Joe Lansdale: The Magic Wagon

Then Albert stepped out of the dark, pulled me to my feet, and slung me between him and Skinny. They hauled me away, the toes of my boots plowing trenches.

"I tried to stop him," I said to Albert. "I tried."

"I know, Little Buster."

"He killed Jack," I said. "That old man didn't have a chance. He wasn't nothing, Albert. I could have beat him. Anybody could."

"Hush up, Little Buster."

"I didn't know what to do, Albert. I tried but wasn't nobody listening to me."

"You did what you could. Wasn't no stopping them."

I got sick again. They stopped while I chucked up the whisky in my gut, but it didn't help me feel no better. They carried me to the wagon and laid me out on my old stoop.

"Not in here, Albert," I said. "Not here."

"Shush up, Little Buster. You just going to lay here while I fix you a bedroll outside. I'll come get you in just a shake."

"No Albert," I said, but Albert was gone.

Everything was spinning. I turned my head toward Wild Bill and his box. It looked like that damned near skull face was grinning at me, and I swear to God there was a glint coming out of them bony sockets. The same glint I seen in Billy Bob's eyes after he'd killed Texas Jack. The glint he had when all them folks were gathered around him, trying to suck off the killing he'd done.

My eyes closed. I felt like I was whirling around and around. I could hear voices, though wasn't none of them American. It was them spirits in the wood. I knew it. They was talking to me. And though I couldn't make out a thing they were saying, I knew what it amounted to was the same thing Skinny had said: "Things is going to get bad."

I don't remember falling asleep, or when the voices went away-if there ever were any voices besides them inside my head-but when I woke up I was out of the wagon.

Albert had built a tent out of a tarp and had me under it. He and Skinny were inside with me. It was raining. I could hear it drumming on the tarp. I could hear the wind picking up too. It was still nighttime.

My mouth tasted dry and awful, like some rats had nested there. "The storm here?" I asked.

"Getting here," Albert said.

"We got to move on, with or without Billy Bob," I said. "He ain't going to go, Albert. He's living a dime novel and he loves it."

I told Albert about the sheriff about how Riley was setting the old man up for a shoot-out. I told him how I thought it was what Billy Bob wanted. That he'd force the play, even if the sheriff wanted no part of it.

"I'm going to try and talk to him, Little Buster. See if I can put some sense in his head."

"He ain't the same as he used to be, Albert. He's gone a whole lot worse. I think he's got Wild Bill's gun spirit in him. You ain't never seen anything move as fast as he drawed on Jack. It was spooky, I tell you. With Wild Bill's shooting-iron spirit in him, and his own nasty disposition… Well, I think he's pushed too for, Albert, he'll kill most anybody."

"He won't kill me."

"He ain't the same, I'm trying to tell you."

"Bang," Skinny said loudly, drawing up both hands quick-like and pointing his fingers at me.

"Quit that now," Albert said. "Just quit it. It's making me shaky."

"He seen what Billy Bob done," I said. "He's mocking him." I propped up on one elbow. "I think we ought to go on without Billy Bob. Leave the wagon. Just get Rot Toe, sell some of our stuff and buy a couple mules, ride out of here."

"Can't," Albert said.

"You said yourself this was a bad town, Albert. You know that storm is coming and it ain't no regular storm. It's full of vengeance and it's Billy Bob it wants. But if we're here with that Hickok's body… We got to leave, Albert, you know that."

"I can't."

"What in Heaven's name has Billy Bob got hanging over you? It ain't slave days. You can go as you please. You don't owe him a thing. It don't make sense you letting him run your life like that."

"I got my reasons. Just shut up now, Little Buster. You're starting to make me mad."

I shut up. Skinny stretched out on the ground by me and fell fast asleep. I turned over and slept. Next thing I knew it was morning,

Skinny was still asleep, but Albert wasn't around. I got up and went outside. It was raining a steady drizzle and the sky was growling and lightning was flashing.

I went over to the wagon and found Albert inside looking at Wild Bill.

"He ain't nothing but bad luck," I said climbing inside. "Ain't nothing been good since we took him on."

"Wasn't all that good before we got him, was it?" Albert said, turning to look at me. "And before I picked you up, wasn't nothing for me to do but worry about Billy Bob. Now I got you too."

"Don't you worry none about me," I said. "I can take care of myself."

"You can, can you?"

"That's right. I'm seventeen now."

"So you are. Ain't nobody can take care of himself completely, Little Buster. We all needs someone sometime for something."

We were kind of smiling at each other then. I changed the subject before we got so chummy I felt like crying. "You ain't seen Billy Bob yet?"

"Stayed up last night waiting on him. He never showed."

"Still feel like you got to talk to him?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"When he shows, I reckon."

He didn't show all that day. The storm got worse as time went on. The wind had gotten so high the trees were swaying on either side of the street and you could hear them groaning and you could hear the lumber in the buildings in town creaking.

We did some things to kill the time. We put Wild Bill in his box. We made sure Rot Toe was high and dry inside his tarp-covered cage. We fed and watered him. We took the mules over to the livery where they'd be more comfortable from the storm. We played some cards and cheated each other. Somewhere during the day Skinny came awake and wandered off maybe going back to the saloon or bumming money for peppermints.

Finally it was dark, and still no Billy Bob.

We went out and took down the tent Albert had made, as the rain had run up under it and it wasn't a good place to lie anymore. We were folding it up, putting it in a corner of the wagon when Albert said, "I got no choice. I'm going over to the saloon. See if I can talk to Billy Bob."

"They'll kill you."

"If they don't, I reckon this storm will."

"All right, listen Albert. You got a mind to talk to Billy Bob, you let me go with you. I'll go in there and get him to come out. Try anyway. That way, no harm's done. Okay?"

"All right, Little Buster, we'll do it your way."

By the time we got to the saloon we were drenched from head to foot. The street was nothing but mud and water and the sound of the rain on the buildings was as loud as Indian drums. Or loud as I figured they'd be. I'd never heard any.

Skinny was standing outside the bat wings, his hands in his pockets, shaking a bit. The wind and the rain had brought some coolness with it. He smiled at us. We got up under the walkway porch with him and we all stood there for a while, shivering, looking out at the street.

"All right," I said finally, and I went inside.

Billy Bob was where I'd seen him last, and so was the bony saloon girl-wrapped around Billy Bob like a snake twisting on a limb. Riley was leaning over the bar, laughing at whatever Billy Bob wanted him to laugh at. Blue Hat was dangling on Billy Bob's every word, as if they were hooks.

I went over to Billy Bob. He didn't exactly look glad to see me, but he managed to be civil. "Buster. How you doing this fine day?"

"Its raining," I said.

"Not in here," he said, and everyone in the saloon laughed.

"It's the storm, you know?"

"Oh hell, don't start with the storm again," Billy Bob said, then he turned and told everyone about me and Albert believing the storm was haunted. That got him another good laugh.