9

Back at work at the Todd Ranch, Henry found himself stretching the new barbed wire, which someone else had been required to haul back to the ranch, with another cowboy, named Milo. Milo was about Henry’s age, and, like most of the cowboys in that part of the Nation, white. He was likable enough, Henry thought, though not particularly bright—a little slow on the uptake. The day was hot and the work was hard and tedious. Henry would much rather have been working with cows, branding and roping, rounding them up, herding, castrating bulls even, almost anything other than stringing wire. Stringing wire didn’t even seem to Henry like cowboy’s work. He didn’t like the new wire anyway, with its vicious barbs that could rip the flesh of a cow or horse—or a man. He had heard that a white man in Illinois had invented the wire, and that there was a dispute up there over just who actually owned the patent—who was the actual inventor. Henry thought that only a white man could have come up with an idea as wicked as barbed wire, and only a white man would claim another’s invention for his own and wind up in court over the whole thing. He banged a staple into the post at which he was working, then sat back heavily on the ground and pulled the bandanna out of his rear pocket to wipe the sweat from his face.

“Milo,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s take a breather.”

“Yeah,” said Milo, moving over to sit beside Henry, “I can use one.”

Henry lay back in the dirt with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Milo,” he said, “what are you going to do with your life?”

Milo looked at Henry, his face wrinkled in puzzlement.

“What?” he said.

“You going to break your back like this for somebody else all your life? Sweating in the sun? Eating dust? Stringing this bob wire and tearing your gloves up? Cutting your hands? Getting blisters?”

“Well,” said Milo, “I don’t intend to work here forever.”

“Where are you going then? Some other ranch? One ranch is about like another,” said Henry, and he felt something sinister welling up inside him. “What are you going to do?”

“Aw, I don’t know. Hell, I—”

“Milo,” Henry interrupted, “would you be interested in making some easy money?”

Milo leaned forward. He had taken the bait. Henry didn’t dislike Milo. In fact, he kind of liked him in spite of Milo’s slow wit. He wasn’t really much good for conversation for a man like Henry who, in spite of his lack of formal education, had been a voracious reader for as long as he could remember. But the main thought in Henry’s mind, other than the desire to accomplish his immediate goal, was the irony of what he had in mind. It was white people who had spoiled the Cherokee Nation and were ruining Henry’s life, and here he was about to lead a white man off the straight and narrow path.

“What have you got in mind, Henry?” said Milo.

“I’ve been to jail twice, Milo,” said Henry, “and the last time I even pled guilty and paid a fine, and I’ve never committed a crime in my life.”

“That’s rotten luck, Henry.”

“I got to thinking,” said Henry, “if I’m going to carry the name of criminal, I might as well be one.”

Henry paused to let that last soak in. Milo took off his hat and scratched his head. He had an idea what Henry was leading up to, and he was sort of mulling it over. He waited for Henry to say more, but Henry kept quiet. Finally Milo broke the silence.

“So what have you got in mind?” he asked.

“I was in Nowata at the depot just watching the train come in,” said Henry, knowing that he had Milo hooked, “and I noticed a fat roll of bills in the safe. I thought I might make good my bad reputation by robbing that safe. It’s an easy job. The depot is open until ten o’clock at night, and the agent’s there all by himself. What do you say? You with me?”

Nightfall found the two young cowboys just outside of Nowata looking down onto the town. Both had six-guns tucked into their belts. Milo looked nervous.

“You okay, Milo?” Henry asked.

“Yeah.”

“You ready to go through with this? You sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready. I’m okay.”

“Then let’s go,” said Henry, spurring his mount.

Milo followed, and the two rode hard down into the main street of Nowata. No one paid much attention to them. It wasn’t unusual for young, rowdy cowboys to ride a little too fast through the streets. Henry led the way to the stockyards and pulled in the reins. He dismounted and tied his horse to a fence rail. Milo did the same. Then Henry looked carefully up and down the street. No one was near, and he pulled a bandanna out of his pocket and tied it around his face. Milo pulled out his own handkerchief, wiped his brow, then tied it over his face.

Quickly the two walked the short distance to the depot. Henry burst through the door, his six-gun held ready. Milo was right behind him. The agent sat bolt upright and held up his hands. Henry gestured toward the money in the safe, and the agent handed it over. Then the two robbers raced back to their horses and mounted up. Not a word had been said. Still Henry led the way. They raced out of the town the same way they had come in, but on the way out, Henry fired a few shots into the air. When they were outside of town, according to an earlier agreement, they rode off in different directions. They would see each other the next day.

Henry rode out onto the prairie. He would go back to the Todd Ranch, put up the horse and saddle, neither of which was his own, slip into the bunkhouse, and go to bed. In the morning he would get up and start the day as on any other day. Milo was to do basically the same thing, but they had separated so as not to be seen coming back at the same time and together. The way Milo was riding would take him a little longer to get back, but Henry decided to make the interim as long as possible. He spurred up his horse to hurry on back.

Suddenly the horse screamed out in the darkness and bucked, throwing Henry to the ground. Henry’s breath was knocked out of him, and he lay senseless for a moment. When he recovered enough to sit up and look around him, he could just see the horse disappearing in the darkness. It was too far to walk back. Besides, he couldn’t very well return to the ranch without the horse and saddle. He started to stand up, thinking that he would try to follow the horse, but as he did so, he reached out with one hand and felt a wire. He groped along the wire until something pricked his hand.

“Bob wire,” he said out loud.

So that was what had happened. The poor animal had run up on the barbed wire. Henry continued to feel along the wire until his hand felt a thick, warm, and sticky substance.

“Blood.”

He knew that he couldn’t find the wounded and probably crazed animal in the dark. There was no telling what it had done, which direction it had gone in its pain and fear. Henry lay down in the dirt to await daylight. He slept but little, and as soon as the sun began to let a little light onto the prairie, he was on his feet. There was a good deal of blood on the wire and on the ground beneath it. The horse had been cut badly. Henry looked around and saw a trail of blood on the ground. It was easy to follow, and he figured that the horse couldn’t possibly go far as badly as he must have been cut.

He began walking, following the gory trail. He hadn’t gone far when, topping a slight rise, he spotted a barn ahead. The bleeding horse had headed straight for it. Henry made his way cautiously to the barn. The door was open, and he edged up to it. He heard voices coming from inside the barn. Peering around the corner of the open doorway, he saw two men standing beside the hurt horse.

“I don’t know whose horse it is,” one man was saying, “but the saddle belongs to Charles Todd. I recognize it. Hell, I used it when I worked for him last year.”

“Well,” said the other, “I’ll take this into town. If Todd knows who had this saddle, then they’ll know who robbed the depot. You just as well shoot that horse. He’s too far gone.”

Henry got away from the barn quickly. How, he wondered, had they put it all together so easily? Then he remembered that the stolen money was in the saddlebags. They could easily have heard about the robbery. They weren’t far from town. Because he couldn’t think of anything else to do, Henry walked back to the Todd Ranch. It was late in the day by the time he arrived, and there were two deputy United States marshals waiting for him. He shrugged. It was the pattern of his life. It was natural, and this time it was even just and proper. Henry somehow felt good about that. As the deputies approached him, he could see Milo standing off to one side looking nervous and guilty. Henry ignored Milo and hoped that the slow-witted cowboy would have the good sense to just keep quiet. The prospect of jail no longer worried Henry. Jail was easy to get out of. He had done it before—twice.