Butch Cassidy the Lost Years Read online

  Before they left, Bert asked them, “Will you fellas be at the dance tomorrow night?”

  “The dances in Largo are not for the likes of us, amigo,” Santiago told him. “We have our own fiestas and dances.”

  “Oh. Well, I reckon that makes sense,” Bert said, although he sounded like it really didn’t. He was young and innocent enough that he hadn’t learned yet about all the things in the world that don’t make sense but just are, anyway.

  When we reached the ranch, Scar came out of the barn to meet us. I had worried about leaving him there at the ranch alone, but there was water in the creek and he could find plenty of jackrabbits around there, as well. He barked, but he didn’t growl this time. He even wagged his tail a time or two, like he was glad to see us.

  The next day the fellas were almost too excited about the dance to tend to their chores, but with Santiago gone, Enoch sort of took over the role of foreman and made sure that all the essential jobs got done. Around mid-afternoon, though, he told them they ought to start getting ready for the dance.

  “I reckon it’ll take a while for scoundrels like you to make yourselves presentable enough to be around civilized folks,” he said.

  Randy, Bert, and Vince didn’t waste any time. They headed for the creek to wash off all the trail dust from the past week.

  I cleaned up as well. Washed, shaved, slicked down my hair, splashed some bay rum on my face. I remembered that photograph my pards and I had had made in Fort Worth more than a dozen years earlier. That day I’d been freshly barbered, dressed in a fancy suit, and had a derby hat on my head. I was a real dandy, let me tell you.

  I couldn’t make myself look that spiffy for the dance because I didn’t have any duds like that anymore, but I put on my best jeans and a clean white shirt with pearl snaps instead of buttons. I brushed my hat to get all the dust off it and polished up my boots. I thought I looked presentable enough. When I asked Scar for his opinion, though, he just looked at me. The lesson being, never ask a dog for fashion advice, I suppose.

  When it came time to leave, I was a little surprised to see that Enoch and Gabe had cleaned up, too. I said, “I thought you fellas weren’t goin’.”

  “We never said that,” Enoch insisted. “Just that dances are more for the young folks than for old pelicans like us. We like listenin’ to the music, though.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Gabe said. “If there are any comely widow women there, I intend to dance with ’em.”

  The sun was still well up in the sky when we mounted up for the ride. We would get to Largo about dusk, I thought, and that was when the dance was supposed to get underway.

  Randy, Bert, and Vince chattered the whole time we were riding. For the first few days when they started working together, Randy had been a little standoffish from the other two, probably because Bert and Vince had been friends for a long time. Gradually, though, and mostly because Bert was so naturally friendly, Randy had been drawn into their circle, so now they were a trio instead of a duo.

  I followed behind with Enoch and Gabe, who weren’t near as talkative. That had something to do with their ages. The old-time Westerners didn’t believe in flapping their gums without a good reason. They considered such behavior a waste of time and energy. The tight-lipped cowboy you see in the moving pictures, there was a lot of truth to that character, not just Hollywood hokum.

  As we got closer to town, I saw columns of dust rising here and there, all of them converging on Largo. I knew they came from wagons and groups of riders, all of them bound for town. A dance like this would draw nearly every able-bodied person for miles around. The population of Largo tonight would be four or five times what it usually was, maybe even more.

  I even spotted a couple of Model A and Model T automobiles bouncing and jouncing over the rough ground when we were nearly to town.

  The dance was being held in the schoolhouse. When we arrived, the open area around the big, whitewashed building was already full of parked wagons and automobiles. Dozens of saddle horses were tied to anything sturdy enough to hold them. Kids ran here and there among the wagons, shouting and laughing, while men shook hands and women hugged each other. Ranch families might see their friends only a few times each year, so they took advantage of those opportunities to visit.

  “It’s a big crowd,” Randy said while we were dismounting. I heard a slight edge of nervousness in his voice and knew what he was thinking. He hadn’t forgotten that he’d taken part in that attempted train robbery, and even though the likelihood of him being recognized was very small, I could tell he was still worried about it.

  I clapped a hand on his shoulder and said quietly, “Nothing wrong with big crowds. They’re easier to blend into.”

  He gave me a narrow-eyed look.

  “You sound like you’re speaking from experience, Mr. Strickland.”

  “Just common sense,” I said. “You don’t have anything to worry about, son, except maybe finding some pretty gals to dance with you.”

  We joined the people who were streaming inside. The school’s benches, chairs, and desks had all been shoved over to the wall or carried outside to make room for folks to move around. Streamers and paper lanterns were hung here and there for decoration. Crates had been brought in and placed at the front of the room so the musicians could stand on them. A table with a punch bowl and cups on it sat to one side. On the other side of the room was another table, this one loaded down with pies and cakes that would be raffled off later.

  “Think I’ll go have a look at them pies,” Enoch drawled. “I might buy a chance on one of ’em. I got a hankerin’ for a good apple pie.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with the pies I make,” Gabe said.

  “No man can bake a pie as good as a woman.”

  Gabe snorted and said, “That’s just plumb loco! I’ll stack my pies up against any you’ll find here.”

  “Why didn’t you bake one and bring it with you, then?”

  “Because I didn’t think of it, that’s why! Anyway, there wouldn’t have been time.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Enoch said. The two of them went off sniping at each other.

  Two men with guitars, one with a fiddle, and one with a big bass fiddle carried their instruments to the front of the room near the crates and started tuning up. That wasn’t enough to make all the folks in the room hush, but they would once the men actually began to play.

  I looked around the room and saw a number of girls and young women congregating along the wall where the table with the punch bowl sat. They cast sly looks at every man who came through the door.

  I nudged Randy with an elbow and said to him and Bert and Vince, “Looks like there’s the bunch of fillies you’ll have to choose from tonight.”

  “Not me,” Bert said with a nervous swallow. “I, uh, I don’t actually . . . dance.”

  “He’s got two left feet,” Vince said, “and that’s being generous. They’re more like two leftover feet, but I don’t know what they were left over from.”

  “Now don’t be like that,” I told him. “I’m sure Bert can dance just fine.”

  Bert shook his head and said, “No, Vince is right, Mr. Strickland. I don’t dare try to dance. If I did, it might cause a real calamity.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. You just need to seize your chances, Bert, and devil take the hindmost.” I laughed. “Besides, life’d be mighty boring without a few calamities now and then.”

  I wasn’t sure he’d take my advice, but at least he seemed to be thinking about it.

  I heard my name being called—the name I was using in those days, anyway—and looked around to see Clyde Farnum waving to me. When I went over to him, he said, “I thought maybe you and your hands would come in for the dance, Jim.”

  “Are you still gettin’ that gasoline pump for the store, Clyde?” I asked him.

  “The Continental Oil Company is gonna put it in next week,” he replied, beaming with pride. “It’ll be the only one in the northern half of the county.”
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  “Well, I wish you luck with it, even though I don’t think I’ll be drivin’ an automobile and needin’ to buy gasoline anytime soon.”

  “You never know. You might decide to up and join the twentieth century one of these days.”

  “Only when they make me,” I said.

  Not long after that, one of the guitar players got up on a crate and hollered for everybody’s attention. When the room had quieted down, he said in a loud voice, “Welcome to the dance, folks. We hope all of you enjoy yourselves, and just as a reminder, there’s a hat on the floor up here, so if any of you want to throw a nickel or a dime in it, me and the boys will appreciate it. Now, everybody on your best behavior—that means no fightin’, no spittin’, and no drinkin’ in the schoolhouse—and here we go!”

  The other three musicians had climbed up on their crates while he was talking, and when he finished they broke into a lively tune that he joined in on with his guitar, his fingers moving so fast they were almost a blur as he wielded that pick. Men and women paired off and started whirling around the floor, and those who weren’t dancing drew off to the sides to give them room and clapped along with the music.

  I had enjoyed my trips to Largo in the past, I suppose, but now for the first time, I really felt like part of the community as I stood there clapping and enjoying the sight of all those people dancing. Randy and Vince had found partners, but Bert stood alone near the punch bowl, watching. Maybe he would come around later, I told myself. Sometimes it just takes a while for a fella to work up his courage, especially when he’s doing something as scary as asking a girl to dance.

  I really wasn’t paying attention to anything except what was going on out on the dance floor, so I didn’t notice right away when someone came up beside me. In the old days I never would have let anyone get that close to me without being aware of it, but I wasn’t expecting trouble at a dance.

  And it wasn’t trouble I got, either, at least not the kind that had plagued me off and on for most of my life. But maybe it was another kind.

  The redheaded, green-eyed, milky-skinned kind of trouble.

  CHAPTER 20

  “It looks like they’re having a lot of fun, doesn’t it?”

  The clear, almost musical voice made me look over quickly. Daisy Hatfield stood beside me, lightly clapping her hands together in time with the music. Her lips were curved in a smile as she watched the dancers. She wasn’t looking at me, but I felt the unexpected power of her presence anyway.

  “Uh, yeah, I reckon,” I said. That was me, slick as calf slobber. I was way too old to have a pretty girl affect me that much, but there you go. Some things you don’t get over completely no matter how old you are.

  “Why aren’t you dancing, Mr. Strickland?” she asked.

  “I’ll get around to it before the night’s over, I expect. For now I’m enjoyin’ watching these other folks have fun.”

  “It’s more fun if you get right in there and do it yourself.”

  When she said that she turned her head and looked at me, and damned if that preacher’s daughter didn’t look downright sinful.

  It took me a second to realize that she knew my name. That meant she must have asked somebody about me. Since that was the case, I thought turnabout was fair play. I said, “I’m surprised to see you here, Miss Hatfield. I figured your father didn’t hold with dancing. Most preachers don’t.”

  “Most Baptist preachers don’t,” she said. “My father is a Methodist.”

  “Ah. A sprinkler, not a dunker.”

  “That’s right. But . . . well, to tell the truth, he doesn’t know I’m here. He probably wouldn’t approve. But if he devotes any thought to the matter at all, he probably thinks I’m in my room at the boardinghouse, studying the Bible.”

  “That sounds like fun, too, I suppose.”

  “Not nearly as much as dancing. Would you think I was being terribly forward if I asked you to dance, Mr. Strickland?”

  “Not at all,” I told her. “But wouldn’t you rather dance with somebody closer to your own age?”

  “You don’t look all that much older than me.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Darlin’, you just don’t know,” I said without thinking. But if being called darlin’ bothered her, I sure couldn’t tell it.

  She took my arm and said, “If you’re not too old to get around the floor, that’s all I care about. Come on.”

  One thing I’ve learned over the years is that if a pretty girl asks you to do something you want to do anyway, you’d be a damned fool not to oblige her. So we walked out on the dance floor, and I put my arm around her waist and took hold of her other hand, and off we went.

  It wasn’t like we were snuggled up together or anything. We kept a respectable distance between us at all times. But I was touching her enough to feel the supple warmth of her body, and as we looked in each other’s eyes I sensed the current flowing between us. There’s no fool like an old fool, the saying goes, and maybe that’s what I was, but as I danced with Daisy Hatfield I forgot about the difference in our ages. She was a woman and I was a man, and I was mighty glad of it.

  The song ended. I didn’t notice at first, or maybe I just didn’t want to notice. I didn’t want to let go of Daisy, that’s for sure. But I had to when she stepped back to applaud. I hoped those musicians wouldn’t waste any time before launching into another tune.

  Before they did, a man I didn’t know stepped up to Daisy and asked, “May I have this dance, miss?”

  “I’m sorry,” she told him. “I’ve already promised it to Mr. Strickland here.”

  He glanced at me and frowned, like he wanted to ask her why she was dancing with somebody like me. He didn’t do it, though, and I was glad because I might have taken offense if he had. Instead he shrugged and said, “Maybe the next one.”

  “I’m afraid not,” she said. “You see, all my dances tonight are promised to Mr. Strickland.”

  A bow scraped on fiddle strings before the young man could say anything, and I told him, “Sorry, son, you’ll have to excuse us now. We’ve got some dancin’ to do.”

  As we started up again, Daisy said, “I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn, Mr. Strickland. I certainly understand if you don’t want to dance every dance with me tonight. I wouldn’t dream of monopolizing your time.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” I told her.

  “I just . . . well, it sounds bad, especially since Father’s going to build a church here and I’ll be seeing these people all the time, but I just don’t feel any real connection with most of them. Do you know what I mean? They live their lives and there’s no . . . no color, no adventure. But I look at you and I see something totally different. I see a man who’s been places and done things.”

  That was true enough, I thought. They hadn’t all been good places or good things, but except for a few short stretches here and there, my life had been pretty well packed. Not with regrets, either.

  But that wasn’t the sort of man I was trying to be now. I said, “I wouldn’t dream of arguin’ with you, Miss Hatfield, but you’ve got me wrong. I’m just a rancher, plain and simple.”

  She looked at me and slowly shook her head.

  “No,” she said, “I don’t think there’s anything plain and simple about you, Mr. Strickland.”

  “You know . . . if we’re going to be dancing together all evenin’, maybe you’d better call me Jim.”

  “I’d like that, but only if you call me Daisy.”

  “Then I reckon we’ve got a deal . . . Daisy.”

  I didn’t really expect her to dance every dance with me. She’d get tired of me, probably sooner rather than later. But for the time being I planned to enjoy whirling around that dance floor with such a pretty gal in my arms that all the other fellas were shooting envious glances my way.

  The musicians played four or five more songs before calling a halt. The one who did the talking said, “We’ll be back in a spell, folks. Why don’t y’
all get some punch and take a gander at those pies and cakes the ladies’ll be rafflin’ off in a little while? Remember, all the proceeds will go to building a church here in Largo.”

  I looked at Daisy in surprise.

  “This dance is to fund the church?” I asked her.

  “That’s right,” she said.

  “But your pa’s not here.”

  “No. He’ll take the money, but that doesn’t mean he cares to associate himself with the way it’s being raised.”

  That seemed more than a little hypocritical to me. But I didn’t have much room to talk, seeing as how I was passing myself off as an honest, respectable cattleman. That’s what I was trying to become, you understand, but it sure wasn’t what I’d been in the past.

  While I was dancing with Daisy I hadn’t really paid any attention to the fellas who’d come to town with me, except for catching a glimpse now and then of Randy or Vince twirling around with one of the local girls. I looked around and saw the two of them now, eyeing the baked goods along with Enoch and Gabe. I didn’t see Bert anywhere, though.

  But I didn’t worry about him. He was around somewhere. Instead I said to Daisy, “Can I fetch you some punch?”

  “That would be very nice, thank you,” she said with a smile.

  I went over to the table and waited for my turn. If some of my old pards could see me now, I thought. There was one of them in particular, my closest friend for a lot of years, who would hooraw me mercilessly if he had seen me fixin’ to fetch punch for a gal at a small-town dance. But he was gone, I reminded myself, and no matter how much I missed him sometimes, time keeps rolling along and things change.

  I was just reaching for a cup when a young fella behind me said excitedly to a friend, “You better forget about the punch and come with me. There’s gonna be trouble outside. Jed Flannery’s got a guy cornered and is threatenin’ to hand him a beatin’. But if you ask me, Flannery’s tryin’ to goad him into a real fight. A gunfight.”

  The friend asked, “Who’s Flannery after now?”

  “One of those guys who used to work at the train station down in the county seat. I think his name is Chadwick or something like that. If he draws against Flannery we can find out for sure when we read his name in the obituaries!”