21

West of Salina, Kansas

The conductor came through the train, announcing the end of the line. They were truly in the middle of nowhere. Passengers would have to transfer to stagecoach to continue further. Will looked through the pouch he’d been given by the clerk at the Office of Indian Affairs. Along with some cash which he’d counted several times over during the long journey—it was the first real salary he’d ever received—and his Documents of Appointment which were in a sealed envelope he was to present to the Commanding Officer upon arrival, he confirmed he had vouchers for the next day’s stage to Fort Sumner and for an overnight stay in a hotel here.

He was still baffled at how easily he’d gotten the job. He’d only been in Washington one day. It was just as Harry Burnside had promised. He was, indeed, on his way to the wide world out West. He was going to be an Indian Agent. He said the words over and over again to himself. He was proud. And he was frightened. What have I gotten myself into? The idea of helping the Indians become assimilated into civilized society appealed to his moral notions of virtue, but the Union was also waging a war with them. His experience of the soldiers killing the buffalo from the train the day before still rattled him. He realized that soon he was going to be living in a military fort with soldiers all around him.

As the train pulled to a stop, he could see that the town that had developed at the current end of the line of the Union-Pacific Railway was primarily an array of wooden corrals along with a hodgepodge of tents and a few makeshift buildings, the railroad depot one of them. It was here that westward travelers transferred to stagecoach or those returning east came for the train to take them home, along with the cattle. Will realized these so-called cowtowns had little to do with the human passengers, like himself, and a lot to do with the cattle to be loaded for transport back East.

This was a loading point for the cowboys driving their cattle herds north from the Texas grasslands. As Will wandered down the main street of the settlement, the cowboys he saw surprised him. Almost all of them were just that: boys. Only a few looked to be beyond their mid-twenties; some seemed no older than twelve or thirteen. Most were Negro or Mexican. Though they were covered in dust—everything was covered in dust—some of the cowboys were quite good-looking, and a couple seemed to throw friendly glances his way. But Will talked to nobody; he was tired and went directly to the hotel as instructed by the stationmaster.

It was a hardly a hotel, but rather a compound of tents set up behind the saloon which was the biggest actual wooden building in the town. Because Will was a government Agent, he got a tent all to himself. It was surprisingly well furnished with a brass bed, comfortable straw mattress, a stool, and even a small writing desk. Down the way from his tent was a public wash area and an enclosure with a bathtub inside. For an extra nickel, one could get the tub filled with hot water. Will splurged on himself. His birthday was coming up. Besides, he wanted to be fresh for the next morning’s stagecoach ride.

He ate supper in the saloon and then ordered his bath drawn. While he sat in the hot water relishing the feeling of being clean for the first time in days, he was grateful for the perquisites of government service. But he felt guilty about getting such special treatment. He thought about the young cowboys sleeping crowded together in their tents; he didn’t think many of them could have gotten accommodations as nice as his. There was something exciting and forbidden about thinking of the cowboys. He pictured them, not reclining in private baths, but all standing around, stripped to the waist, washing themselves from a common tub.

He wondered what it would be like to be one of those cowboys, out on the range with only another cowboy for company. He thought fondly of Michael. He hoped he’d gotten to Norfolk safely and maybe was even now sailing the high seas.

After his bath, Will sauntered through town. There were enough cowboys around that the dancehall, and several nearby saloons were all doing brisk business. He wandered from one to another enjoying the manly camaraderie of the celebrating men. Most of them had also cleaned up and changed out of their dusty clothes. He thought they all looked ready for Sunday church, but he guessed that’s not what they were thinking about.

Most of these men had been out on the trail. They were all likely to have given themselves over to celebration. Behind him, young men jostled each other to reach the bar. Will imagined they could handle a lot more beer than he. He was not a drinker, and the couple of beers he had drunk had already made him dizzy. It was time to go back to his tent and get some sleep. He downed the last swig in his glass and, with an unintentionally loud bang, set the glass on the bar.

He was just stepping back to make room when a voice spoke up out of the crowd just behind his ear, “Perdón, señor. Leaving so early?”

Will turned around. A Mexican man right behind him was reaching past him to get the bartender’s attention. “No vaya ahora,” he said.

“Huh? What did you say? You want here? At the bar?”

Will was frightened by the idea of talking with a stranger. And at the same time, he was thrilled. This man’s features looked so exotic to him and interesting.

“Ah… do not go,” the man said. “Buenos noches… Er, good evening.”

“Oh. Good evening.”

“Me llamo Jose.” Then the man corrected himself for Will’s benefit, “My name is Jose Flores. I noticed the color of your eyes… ”

“I’m Will, Will Lee,” He was used to people remarking on his unusual eye color. With a dash of daring from the beer, he added in imitation, “Llama Will.”

“Me llamo,” the Mexican cowboy corrected him, “My name is Will.”

“No, I’m Will,” he said, making a joke, “You’re Jose.”

“Sí. Yo soy Jose. Tu eres Will.” They both laughed.

Will liked the way his name sounded with the Spanish accent. “You are Mexican?”

“Sí, señor.”

“I’ve never met a Mexican before. In fact, I’ve never met any foreigner in my whole life.”

“Yo no soy extranjero. You are the foreigner.”

“Huh?” Will was bewildered.

Jose laughed. “I say you are the foreigner here. This land used to be Mexico.”

“You live here?” Will asked.

“Oh, no. I am a vaquero.”

“Huh?”

“A cowboy,” Jose puffed out his chest just a little. “I am driving cattle from Texas for the train.” Will could see the muscles of Jose’s chest under his shirt.

”And you?” Jose asked. ”Is this your home?”

“I am going to Fort Sumner in New Mexico Territory. I guess I don’t have a home anywhere.”

“We are alike then,” Jose said. His eyes cheered up. He grinned at Will and then reached out and gently ran his hand down the back of Will’s neck, smoothing his hair.

Will shivered at the touch. Jose reminded him of Michael, though the vaquero’s olive skin was much darker. He had thick black hair that fell down evenly on both sides of his face. He looked to be a couple of years younger than Will. His eyes were dark brown with long lashes. His face was round, and his nose was aquiline, giving him a kind of Indian look, but also, Will thought, a Roman handsomeness. He looked both so gentle and innocent and so manly at the same time.

“¿Cerveza?” Jose asked, turning to look right into his face. Will could tell Jose had seen him staring at him. He didn’t seem in the least displeased.

“Huh?”

“¿Cerveza?” he pointed to Will’s empty glass.

“Oh, no. I’ve had enough. I was just leaving…”

“Me too,” Jose said.

They went outside together and walked up and down the short section of street that comprised the little town.

“I grew up with other muchachos. None of us had familias, so we became each others’ familia. We learned to hunt the wild cattle. The Americanos want Texas beef. Us cowpokes, we round up the longhorns and drive ’em here to the railroad depot, then ride back down to Texas to hunt more longhorns.”

Jose showed Will how the cattle were herded into the corrals and then into railroad cars. Will rejoined with the story of the buffalo stampede he’d seen from the train. They both agreed shooting the buffalo and leaving the bodies to rot was immoral.

Will explained about his job as apprentice to the Indian Agent at Fort Sumner. Jose was not too enthusiastic about Indians. He warned him to be careful. He admitted he’d never experienced it personally, but he said he’d heard that the Indians could be very dangerous. He said his own people frequently had to fight off Indian attacks. He added that sometimes these attacks resulted in Indians’ being taken prisoner and that the prisoners were sometimes sold into slavery.

Will was not happy to hear about anybody being sold into slavery. “Slavery is stupid. How are you going to force a full-grown Indian captive to be any kind of useful servant?”

Jose answered that the Indians taken prisoner were usually children, not adults, so they could be trained.

“Indian children are riding in attacks on the settlers?”

“Yo no sé.”

They walked in silence. On the edge of town, Will could see tents and campfires scattered out on the plain. “You got a campsite out there?”

“The trailmaster set up camp for me and my compadres. I think I can find my way back there. How about you, mi amigo? Where are you sleeping?”

“The Indian Office arranged for me to stay back of the dancehall. Got a really nice tent that’s set up almost like a room in a regular hotel.”

“Ay, I’ve not ever seen a hotel.”

“You’ve never seen a hotel? Well, you wanna see this one?” Will half knew what he’d just started. He was scared, but thrilled, and his heart was beating like mad.

“Bueno.”

Will didn’t know if he was allowed to bring guests back to his room. So he brought Jose around to the back of the tent compound and led him through the wash area.

“This sure is a grande tent you got here, all solo,” Jose looked about in wonder as he followed Will into the room.

Will said innocently, “Why don’t you get one like this yourself?”

Jose’s eyes widened. “Ay, I could never afford such a thing. But even if I could, I think perhaps the trail boss stays here. He might think I should not be in as grand a hotel as him.”

Will was struck with the reality of the world, that even out here on the freewheeling frontier men were supposed to preserve the rules of social stratification that separated them. This separation of men by class and position was exactly what Mr. Whitman was complaining about.

Jose interrupted his thought by announcing, “Besides, I usually sleep with five other caballeros, all crowded together.”

“Is that a hardship?” Will again felt guilty about having such affluence. He imagined poor Jose impoverished and deprived.

“On cold nights when we gotta help each other stay warm, it can be entertaining…” Jose’s accent made the word “entertaining” sound so portent.

I wonder just who has been deprived, Jose or me? I’ve been in hotels and fancy buildings and ridden on modern trains. But I’ve never been with other men in a tent, at least, not men like these…

“You like that idea?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Will buried his face. He couldn’t bring himself to look into Jose’s dark eyes.

“Or maybe just the two, yo no sé… like you and me. Now.”

“I dunno.” Will wanted to look up.

Having thought about Walt Whitman, Will rushed over to the little desk beside the bed and lit the kerosene lamp. He adjusted the flame of the lamp so it wasn’t too bright. He felt funny about its casting shadows on the walls of the tent. Maybe somebody will see there are two people in here when there’s only supposed to be one!

Out of shyness, Will changed the subject. He picked up the book on the desk and showed it Jose.

“Un libro.” Jose took the thin volume and flipped through the pages while holding the book upside down. “What is this?”

As Will took the book back from Jose’s hand, their fingers touched. He turned the book over and pointed to the words on the cover, “It says Leaves of Grass.”

“Ay, you can read! I never met anyone who can read.”

“My mother taught me, and I went to school. Didn’t you?”

“How can a Mexicano niño in Texas go to school? I never even seen a school. I can’t remember the last time I saw a book. Read me something.” Jose sat down on the bed, very careful not to muss the coverlet.

Will pulled the wicker stool over close to the lamp so he could see. He paged through the book looking for something he thought Jose would appreciate. The young Mexican’s desire to watch him read touched him.

Jose’s eyes gleamed as he waited for Will to select something from the book. Will found one of the sections he’d read on the train and had marked so he could find it again. He looked up. He saw the light in Jose’s eyes. He wasn’t sure he’d picked a good passage, but he began to read.

Clear to me now, standards not yet published,

Clear to me that my Soul,

That the Soul of the man I speak for,

Feeds, rejoices only in comrades.

Here, by myself, away from the clank of the world,

Tallying and talked to here by tongues aromatic,

No longer abashed… I proceed,

For all who are, or have been, young men,

To tell the secrets of my nights and days,

To celebrate the need of comrades.

“Es magnífico,” Jose said when he had finished. “What does it mean?”

“Well,” Will responded slowly, not knowing for sure how to answer, “I’m only beginning to figure it out for myself. The writer—his name is Walt Whitman—is a peaceful man. Like you, Jose. He doesn’t like war or competition. He says the goal in life is to develop friendship. The highest good for everybody will come from men uniting in what he calls ‘the dear love of comrades,’ irrespective of their race or class or… or… whatever else. Only when we release our feelings for each other, and stop suppressing our love, will we get beyond the conflicts that divide us.”

“You get all that from reading, I can’t believe it. That book says it a lot better—you explain it a lot better—than I could, but in a way this is what us caballeros, us cowpokes, feel for each other, this ‘dear love of comrades.’ I don’t know anything else. I’ve never been with a woman. I can count on my fingers the few times I’ve ever even seen a woman since I left my home. I hardly remember what a woman looks like.” Jose grinned widely in exaggeration. “Have you seen any since you’ve been out here?”

“Nope.” Will knew he’d seen women in the dancehall earlier, but he played along with Jose’s jest. “Guess not.”

“See what I mean? Except for the Indians, this is a country of men and boys. Sometimes whores pass through at the railroad junctions, and some of the caballeros buy their favors. But I don’t know as I’d want to. Me, I’m just satisfied to stay with my cowpokes.”

“You speak English well.” Will changed the subject away again. Nonetheless, his eye was attracted to the curve of Jose’s chest. The cowboy was sitting in such a way that his shirt gapped open, and the smooth surface of muscle showed taut and supple.

“Since I’ve been workin’ for the Texans, my English is better. I’m real good at languages. Say, I can speak Navajo and Comanche and even a little French,” Jose announced proudly. “You want to hear something?”

“Sure, what can you say?”

“Tu as yeux vert.”

“What’s that?”

“Tú tienes ojos verdes,” Jose said. “You have green eyes. In French. There was a Frenchman worked for the trail boss. We got to be real friendly for a while, and he taught me.”

“Can you say it in Navajo? I’m going to be working with the Navajos.”

“Uh, that is muy difícil, ” Jose laughed. “It is a strange language.”

As Jose touted his language skills, Will could not take his eyes off the cowboy’s body. He remembered the feel of Michael Halyerd’s body pressed against his.

Jose held his gaze. Then very softly he repeated his sample of French; only this time it didn’t sound like a language drill. “Tu as yeux vert. Très jolie yeux vert.”

Even though Will didn’t understand the second part of Jose’s sentence, he blushed. He looked into Jose’s dark eyes and was lost in the welcoming smile.

“I see desire in your eyes,” Jose said. “If you have desires, why not do what you want to do?” He spoke very quietly as if to avoid breaking a spell. Then he leaned forward and kissed Will. It was a light kiss, but full of meaning. “The dear love of comrades.” Jose reached out to Will to pull him toward the bed he was sitting on.

Will gratefully let himself be pulled into Jose’s arms. Jose stood and hugged him tightly. Then he gently released his hold and, smiling widely, guided him to lie down atop the coverlet. Then he climbed up onto the bed and lay down on top of him. Jose’s body pressed down along the full length of Will’s, and his cheek felt warm against Will’s own.

Jose pulled his face away and looked into Will’s eyes, then lowered his head so his lips brushed the corners of the other’s lips, then slowly wet Will’s lips with his tongue. He kissed him deeply in the way that Will had been kissed only one time before, by Michael.

This time, the kiss and the lovemaking that was going to follow would not be interrupted, he knew. After a while, Will’s anxiety abated, and he stopped worrying about getting caught by some raving judgmental lunatic. Relief and excitement rushed in to fill the void.

Jose unbuttoned Will’s shirt and pulled at it to get it off. Will sat up a little and took over undressing himself while Jose stripped his own shirt off. Jose then kissed him on the neck, lightly biting at his skin. He had his legs astride Will’s hips. He sat back on his haunches and gently, playfully slid his buttocks against Will’s pelvis.

Jose unclasped the buckle of Will’s belt and opened the top couple of buttons of his trousers. Then he rolled over onto the bed and undid his own pants and kicked them down.

“Let me show you what we do for fun.”

“This won’t hurt, will it?”

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Señor Will. It’s all for fun. The whole idea is to feel good and enjoy this lovely body you’ve got.” He tapped Will’s belly.

To get their trousers off, they both had to struggle with shoes and boots. Then Jose positioned Will in the middle of the bed and curled around so he knelt next to him. He bent down and took Will in his mouth, sucking and licking. Will lay back and let the sensations pour through him; never had he known anything like this. His boyish cuddling and humping with Michael had been wonderful, but it hadn’t been as deliberate or self-aware. Jose obviously knew what he was doing. This really is going to be making love.

“¡Dulce!”

“Huh?”

“Sweet cock,” the Mexicano translated. “You are a dulce man. A man with a dulce cock.” He giggled at his jumble of the languages.

Will cringed at the words. A part of him was gratified to be called “sweet”; it’s how he’d always wanted to think of himself. Another part of him felt frightened and repelled by the word “cock.” Will knew the other boys had words like that for their sex; he’d heard them talking at school about these things that he’d learned were forbidden and reprehensible. He’d never dared think of himself with a cock.

He looked down and watched Jose suck his sweet cock. Thinking such forbidden words about himself thrilled and aroused him—and seemed to free him from that past. Seeing the length and girth of his cock disappearing into the other man’s mouth sent waves of pleasure through him. These merged with the sensations of Jose’s tongue caressing and stimulating the head of his penis, and his consciousness reeled with gladness.

The Mexican cowboy slid his face down between Will’s legs and licked his testicles and then ran his tongue along the inside of his thighs. The pleasure surged through Will even stronger and made him groan and squirm lustily. Jose spit in his hand and rubbed the saliva over his own cock, working it deftly to full hardness. Next he crossed Will’s legs at the ankles and then turned and lay down on top of him. Jose slipped himself between Will’s wetted thighs. He supported his weight on outstretched arms, so he could maneuver his torso, and began to thrust in long smooth strokes.

Will hadn’t understood how men would have sex with each other. He barely understood how men and women had sex. What went where? He had, of course, brought himself to orgasm before—and he’d had some sort of sex with his friend in the barn. But those experiences had almost always been furtive and fraught with shame. He had always kept his sexual feelings secret, almost even from himself. Now experiencing arousal like this—with another man who also enjoyed the feelings and with no worry about getting caught—abolished all the secrecy.

He knew from his experience with Michael that two men could touch and hold each other, and their arousal would bring on pleasure and orgasm, but he thought that having sex and making love was something more than that.

And this is it!

Feeling Jose’s body tucked into his, he was amazed to discover that the arousal wasn’t just in his genitals. Over his whole body he felt alive, tingling with energy. And, indeed, this kind of makeshift intercourse seemed so totally natural. Of course, this is how men could have sex. It isn’t a matter of connecting complementary organs as it is just giving each other pleasure.

He strained to get closer. He ran his hands down the smooth expanse of Jose’s hard-muscled back. He cupped the cowboy’s buttocks in his hands and held tight, letting himself be rocked back and forth by Jose’s thrusts. By now, both of them perspired freely, and their sweat-lubricated skin moved easily over each other’s.

Jose quivered and trembled against him. He reared up and threw his head back; he shook his hair wildly and moaned. He thrust deep and long between Will’s thighs. Then he opened his eyes and saw Will watching him. He smiled affectionately and craned his neck down to press his mouth against Will’s.

As that kiss deepened, everything went out of Will’s mind. He felt himself go all to jelly as his muscles began to move on their own as by reflex. His testicles contracted, and the warmth deep inside moved upward and out onto his belly against Jose’s. He shuddered and convulsed in pleasure like never before. Then Jose, too, came. Will felt the hot fluid ooze against the base of his testicles and the inside of his thighs.

Jose lowered himself and clutched Will tightly. They squeezed themselves together harder and harder, trembling as pleasure continued to rush through them both. Then Jose relaxed, his breathing slowed, and he started to laugh softly.

“What are you laughing at?” Will asked self-consciously.

Jose raised up and looked into his eyes. “How wonderful bodies are.” He pecked him on the lips. “How wonderful your body is, señor.”

They both laughed as the last echoes of orgasm surged through them, then lay together silently a long time. The young Mexican’s easy wisdom of sex and love flooded into Will as though through some queer and heretofore unexperienced conjugation of souls. Will began to understand more than ever what Walt Whitman had talked about. The love of comrades took on a more concrete meaning as he lay with the cowboy. He felt such gratitude toward Jose for showing him how to feel love and pleasure. The condemnations of his father, of Lynchburg, of upstanding Christian society—all were behind him. He had, indeed, reached a new frontier, in more than one sense.

At first light, Jose roused him. He’d already slipped back into his clothes. “I’m going back to the campsite of mis caballeros. I think I should get out of here before all the hotel guests wake up.”

Jose kissed him on the lips. “Gracias, señor. Muchas gracias for this dear love of comrades,” he said touchingly. “Hasta luego. Til we meet again, Will. Vaya con Dios.”

Will smiled wistfully as Jose slipped out the flap of the tent and disappeared. Will I ever see him again? What other discoveries about the dear love of comrades—and about myself—might I have in this unexpected journey?