Damon Knight - Orbit 18

Simon Red Bulldozer was expected soon, and all the men were talking a little and laying a few bets.

“You know,” said Nathan Big Gimp, leaning against a wrecker at his shop down by the community fires, “I saw Simon turn over three tractors two summers ago, one after the other. The way he does it will amaze you, Billy-Bob.”

I allowed as how he might be the man to bet on.

“Well, you really should, though the margin is slight. There’s always the chance Elmo John Deere will show.”

I said maybe that was what I was waiting for.

But it wasn’t true. Freddy-in-the-Hollow and I had talked in English to a man from the Red River people the week before. He made some hints but hadn’t really told us anything. They had a big Puller, he said, and you shouldn’t lose your money on anyone else.

We asked if this person would show at our Ceremony, and he allowed as how maybe, continuing to chew on some willow bark. So we allowed as how maybe we’d still put our hard goods on Simon Bulldozer.

He said that maybe he’d be down to see, and then drove off in his jeep with the new spark plugs we’d sold him.

The Red River people don’t talk too much, but when they do, they say a lot. So we were waiting on the bets.

Women had been giving me the eye all day, and now there were a few of them looking openly at me; Freddy too, by reflected glory. I was thinking of doing something about it when we got a surprise.

At noon Elmo John Deere showed, coming in with his two wreckers and his Case 1190, his families and twelve strings of cars. He was the richest man in the Nations, and his camp took a large part of the eastern end of the circle.

Then a little while later, the Man showed. Simon Red Bulldozer came only with his two wives, a few sons and his transport truck. And in the back of it was the Red Bulldozer, which, they say, had killed a man before Simon stole it.

It’s an old legend, and I won’t tell it now.

And it’s not important anymore anyway.

So we thought we were in for the best Pull ever, between two men we knew by deeds. Simon wanted to go smoke with Elmo, but Elmo sent a man over to tell Simon Red Bulldozer to keep his distance. There was bad blood between them, though Simon was such a good old boy that he was willing to forget it.

Not Elmo John Deere, though. His mind was bad. He was a mean man.

Freddy said it first, while we lay on the hood of the wrecker the eve of the dancing.

“You know,” he said, “I’m young.”

“Obvious,” I said.

“But,” he continued, “things are changing.”

I had thought the same thing, though I hadn’t said it. I pulled my bush hat up off my eyes, looked at the boy. He was part white and his mustache needed trimming, but otherwise he was all right.

“You may be right,” I answered uneasily.

“Have you noticed how many horses there are this year, for God’s sake?”

I had. Horses were used for herding our cattle and sheep. I mean, there were always some horses, but not this many. This year, people brought in whole remudas, twenty-thirty to a string. Some were even trading them like cars. It made my skin crawl.

“And the women,” said Fred-in-the-Hollow. “Loose is loose, but they go too far, really they do. They’re not even wearing halters under their clothes, most of them. Jiggle-jiggle.”

“Well, they’re nice to look at. Times are getting hard,” I said. The raid night before last was our first in two months, the only time we’d found anything worth the taking. Nothing but rusted piles of metal all up and down the whole Trinity. Not much on the Brazos, or the Sulphur. Pickings were slim, and you really had to fight like hell to get away with anything.

We sold a car early in the evening, for more plates than it was worth, which was good. But what Freddy had been talking and thinking about had me depressed. I needed a woman. I needed some good dope. Mostly, I wanted to kill something.

The dances started early, with people toking up on rabbit tobacco, shag bark and hemp. The whole place smelled of burnt meat and grease, and there was singing in most of the lodges.

Oh, it was a happy group.

I was stripped down and doing some prayers. Tomorrow was the Sun Dance and the next day the contests. Freddy tried to find a woman and didn’t have any luck. He came through twice while I was painting myself and smoking up. Freddy didn’t hold with the prayer parts. I figure they can’t hurt, and besides, there wasn’t much else to do.

Two hours after dark, one of Elmo John Deere’s men knifed one of Simon Red Bulldozer’s sons. The delegation came for me about thirty minutes later.

I thought at first I might get my wish about killing something. But not tonight. They wanted me to arbitrate the judgment. Someone else would have to be executioner if one were needed.

“Watch the store, Freddy,” I said, picking up my carbine.

I smoked while they talked. When Red Bulldozer’s cousin got through, John Deere’s grandfather spoke. The Bulldozer boy wasn’t hurt too much, he wouldn’t lose the arm. They brought the John Deere man before me. He glared at me across the smoke and said not a word.

I took two more puffs, cleaned my pipe. Then I broke down my carbine, worked on the selector pin for a while. I lit my other pipe and pointed to the John Deere man.

“He lives,” I said. “He was drunk.”

They let him leave the lodge.

“Elmo John Deere,” I said.

“Uhm?” said fat Elmo.

“I think you should pay three mounts and ten plates to do this thing right. And give one man for three weeks to do the work of Simon Red Bulldozer’s son.”

Silence for a second, then Elmo spoke: “It is good what you say.”

“Simon Red Bulldozer.”

“Hm?”

“You should shake hands with Elmo John Deere and this should be the end of the matter.”

“Good,” he said.

They shook hands. Then each gave me a plate as soon as the others had left. One California and one New York. A 1993 and a ’97. Not bad for twenty minutes’ work.

It wasn’t until I got back to the wrecker that I started shaking. That had been the first time I was arbiter. It could have made more bad trouble and turned hearts sour if I’d judged wrong.

“Hey, Fred!” I said. “Let’s get real drunk and go see Wanda Hummingtires. They say she’ll do it three ways all night.”

The next dawn found us like a Karankawa coming across a new case of 30-weight oil. It was morning, quick. I ought to know. I watched that goddamned sun come up and I watched it go down, and every minute of the day in between, and I never moved from the spot. I forgot everything that went on around me, and I barely heard the women singing or the prayers of the other men.

At dusk, Freddy-in-the-Hollow led me back to the wrecker and I slept like a stone mother log for twelve hours with swirling violet dots in my head.

I had had no visions. Some people get them, some don’t.

I woke with the mother of all headaches, but after I smoked awhile it went away. I wasn’t a puller, but I was in two of the races, one on foot and one in the Mercury. I lost one and won the other.

I also won the side of beef in the morning shoot. Knocked the head off the bull with seven shots, clean as a whistle.

At noon we saw a cloud of dust coming over the third ridge. Then the outriders picked up the truck when it came over the second. It was coming too fast.

The truck stopped with a roar and a squeal of brakes. It had a long lumpy canvas cover on the back. Then a woman climbed down from the cab. She was the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen—and I’d seen Nellie Firestone two summers ago.

Nellie hadn’t come close to this girl. She had long straight black hair and a beautiful face. She was built like nothing I’d seen before. She wore tight coveralls and had a .357 Magnum strapped to her hip.