Well, that stumped me. I didn’t know Illinois from a mule’s ass. I couldn’t think of a town there to save my life, so I thunk of something I heard the Old Man say often. “Purgatory,” I said.
“Purgatory,” Chase laughed. He turned to Randy. “That’s the right name for a Yankee town, ain’t it, Randy?”
Randy stared at him and didn’t say a natural word. That man was dangerous.
Chase looked ’round and seen Frederick’s grave where we’d buried him.
“Who’s that?”
“Don’t know. We been hiding in this thicket while the Free Staters was scouting ’round here. I heard ’em say it was one of theirs.”
Chase pondered the grave thoughtfully. “It’s a fresh grave. We ought to see if who’sever in there got on boots,” he said.
That throwed me, for last thing I wanted to do was for them to dig up Frederick and pick all over his parts. I couldn’t bear the thought of it, so I said, “I heard ’em say he got his face blowed off and it was all mush.”
“Jesus,” Chase mumbled. He backed away from the grave. “Damn Yanks. Well, you ain’t got to fear them now, little angel. Chase Armstrong done drove ’em off! Wanna ride with us?”
“We is going to the Lawrence Hotel to get a job, and Bob is a help to me. We was waylaid, see, when you all whipped up on them darn Free Staters. But thanks to you, the danger is gone. So I reckon we’ll be off.”
I motioned to Bob to har up the mule, but Chase said, “Hold on now. We’re going to Pikesville, Missouri. That’s in your general direction. Why not come with us?”
“We’ll be fine.”
“These trails is dangerous.”
“They ain’t that bad.”
“I think they is bad enough that you ought not ride alone,” he said. It weren’t no invitation the way he said it.
“Bob here is sick,” I said. “He got the ague. It’s catching.”
“All the more reason to roll with us. I know a couple of nigger traders in Pikesville. Big nigger like that would draw some good money, sick or not. A couple thousand dollars, maybe. Give you a good start.”
Bob shot a wild look at me.
“I can’t do that,” I said, “for I promised my Pa never to sell him.”
I motioned for him again to har up the mules, but Chase grabbed the traces this time and held them tight. “What’s waiting for you in Lawrence? Ain’t nothing but Free Staters there.”
“There is?”
“Surely.”
“We’ll go to the next town, then.”
Chase chuckled. “Ride our way.”
“I weren’t going that way. Plus Old John Brown’s riding these woods. They’re still dangerous.”
I motioned Bob to har up the mule one more time, but Chase held ’em tight, looking at me out the corner of his eye. He was serious now.
“Brown is done. The redshirts is shooting up what’s left of his boys in the woods yonder. And he’s dead. I seen him with my own eyes.”
“That can’t be!”
“Yep. Deader than yesterday’s beer.”
That floored me. “That’s a low-down, rotten, dirty piece of luck!” I said.
“How’s that?”
“I mean it’s rotten luck that ... I ain’t never seen him dead, him being a famous outlaw and all. You seen him surely?”
“He’s stinking to high heaven right now, the nigger-stealing thief. I seen him hit at the bank and fall into the Marais des Cygnes myself. I would’a run down there and chopped his head off myself but”—he cleared his throat —“me and Randy had to run ’round to protect the flank. Plus there was a hardware store on the back end of town that needed cleaning out, if you get my drift, being that them Free Staters won’t be needin’ this stuff ...”
I knowed he was wrong about the Old Man’s whereabouts then, and I was relieved. But I had to take care of myself too, so I said, “I am so glad he is gone, for this territory is now safe for good white folks to live free and clear.”
“But you ain’t white.”
“Half-white. Plus we got to take care of the coloreds here, for they needs us. Right, Bob?”
Bob looked away. I knowed he was mad.
I reckoned Chase decided I was close enough to white for him, for Bob’s manner sullied him. “You’s a sour-faced coon,” he muttered, “and I ought to bust you ’cross the jibs for attitude.” He turned to me. “What kind of work you seeking in Lawrence that you carry ’round such a sour nigger?”
“Trim’s my business,” I said proudly, for I could cut hair.
He perked up. “Trim?”
Now, having growed up with whores and squaws at Dutch’s, I should’a knowed what that word “trim” meant. But the truth is, I didn’t.
“I sell the best trim a man can get. Can do two or three men in an hour.”
“That many?”
“Surely.”
“Ain’t you a little young to be selling trim?”
“Why, I’m twelve near as I can tell it, and can sell trims just as good as the next person,” I said.
His manner changed altogether. He polited up, wiping his face clean with his neckerchief, fluffing his clothes, and straightening out his ragged shirt. “Wouldn’t you rather have a job waiting or washing?”
“Why wash dishes when you can do ten men in an hour?”
Chase’s face got ripe red. He reached in his sack and drawed out a whiskey bottle. He sipped it and passed it to Randy. “That must be some kind of record,” he said. He looked at me out the corner of his eye. “You want to do me one?”
“Out here? On the trail? It’s better to be in a warm tavern, with a stove cooking and heating your victuals, while you enjoys a toot and a tear. Plus I can clip your toenails and soak your corns at the same time. Feet’s my specialty.”
“Ooh, that stirs my britches,” he said. “Listen, I know a place there that’s perfect for you. I know a lady who’ll give you a job. It’s in Pikesville, not Lawrence.”
“That ain’t in our direction.”
For the first time, Randy opened his talking hole. “Sure it is,” he said. “Unless you playing us for a fool. You all could be lying. ’Cause you ain’t showed us no papers—’bout you or him.”
He looked rough enough to scratch a match off his face. I didn’t have no choice, really, for he had called me out so I said, “You is not a gentleman, sir, to accuse a young lady of my background of lying. But, being that it’s dangerous on this trail for a girl like myself, I reckon Pikesville is as good a place to go as any. And if I can make money there selling trims as you claims, why not?”
They ordered Bob to help unload their horses and mules, then spotted some knickknacks among the stolen goods the Old Man’s sons had left about. They jumped off their horses to gather that stuff.
The moment they was out of earshot, Bob leaned over from the driver’s seat and hissed, “Aim your lies in a different direction.”
“What I done?”
“Trim means ‘tail,’ Henry. Birds and the bees. All that.”
When they come back I seen the glint in their eyes, and I was tied in a knot. I’d have gived anything to see Owen’s sour face come charging, but he didn’t come. They tied their beasts to ours, throwed what they gathered up in the wagon, and we rolled off.
11.
