CHAPTER NINE
They picked up a variety of supplies at the mercantile, whatever they thought Taco and Desi’s cousin would not already have in his wagon. Then they went back to the livery to get their eight horses. While there, they also rented a buckboard to take their supplies back to the ranch. When they left town they had seven of their remuda tied to the back—with one pulling the buckboard—along with Chance’s mount, since he was driving the buckboard.
Chance had muttered all afternoon about paying the two young cowboys twenty-five dollars in advance. He was convinced they would never see them again.
“And you,” he added to Jake as they rode back to the ranch, “you crotchety old cuss, you believe ’em when they say they’ll be there.”
“I think they were interested in goin’ to Dodge City,” Jake said.
“Well, that Dundee was, but the other one? Curly? I don’t know about him.”
“He’ll go where Dundee goes,” Jake said. “You know what your problem is?”
“What?”
“They reminded you of us.”
“What?”
“That’s right,” Jake said. “You’re seein’ you and me at that age all over again.”
“Aw, Jesus, you’re crazy,” Chance said. “For one thing, I ain’t never played poker for matchsticks.”
“That’s about the only difference,” Jake said. “That Curly, he follows Dundee around like you used to follow me.”
“I used to follow you?” Chance exploded. “Now I know you’re crazy. Hey, where you goin’?”
Jake rode up ahead of the buckboard, which was dragging a lot of horse weight behind it. Chance was still shouting at him . . .
They pulled to a stop in front of the barn and, as they climbed down, untied the horses and walked them into the corral. Chance was still muttering. Jake was starting to think his friend needed a drink, but he didn’t want to give it to him. He had hoped that the one beer they had in the saloon would hold him over.
“Me follow you, that’s a laugh,” Chance grumbled as they closed the gate of the corral.
“I think you need some coffee,” Jake said.
“I think you’re right,” Chance said. “And you got anythin’ to eat?”
“I don’t know,” Jake said. “Desi mighta cleaned out my cellar last night.”
“Guess we shoulda eaten somethin’ in town before we left,” Chance complained.
“Well,” Jake said as they walked the horse and buckboard into the barn and started to unhitch the animal, “maybe our new cook’ll have somethin’ in his wagon.”
“That’s a thought,” Chance said. “We’ll get to sample his cookin’ before we hit the trail with ’im.”
They walked the unhitched horse into the corral with the others, then unsaddled their mounts and put them into their stalls. After rubbing them down and making sure they had feed, they also put some food out for the corralled horses before finally walking to the house.
Instead of going inside, they each sat down in a chair on the porch.
“How come you ain’t got a rockin’ chair out here?” Chance asked. “I always saw you in my head sittin’ in a rockin’ chair.”
“Now who’s crazy?” Jake asked. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in a rockin’ chair.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, during which Chance rolled a cigarette and lit it.
“Want me to roll you one?” he asked.
“No, thanks.”
More silence, and then Jake spoke.
“Abby bought me one.”
“One what?”
“Rockin’ chair!”
“She did? When?”
“The year before . . . when I turned forty-five.”
“I was still here,” Chance said. “How come I didn’t know that?”
“Because I sent it back,” Jake said. “She had it delivered from Denver, but what was she thinkin’? I wasn’t ready for no rockin’ chair. I returned it and got the money back.”
“How did she react?”
“How did she react to everythin’?” Jake asked. “She laughed.”
Chance knew what he meant. Abby Motley went through life with that smile on her face, and he knew that she died with that smile there, because Jake had been sitting next to the bed, holding her hand when she went.
“Well,” Chance said, “if you had a rockin’ chair I think I’d be sittin’ in it right now.”
“What time is it?” Jake asked.
Chance took a pocket watch out of his vest and peered at it.
“Almost suppertime,” he said, putting it back.
“You hear that?”
“Hear what?” Chance asked.
“Listen.”
They both listened, and heard the sound of metal on metal.
“Wow, I ain’t heard that sound in a long time,” Chance said, “Pots and pans in the back of a chuckwagon.”
As they listened the sound came closer and closer, then they recognized Taco, riding in ahead of his cousin’s wagon.
“Hola, jefe,” he called out. “We are here!”
“I can hear it,” Jake said, standing up. “Where’s Desi?”
“Ridin’ with the wagon,” Taco said. “Do you want it to stop right here?”
“No,” Jake said. “Put it in the barn and we’ll have a look, there.”
“And meet your cousin,” Chance said, also standing.
“Sí, señores.”
Taco turned and rode back to catch the wagon before it approached the house. As they watched, it came into view, with Desi alongside. Taco pointed, and the wagon changed direction and went right into the barn, its pots-and-pans serenade coming to an end.
Jake and Chance walked to the barn, entered as Desi was dismounting and another man was jumping down from the wagon. The three men began to chatter in Spanish.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Chance said. “Stop all the Mex talk. We can’t understand a word yer sayin’.”
“Oh, excuse us, Señor Chance,” Taco said. “We are excited to be here.”
The wagon looked loaded, pots and pans actually hanging off the outside.
“Señores,” Desi said, “this is our cousin, Carlito.”
Carlito smiled broadly and shook their hands. He was even smaller in stature than Taco, but with the same large smile. He appeared to be between the age of Desi (twenties) and Taco (forties).
“Con mucho gusto, señores,” Carlito said, also shaking Chance’s hand. “I am very much lookin’ forward to this venture.”
“Well, con much gusto, too, Carlito,” Chance said. “but do you think you could cook somethin’ for us tonight? We’re starved.”
“As are we, señores,” Carlito said. “Come, I will prepare a feast.”
He got in his wagon and started handing out supplies to each man to carry into the house.
“If you cook all this, Carlito, will you have enough for the drive?” Jake asked.
“Oh, señor,” Carlito said, “I have stocked up very well, but we will also be able to acquire supplies along the way, no?”
“Yeah, we will,” Jake assured him.
“Then muy bien, señor,” Carlito said. “Tonight we eat well.”
And they all made their way to the house, each laden with his own donation to the upcoming feast . . .
. . . AND A FEAST it was.
Carlito proved his skill with pots and pans, and with beef and vegetables as well. He also prepared biscuits and tortillas. The meal was a combination of American and Mexican, as if he were auditioning for the job.
And if he were auditioning for the job, he passed with flying colors.
The icing on the cake was freshly prepared flan and strong coffee.
“If you can do this on the trail, Carlito,” Chance said, “we’re all gonna arrive in Dodge City much fatter than when we left here.”
“Do not worry, señor,” Carlito said. “You will be eating very well.”
“Did you find your extra hands, jefe?” Taco asked Jake.
“We did,” Jake said.
“Maybe,” Chance said. “If they show up in the mornin’.”
“At eight we’re gonna ride out to the herd,” Jake told them all. “If all’s well with them, we’ll get ’em movin’.”
“Why would they not be well?” Desi asked.
“I’m just sayin’,” Jake said, “I ain’t been out there in a few days.”
“If I know you, jefe,” Taco said, “your herd is clean of disease, and fit for the drive.”
“Let’s hope you’re right, Taco,” Jake said. “I ain’t what I used to be.”
“Do not worry, jefe,” Taco said, “it will all come back to you.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Jake looked across the table at Chance, who was frowning into his coffee cup. He needed a drink.
“All right,” Jake said, “Taco and Desi, you can show your cousin where he can sleep tonight.”
“Sí, jefe,” Desi said, standing up.
“And the kitchen, señor?” Carlito asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jake said. “I’ll clean it in the mornin’, before we leave.”
“Sí, jefe,” Carlito said, and followed his cousins out.
The coffeepot was still on the table, and still half full.
“More coffee, Chance?” Jake asked.
“I don’t think—”
“With a touch of sweetener?”
“Oh, Jesus, yes,” Chance said.
Jake got the whiskey bottle from his desk, poured the coffee, and added the whiskey.
“That’s it,” he said as Chance lifted the cup to his mouth, “that’s the last one.”
Chance looked at him over the rim of the cup and said, “Until Dodge.”
“Until Dodge,” Jake agreed.
Chance drank it down and set the cup on the table.
“Not another drink until the job is done, Jake,” he promised. “I swear.”
“I believe ya, Chance.” He finished his. “The same goes for me, and for every man. No whiskey on the drive.”
“Don’t do that on my account,” Chance said.
“I’m not, I just don’t want any mistakes because of drunkenness.”
“Better make your new boys aware of that,” Chance said, getting to his feet.
“Oh, I will.”
As Chance left the dining room he said over his shoulder, “If they show up.”