David Ohle - The Devil in Kansas

“Windy day in Silverton. It blew off my head. Drunk prospector took it fer a skunk ‘n’ shot it six times.”

“By cracky, that’s a good’rn. And them holes in your coat?”

“Had ‘er hangin’ in a tree one time to dry up in Canada. Feller thought it was a bear.”

“Well, I know them are lies, but I ain’t gonna dig no deeper. Let’s go on in and get fed. I’m hungry enough to eat the ass off a ministratin’ prairie dog. These people are good people, the Binders. They’re kin.”

The store’s shelves are nearly bare, the lamplight dim, the air smoky. One corner is partitioned by two quilts hanging from a rope. Bright lamplight peeps through the space between the quilts, allowing small glimpses of Katie Binder, thirtyish, six foot two, homely. A single, thick, blond pigtail hangs like a ship’s rope over her broad shoulder. She reads sotto voce from a book of Poe’s poems: “While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, / As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door, / Only this and nothing more.” She closes the book, sips from a bottle labeled Tincture of Opium , then stares unblinking at the design on the quilt partition.

In the store’s kitchen, Katie’s peasant-like mother unloads loaves of black bread from the oven. Katie’s father, thin and white-haired, is a demented old sodbuster. He stands facing a blank wall, drawing the outline of his shadow with the end of a burnt stick.

Jonah Binder, Katie’s dull-witted brother, looks out the window. “There’s Cousin’s freight wagon, Mamma. Way overloaded, too. He’s got a passenger.”

Mrs. Binder: “Ah, mein Gott!”

Mr. Binder walks stiffly to the window and looks out.

Katie parts the quilts and emerges from her enclosure with a big, lazy, opium-smile, primping, clearly glad to have visitors.

Dewey and Cousin climb off the rig. Dewey struggles to carry his satchel in one hand and his gun in the other. Even though the customized boot keeps the flopping foot on the level, Dewey still favors the foot when he walks.

“Lemme hold that satchel for you, Mr. Dewey, fore you fall and break yer back.”

Dewey snatches it out of Cousin’s reach. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of it.” In doing so, he loses his balance, falls to the ground, hitting his head. The satchel opens, spilling its contents, including the stolen bag of gold nuggets. While Dewey is unconscious from the fall, Cousin picks up the bag, looks inside. His face lights up. He places the bag back in the satchel as Dewey regains consciousness and reaches for it. “That there was a nasty fall, Mr. Dewey. Hope you ain’t hurt none.”

Dewey is in pain. “I wrenched my damn back is what I did. Help me up.” He extends a hand. Cousin helps him to his feet and they enter the store.

Jonah greets them. “Hello there, Cousin. Ain’t seen you in a coon’s age. What’re ye haulin’ that’s so damn heavy?”

“Tombstones, Jonah. Blank tombstones. They ain’t chiseled in the names or nothin’ yet.”

Katie gives Cousin a peck on the cheek. “Hi, Cousin.” She fixes a flirtatious, glassy-eyed gaze upon him.

Cousin removes his hat and coat. “Jonah…Uncle…Aunt…Katie. Has the Lord God been treatin’ you folks pretty decent?”

“Oh, we’re pretty much gettin’ by is all,” Katie says.

Mr. Binder, oblivious to the new arrivals, continues shadow-drawing on the wall. Jonah twirls his finger near his temple and points at Mr. Binder’s back. Katie whispers into Cousin’s ear: “Papa lost his mind. He don’t tend the apple orchard no more and Jonah’s too lazy and stupid to, so the trees all died. I try to make money with my cures, but we don’t get too many folks passing by out here. Who’s the gentleman?”

“Pardon me, folks, but my passenger here is Mr. Howard Dewey. He’s been out in Colorady prospectin’. And don’t bother askin’ about how them holes all got there. He’ll lie like a rug.”

Katie burbles, “Did you strike it rich out there, Mr. Dewey?”

“Far from it, girl. I’m as poor now as I ever was.”

Clutching the satchel tightly, Dewey flops into a chair. Jonah leans on a broom, stares at him. “You hugging on that satchel pretty tight there. What you got in it? Something precious it looks like to me.”

Katie scolds Jonah: “Ain’t none of your nevermind, you idiot.”

“Don’t you call me no idiot you damned fool.”

Without warning, Mr. Binder sprawls Jonah with a punishing kick in the ass, then throws his knife at the heart of the outline on the wall, retrieves it, throws it again. Jonah squats in the corner, wincing in pain.

Cousin says, “Tell me somethin’, Mister Dewey. Why would a man choose to travel on a hard-ridin’ old mule wagon when he coulda taked a train?”

Mrs. Binder approaches Dewey. “You vant food? Vee got boiled potatoes. Vee got black bread. Vee got butter. Vee got apple strudel.”

“Yes ma’am. I’ll have all o’ that.”

“Same here,” says Cousin.

Katie places her hands on Dewey’s shoulders. “How would you like a nice rub, Mr. Dewey? You got some tight nerves in yer neck. They’re vibratin’ like harp strings.”

“That would be real good, Miss. I took a bad fall and I’m sore as hell all over.” She rubs his shoulders, thoroughly distracting him. He closes his eyes.

“Make all yer worries be butterflies and let ‘em flutter away.”

“I’ll do mah best.”

Katie works the shoulder muscles. “So, how did you get them holes in your clothes? You can tell me, cain’t you?” She rubs his temples with her fingertips.

“The truth is, I got ‘em off a dead man. Fella was shot by a Wichita posse. Found his hat and jacket in a rubbish bin. I can live with the holes. He couldn’t.”

Jonah whispers into Cousin’s ear: “Hey, Cousin. Come on outside a minute.”

“Can’t you see I’m eatin’.”

“This is awful damned important. I promise.” They step outside. The rain has slacked to a drizzle. “Cousin, I seen a poke in that man’s satchel fulla pure yellow gold.”

“I guess it ain’t no secret no more, god-dangit. Don’t you go an’ start thinkin’ you got some claim on it, ‘cause you don’t. I seen it first.”

“Well I seen it second.”

Cousin urinates off the side of the porch. “Seein’ ain’t the same as ownin’, Jonah.”

“It sure ain’t.”

“We got the got-danged cart before the horse. Somethin’s gotta be done about that.” He draws his six-shooter. “When we get back in there, you git his big rifle so he don’t.”

Inside, the massage has resumed and Dewey’s eyes are closed again. Jonah tiptoes to the Sharps and takes possession of it. Cousin approaches Dewey with the gun thrust forward. In the excitement of the moment, his voice is like a young girl’s. “Don’t move, Mr. Dewey, or twitch, or nothin’. Jonah, relieve him of that precious satchel. Katie, you and yer mother better git behind them quilts.”

They do as instructed, but leave a tiny crack for peeping. Jonah lifts the satchel and places it on the table. Mr. Binder continues with his knife-throwing, seemingly oblivious to all goings on. Cousin says to Mr. Dewey, “You got enough gold in that satchel to sink a schooner. But look at them hands o’ yourn. Pretty damned nice if you ask me. You ain’t no prospector. ‘Spect you come by this some other way.”

“Maybe I did,” Dewey says. “So naturally I’m willin’ to share.”

“Are you, now. Well, that’s mighty damned generous. Jonah, open up that pouch and see if there’s enough to share.”

Jonah opens the bag, withdraws the pouch, pours some of the nuggets out on the table. “Holy Moses. I never seen so much gold in my whole sorry life.”