OLD DAD A story I'm working on right now, by Robert Zimmerman < part two - PART THREE Laughing Horse Standing Snake guided me through the night, advising on the best trail. “This is a nice way to travel. You see that tree? It was only a sprout when I was a boy. Even now it is only half grown. It is a mighty tree and very wise.” He carried on like this all through the night, commenting on rocks he was familiar with, even patches of moss. I began to get accustomed to his voice rambling on in my head. I suppose it kept me company in an odd, and admitedly creepy way. Leaving Laura McMurphy standing in the dusty street staged itself over and over in my mind as I rode along through the moonlight. Something told me that her heart was true. She’d rightfully felt shabby about the way events had transpired between us. Obviously the regret had grown strong enough in her that she’d sought me out to tell me, which I had to admire. Displaying famous corpses as an attraction in carnivals wasn’t anything new to the entertainment business. If Dr. Clearly wanted the body for his traveling show, it was understandable. There were certainly enough curious and morbid people eager to be shocked by the sight of the infamous dead that a great deal of money could be made. Of course, displaying a corpse also has an economic advantage, since they require nothing in the way of decent accomidations, meals or wages. I determined that Dr. Clearly had presuaded Laura, perhaps by threatening her, to extract from me what I knew about the chief. This implied that he was convinced that I was able to offer reliable information. Dr. Clearly had obviously been aware that I was able to lead him to the chief, but how he came to this conclusion wasn’t clear to me yet, but would be soon enough. I’m prone to have a day stage itself in my mind when I’m alone at night. The smallest incidents are reinacted again for me to watch, wonder about and often regret. As I slowly rode along and listened to Standing Snake comment on the scenery, I also saw the Green River knife sunken into the late Andrew Lloyd Frank. He hadn’t been dead very long when I’d found him. Perhaps the murderer had even observed me from a hiding place in the stables. When it was certain I was gone for good, they would have slipped out of their shadows to retrieve that knife, I was certain. To leave a knife like that was unlikely. Why they had not simply withdrawn it immediately was a puzzle in my mind. By daybreak, I was in a creekbed that ran shallow with clear water over a sandy bottom. “This is Beaver Creek” Standing Snake had said. “It once was alive with many beavers. Most of them have been turned into hats. I think it is a waste to turn a good beaver into a hat. They are not very good to eat, except the tail if you are very hungry, but a hat is not a good use of a beaver. Beaver skin makes very good leg warmers in winter.” A short distance down the creek we came accross the first house I’d seen since leaving Barnwell, a solid little log home with a high stone chimney that emited a thin wisp of spiraling smoke. Standing Snake said to me, “This is the house of Laughing Horse. He is a strange indian. He lives in a house that he built himself with tree logs. It is very unusual, but he is someone you need to speak to right now. He also makes very delicious pie.” I stood the horse and mule in the creek as Laughing Horse came out of his doorway, which was simply a blanket that hung there protectiing the inside from the out. He was the fattest indian I’d ever seen, which is not saying much because I’d never actually witnessed a fat indian man before. Most indians never had enough food to become fat. Laughing Horse apparently had plenty to eat, evidenced by his enormous smooth belly which was in full display hanging over a pair of army issue trousers. “Welcome!” he bellowed loudly. “ I have been expecting you! Come in to my house and rest your animals and enjoy some delicious pie. I make very good pie from the berries that grow here and there.” Standing Snake, or the voice of the old chief, had intentionally brought me to this place through the long night. He had guided me to this spot like a sheep dog moves sheep. The clever sheep dog makes the sheep believe that they are going where they want to go, and that they are occassionally avoiding a pesky dog. Before the sheep know it, they are in a pen and a gate is closing behind them. Laughing Horse had been expecting me. It was simply part of a story that had already been written and I was apparently the only actor who didn’t know his part yet. “Let me help you unload the old mule.” Laughing Horse said eagerly. “ I see you have the body wrapped in a nice carpet. I would appreciate a nice carpet like that. It is a shame to use a nice carpet to wrap up a dead body like that. A nice carpet is for sitting on and enjoying.” Laughing Horse took the rolled up indian in one arm and carried the bundle effortlessly inside, over his shoulder. There is another world within our own world, which exists like the weave of a fine fabric. We can only understand the threads that intertwine to make what apears to be the cloth. What we do not see is the infinite space between the threads, which if we were to account for, would be far greater in area than the thread itself. It is the space between the thread that makes the cloth what it is, just as it is with the world we wander through, what we can not perceive actually binds it together. That world is where our destiny waits for us, expecting us, watching our slow progress towards what is meant to be. These are truths I understand now. As I slowly unpacked the mule of my belongings, I suppose I was begining to understand. Laughing Horse had a clean and friendly little home. His furniture was hand made, his decorations were few, with most of his living area devoted to cooking. A carefully made oven was the largest single feature, even larger than his sizable bed. The smell of baking filled the small house and Laughing Horse delicately took a fresh pie from his oven and proudly rested it on his little table, which was set for two, with pottery plates, forks and two drinking mugs. “Sit down! Welcome to my home. I have two chairs and one of them is for you.” Laughing Horse returned to the table with a knife to cut the pie, a Green River skinners knife. He placed the blade down beside the fresh pie. “I rest the pie now. The pie is like a lady. You can not rush. The pie needs to sit and become comfortable.” Laughing Horse took his seat, opposite me and smiled warmly. “I am glad to know you” he’d said. I eyed the knife. There were thousands of Green River knives in the western states. It was probably the most popular blade of its kind. “Thank you” I had replied. “Tell me what you know about Standing Snake. I’m confused how you knew I was coming “ I admited, which I certainly was. “Yes, well he is a curious Indian, but I suppose I am too! Look at me! I live in a log house. I realize it is unusual, but I like this way of living. I have lived in a buffalo skin house, and a canvas house. This is better. Standing Snake has kept to his own ways of living, and of dying too. He made careful arrangements. Everything is taken care of, according to plan.” Laughing Horse picked up the knife and held it over the pie. “The pie will tell you when it is comfortable” he’d said and put the knife back down. “Not yet.” I slept for a few hours after we’d had our pie, which was indeed delicious. Laughing Horse told me it would be best if I were to get some sleep and insited that I use his own bed. When I woke, it was around noon and Laughing Horse was no where to be seen. The kitchen had been cleaned and the table was cleared. Outside, I found that the horse and mule were both missing. I rolled a smoke and sat on a bench situated under a big shade tree by the creek. For the better part of an hour I sat, smoked and oddly enough recalled the paintings I’d seen of Andrew Lloyd Frank’s. There was something strangely familiar about them. I’d never been to any sort of art museum, or seen art other than what was printed in some of the fine books that the library had on display. The paintings were wonderful objects. A certain quality about them that made a man pay attention to the real world even more than he normally would, I suppose. Glancing occassionally at the sky I thought about that knife in the mans back at the same time as I marveled at the brilliant color. I’d not spent a single moment worrying about the missing horse and mule, but I was glad to have unpacked the animals, especially for the tobacco. The german supply store had also provided me with a fine jug of whiskey, which was also on my mind. I decided it would wait until later, when the darkness started talking to me. I’d also had bad experiences when whiskey and indians were were in the same location. Laughing Horse appeared beside me as I was day dreaming. Perhaps it’s a unique ability among Indians, to move without being heard, even those with enormous bellies. He startled me slightly. “Good sleeping?” he’d asked. “I heard someone coming” he continued on, apparenelty not really interested in a reply. “So, I took your animals to a hiding place. They are safe.” “Who was coming?” I’d asked. “ It was a man. I hit him with a big piece of wood. He’s asleep now. The piece of wood hit him so hard, it made him go to sleep, so I tied him to a tree. It is time for some food. I have a very nice squirrel pie. You’ll enjoy that before you go away. I also have something for you. It is why you are here. First, we will have some squirrel pie. It is very delicious.” “Where is the man? Where is tied?” I asked as he turned to go inside, completely intent on his squirrel pie. “Over there” he pointed up the creek. “He is asleep, just up the water. I think he will be asleep for a while. He looked happy.” I found Tub Phillips just as Laughing Horse had descibed him, happily asleep and tied to a tree. On inspection, I discovered that Tub had a sizable dent in his hat, and lifting the hat up uncovered a healthy blister on his head where he’d been clubbed. I loosened up the length of rope that fixed Tub to the tree trunk, but then left him there, as I knew from long experience with the man that it was impossible to rouse him. Laughing Horse and I ate the squirrel pie sitting on the shady bench together looking at the little creek flow by. I’d never been fond of squirrel, but the pie was indeed delicious. “The secret is to boil the squirrel, dump the water, boil the squirrel again, dump the water, and then fry the meat lightly in a pan with wild onions. The changing water chases the bad wild flavor away and the onions put the good wild flavor back in” was Laughing Horses explanation. He’d obviously perfected it and was justly proud. Shortly, Tub came wandering down the creek, holding his hat in one hand and rubbing his swollen head with the other. “I must have fallen down and hit my head” he admited solumnly. “He’s a friend of mine” I told Laughing Horse between bites of pie. “Come and enjoy some squirrel pie” Laughing Horse immediately called out to Tub. “Do you recall the twenty dollars I’m owing to you?” asked Tub as he stepped out of the creek. I told him I did recall the loan. “Well, I can’t repay it yet and I feel badly about that. I have a difficult time keeping money in my pocket for one reason or another.” Tub walked up the bank into the shade, sat down and slowly leaned against the tree. Water spilled out of his boots as he stretched his legs out and got comfortable. “You followed me all this way to tell me that?” I asked. “Have some delicious squirrel pie!” offered Laughing Horse again. He had gone in and returned with a third plate and fork. Tub watched him slice into the pie with the Green River knife, then accepted the plate from the big indian, never once taking his eye off the familiar blade. A loan of money weighs on the honest mans conscience until the day it’s repayed. It’s an uncomfortablle feeling to borrow and it’s an uncomfortable state to live in debt, no matter how insignificant the amount. There’s not an hour in any day that a debt doesn’t change how a man feels about himself inside. Such was the way with Tub Philllips and I knew what he was about. He’d tracked me from Barnwell to tell me what had happened since I’d left. It was his way of repaying the debt and hopefully getting it off his mind at last. “I had to call in the Sherriif, of course” Tub started in and took a small sample of the pie. “Mighty fine squirrel pie” he’d said with a wide grin. “I’m oblidged.” He scooped up a larger fork full of the pie to his mouth and carried on while he chewed, saying “Anyway, the Sheriiff’s name is Griffin Cole. He’s okay. He’s smart enough, but not a keen tracker. I covered for you and am happy to do so, no doubt. I showed Cole where the tracks of your animals had walked under that unforunate dead fellow. He knows I’ve done my fair share of tracking and I’ve helped him find folks on the run every so often. Delicious pie” Tub said again. He was obviously hungry because the next fork full was larger and quicker than the last. “Sheriff Cole examined the tracks himself and agreed that the animals had already left the stables when the killing took place. I of course knew different.” Tubs shifted his eyes side to side. He had a wonderful way with story telling, even if he were only recounting what had happened only moments ago. I’d enjoyed watching him in the past tell his tales as much as I’d enjoyed listening. He accusingly pointed a wyly finger towards me, raised his great bushy brows and smiled slyly. “I could see easy enough that you’d moved the body, but Cole couldn’t see that himself.” “It was all I could think of at the time” I said, slightly embarassed at my sloppy work. “Anyway” Tub continued and cleaned his plate with a final mouth full of pie, “that was that. I know you well enough” he’d said looking directly at me, “that for one, you wouldn’t kill a man from behind, and two, you wouldn’t do something so plain stupid as to drop a man in your own horse stall, for Pete’s sake. I didn’t say any of this to Cole, of course. He made some immediate inquiries and the little Mexican man he’d been with was singled out as a prime suspect.” Tub looked both ways, as if the murderer might be sneaking up on us all, before serving himself a second helping of Squirrel pie from the dish. “ A search was begun right away on the Sheriff’s order’s for the little Mexican man that was with the dead fellow. All of this, even though Sheriff Cole didn’t really believe the Mexican was the killler, because he’d said so to me. He was employed by the man, for one thing.” “I never kill the man who is paying me” said Laughing Horse happily. “Exactly” said Tub. “A murder with no witness is pointless for the law too persue too far. That’s the way Cole would be looking at it. Anyway, the Mexican wasn’t found, least as far as I know, because I left town pretty quick to track you down. Done that is short order too. That big mule of yours is a liability. He’s slow and he’s got big feet.” said Tub. “He’s stupid too.” I said. “There’s other things that might be of interest” said Tub, still slurping pie. “When I found the poor man’s body, he had a knife in his back. I skinners knife, which was peculiar.” “Like this one?” said Laughing Horse smiling, holding up his Green River. “Yes, like that one. Just like that one, actually” Tub said warily eyeing the big indian with the fist full of knife. “Anyway, by the time I got back with the Sheriff, the knife was gone. Either the killer had been hiding in the barn, or somebody happened along and decided it would be a nice thing to own and pulled it out of the poor fellow. But I’ll tell you, it was there when I found him stuck in his back, and gone when I saw his poor lifeless body next.” “Was the carriage still there.” I asked. “Yep, the carriage was there. It will be put on auction, probably already has been. The town sells the property of dead folks that were passing through when they passed away. Helps keep the mayors wife in fine evening gowns, I suppose.” “Understandable.” I said. “That’s all I know” said Tub, who procededed to let go of a terrific fart. “So anyway, I thought you’d want to know. At least it puts your mind at ease that no ones coming after you. You can sleep better, I suppose.” “Yes, I suppose I will” I replied. “What of the Traveling Show people? Dr. Clearly was his name, and the girl.” I asked. “Strange thing about that, now that you mention it.” said Tub as he finished the last morsel of pie. “They took down their tent and were preparing to leave around the same time as I was headed out on your trail. That man is peculiar. He gives me a spook and I don’t mind saying it.” “Tub” I said, “you’re a good man. That twenty dollars you owe me is repaid in full.” The man transformed with those words spoken. He seemed to lose 30 pounds and his back went several degrees straighter. With thanks in his eyes, he reached out to shake my hand, which I quickly accepted. “I was sure hoping you’d say that” he said happily. “Well”, said Tub, “thank you for the pie. It was the best squirrel I’ve ever tasted and that’s the honest truth, coming from a man that’s eatten plenty of squirrel meat. I’d better be headed back.” It’s the way of folks in these parts to move along without long goodbyes. Farewells aren’t needed where death is as common place as coming and going, I suppose. We accept leaving as naturally as we accept arriving. They are one and the same in a land where one’s just as likely to live for another day as it is to pass on to the other side at any given moment. Tub simply wandered up the creek, with Laughing Horse and I watching him go. “And now you are going away” said the smiling Laughing Horse. “What do you make of all of that?” I asked. “It is a strange story, a very strange story.” he replied happily. “But that’s the story! That is the only story. And now it is time for me to help you load your old mule. The animal is very disagreeable. I do not like it. If you did not need it, I would recommend that you eat it. A mule is very delicious eatting.” We loaded the old mule, including the rolled up carpet holding Standing Snake, which Laughing Horse still coveted. “I would like to have that carpet. I would trade you for it, but I do not have anything expect for a berry pie.” he’d said, and then wisely concluded, “You would be foolish to accept a pie for that fine carpet, so I will not even try.” I mounted up and was ready to ride on. With no ceremony at all, Laughing Horse handed over a roll of parchment. “This is for you” he said, thrusting it into my hand. Unrolled, the paper was immediately recognizable as a lode claim, or deed to a mine, the type of document seen often in those parts. The majority of these claims were worth less than the paper they were printed on. Mining had become a huge business of wild speculation, especially following the famous Comstock Lode of Nevada. The lode, number L5239 and name “Thunder Gully” was written in sloppy but legible hand at the bottom, with a seal from the county clerk, and the map of the area, designating the exact footage, with a north arrow towards the top, and another arrow pointing west, indicating Ironwood at1.3 miles. “This piece of paper is for ownership of some diirt” said Laughing Horse smiling widely. “It is a strange idea, but I suppose that stranger things have been bought and sold. I understand that the dead are even for sale.” Laughing Horse pointed north. “The dirt is over that ridge and about 3 days ride from here if you keep the setting sun on your left shoulder.” “Where did you get this” I asked. “Standing Snake told me to give it to you. He said you would come for it.” “So, he expects me to go to this mine? I don’t think I will.” I’d said. “I don’t know anything about that.” admitted Laughing Horse, still smiling as if he were recalling a joke. “All I know is that you now have it. What happens next is around the mountain and hidden from all eyes.” I sat the horse and looked at him for the moment, completely content, completely alone and quite possibly completely off his nut. “I’ll being seeing you” I’d said. “I know!” he replied waving. “What is around the mountain is always waiting for us.” Laughing Horse called behind me. part four >