu thought of his mother. Before long she’d be opening the shop. It was a warm May morning and the smells of coffee and bacon wafted down from the hotel dining room. Lu wondered what his mother would make for breakfast.
Jack didn’t say a word to anyone as he marched down the steps. Instead, he went to inspect a pair of horses that a uniformed porter was guiding out of an alley behind the hotel. Jack’s gray stallion whinnied as they approached.
When he was satisfied that both horses were sound, Jack climbed onto his appaloosa. “Our employers will be out soon,” he said, riding toward Chino’s side of the wagon. “They’re finishing breakfast.”
A few minutes later, a bizarre looking couple appeared at the hotel door. On the left stood a white gentleman, decked out in the finest suit of clothes Lu had ever seen. His gray trousers were tucked into a pair of tall black-leather riding boots, polished until they shone like mirrors. His coat was midnight blue, with silver piping on the cuffs and lapels. And on his head was a flat-brimmed beaver top hat.
The much younger woman with him was equally remarkable, though for very different reasons. She was dressed from toe to neck in men’s clothing. Not the finely tailored wools and cottons of her escort, but rough denim and buckskin, as might befit a cowboy. The only really feminine thing about her was her bonnet, white with yellow flowers, which she’d tied under her chin. Even her boots were masculine, not unlike something a rancher might buy for his son.
Her spurs rang as she trotted down the steps and leapt onto her horse. Lu felt the color rush to his cheeks as she swung her leg over the animal’s back. He’d never seen a white woman in trousers before. Chino must’ve been watching her as well, because he elbowed Lu in the ribs.
“These are our bosses,” Jack said. “John MacLemore and his daughter Sadie.”
Having been introduced, the gentleman descended the steps and climbed atop his horse. After him came two doormen, each carrying a packed valise. In addition to the luggage, one of the doormen also carried a pair of leather riding gloves, and the other one a guitar case, which he placed carefully atop the valises in the back of the wagon.
“And these must be our hired guns,” MacLemore said, slipping on his gloves. His voice sang beautifully, drawing out his words in a style Lu had long associated with riverboat pilots and cotton traders. He stretched the word “our” into three distinct syllables—“ah-ooh-ah”—but without the faintest hint of an “r”.
“I’ve never had the pleasure of acquainting myself with a Chinese,” he continued. “Or a … Mexican, is it?”
“Californio,” Chino corrected him.
“And this here’s your third man,” Jack said. “Henry Jesus.”
MacLemore looked over at Henry, and for a moment he appeared startled. “A negro—” he said to no one in particular. Then he rode his horse around to Henry’s side of the wagon and held out his hand. “Honored to have you with us, Henry.” His voice grew in volume, as though he hoped people all down the street might hear.
“Oh, for hell sake, Daddy,” Sadie muttered. “There ain’t nobody watchin’ you.” She had none of her father’s wonderful accent. The words just shot out, “r” and all, as though she had no idea how she sounded and didn’t care. Lu was amazed that they could be related at all, much less father and daughter.
MacLemore grinned sheepishly. “I suppose we ought to discuss contracts,” he said. “I’ve taken the liberty of having documents drawn up, providing for—”
“Not here,” Jack said. “Not ‘til we’ve crossed the Quapaw. Then we’ll get it all laid out, fair and square.”
MacLemore looked as though he might protest, but Jack left no room for discussion. Without another word, he wheeled his appaloosa around and headed out of town, dragging the gray stallion along behind him.