CASINO SHUFFLE (47 page)

     
Josh recalled hiding from his father in the boatshed for some misdeed and squeezing shut his eyes as his father peered over his hiding place.
 
A child’s reasoning told him he couldn’t be seen if he closed his eyes.

     
"Guess those gents didn't do their chores," Josh remarked absently.

     
"What are you saying, boy?" Metzger said, turning his gaze on Josh.

     
"Nothin' sir!
 
Just thinkin' out loud."

     
"Hrumph," snorted Metzger.

     
"Them rascals be Pawnee, sure," broke in Delacroix.
 
"You can tell by their leggings and their hairpiece.
 
They stick part of it in the air with paint and bear grease and shave off the rest.
 
Maybe they feel it makes their scalps less appealin."

     
Delacroix could see the greenhorns were impressed with this bit of plains knowledge.
 
Of course, he could tell them that buffalo came from mating horses and bears and they'd probably sell the story to a newspaper.
 
What the hell, let them think he was Kit Carson hisself.

     
"They're sure movin like the devil's come for supper," said Josh.

     
"If the devil had Sioux on his trail, he'd be making quick time, too," Delacroix retorted.

     
"What're we seein' here, Delacroix?" interrupted Metzger.
     

     
"It appears,
Capitaine
, those Pawnee came up north for some fun and got a taste of Sioux hospitality.
 
T'would expect they left some of their companions behind to pay the bill," the scout replied.
 
"We may see some Oglala if they don't pass us in the night."

     
"Does that mean trouble for us?" inquired Metzger.

     
"Not likely, but they will steal something if they can just to say they did it.
 
They see it as a point of honor to be able to come and go without us knowing.
 
Stealing something would just go to prove it."

     
Metzger motioned them back and nodded towards some approaching men.
 
"Let's head back to camp.
 
I'd best be tellin' everybody their scalps are still safe."
 
Metzger left the scout and Josh to themselves.

     
"Mr. Delacroix, we've some fine peaches to liven up your supper.
 
Hope you'll like 'em," Josh invited.

     
"Mighty fine, boy—and I'll bring something to the fire to liven yours."

     
The scout untied a sack from his saddle pack, reached in and with a glint in his eye, produced a rattlesnake as thick as his wrist and about five feet long.
 
He held it by the head, pressing down so the fangs dripped yellow venom.
 
It was hideous.

     
"Always happy to share with those that haven't any.
 
Let's go eat."

     
"Oh, sir!
 
I couldn't eat snake any more than I could eat crow," Josh squeaked.

     
"Can't blame you to that point, boy.”
 
Delacroix was warming to his fun.
 
“Crow meat cooks up a mite too strong for good eating, but a baked rattler is as sweet a plate as you'll find."
 
He looked at the stricken young man and added, "Don't get smarmy there.
 
After you eat bacon and hard biscuit for two months you'll be looking for snakes and such and a'licking your lips."

     
     
When they arrived back at the wagon Jubal was crouched at the fire tending some biscuits in the collapsible tin oven and had a bacon slab sizzling on a skewer over the low flame.
 
Josh pulled up a crate, sat down, and casually turned the bacon spit.

     
"We saw some Pawnee Indians, Jubal ; on the run from a scalpin' party of Sioux."

     
"Everybody else see'd 'em too, Mr. Bonner.
 
That's as close as I ever want to be to Indians if they cause as much carryin’ on as they did here.
 
You'd a'thought a circus was passin' for all the ruckus," Jubal replied, winking.

     
Suddenly Jubal’s mouth fell to his chest, his eyes bugged out, and he fell on his backside.
 
Silently working his mouth, he peered over Josh's shoulder.
 
With feigned disinterest, Josh nonchalantly turned to look behind him.

     
Delacroix cut the snake's head off and tossed it near the fire.
 
He planted one foot on the tail and had the snake stretched out like a washtub banjo.
 
Beginning at the tail, he slit the snake along its length and proceeded to gut the carcass with a callused thumb.

     
Josh finally found his tongue.
 
"That's a right big snake, mister.
 
Is there more on the road ahead?"

     
"Been seeing 'em regular now for two days," Delacroix replied.
 
"This one about threw himself at me so I couldn't refuse.
 
But,
oui
, there are more.
 
It's spring and they are out of their nests.
 
We'll see many more than you will like.
 
I wouldn't worry much, though.
 
They will git quicker than they are likely to strike—and they always shake their hips first."

     
With that he picked up the rattle and shook it mischievously next to his face.
 
The image of the slick gutted snake looping below the Frenchman’s creased face was eerie in the gloaming light.
 
The scout set the carcass at the edge of the coals.
 
Josh squinted shut his eyes for a second, hoping the disturbing vision would vanish.

     
 
Josh could see, short of convulsions, he was in for a taste of snake.
 
He looked toward Jubal hopefully to see if he had any ideas.
 
It appeared, for a black man, Jubal was a little green about the gills.
 
His return glance didn't seem to hold any promise of escape and Josh reckoned there was little hope of avoiding the tracker's preparation.
 
Picking up the dishes he handed them around.

     
"May as well have some sowbelly whilst we're waitin'," he said.
 
Josh picked up the cup that had been catching the drippings of the sizzling slab bacon and mixed in some flour to make gravy.
 
Jubal handed around biscuits from the tin oven and began slicing the meat.

     
"Don't get full bound.
 
There will be plenty of
serpent
for everyone," Delacroix admonished as he accepted his plate.
 

     
Delacroix peered over the rim of his coffee cup at his dinner companions.
 
While rattlesnake was not his favorite meal, the amusement it afforded him with the greenhorns could soon make it one.
 
Those who had never traveled the
Oregon Road
departed with the impression they would eat fresh antelope and
buffle
throughout the journey.
 
There were buffalo to be had, surely, but further west.
 
The antelope, however had become skittish with so much activity, as had the birds.
 
Only a skillful and patient hunter could bring in fresh game and then only from far afield of the road.
 
Coffee, bacon, and hard bread were the fare for all until the buffalo herds were discovered.

     
The tracker, upon finishing his dish, set it down.
 
“Dinner’s ready,” he said, lifting the carcass gently from the coals.

     
Jubal sensed the guide was having his fun at their expense.
 
He knew Josh and he were going to eat snake tonight or the Frenchman would brook them no peace all the way to
Oregon
.
 
Well, he could try it once but he wasn't about to take up any foreign habits.

     
"Mr. Del'croy, let's serve up that thing and be a'done with it.
 
I want to turn in and dream 'bout sweet tater pie."

     
Delacroix replied, “Any preference for which end we start on?"

     
"The end without the poison will suit me," Josh piped up.

     
The scout drew his knife and sliced portions of the snake onto plates.
 

     
"It looks and smells better than I expected,” said Josh, “though I have no standard to rally to,"

     
He watched as Delacroix fingered loose a chunk, blew on it, and dropped it into his mouth.

     
"Don't let it cool too much, boys.
 
It loses some of its flavor."

     
"Gingerly Josh slipped loose a morsel, lifted it to his mouth and cautiously took a bite.
 
The texture was firm like channel catfish back home and the flavor was mild.
 
Josh snuck a peek at Jubal and hoped his own face didn't look at all like what he saw.

     
"Welcome to the trail,
mes amies
," chuckled Delacroix between bites.
 
The scout rose and strode away from the fireside licking at his fingers noisily.
 
He would leave them so they could spit the meat out beyond his seeing.

     
"Damn him," Josh growled!
 
"I ain't about to let that blasted Frenchy make me for a fool.
 
I'm gonna eat at this snake until that trapper thinks we have it for Sunday supper twice a month."

     
"But, Mister Josh, the Frenchy ain't here to see us eat it," said Jubal meekly.

     
Josh grinned.
 
"I'm glad you said 'us', Jubal.
 
Let's split up this worm and have at'er."

     
"Mister Josh!"

     
"And don't be sickin' it up neither," Josh admonished.
 
They began eating.

     
As they were collecting the dinnerware and finishing up with the coffee and the peach preserves, the scout returned and helped himself to a cold biscuit and some peaches.
 
The fact the snake was mostly gone didn’t escape him.
 
Josh was leaning back and wishing he had saved a bone to pick his teeth with.
 
The trapper squatted at the fire and waved his cup at them, offhandedly.

     
"You are lucky,
mes amies, Le Capitaine
Metzger is posting extra guards tonight but is sparing you two.
 
Perhaps you are too young and you are too dark, eh?"
 
He pointed at each in turn.

     
"Probably he doesn't want any snakeeaters pokin' about his wagons," Josh snapped back.

     
Josh and Jubal rolled their gear out under the wagon.
 
Each had a buffalo robe, bought in
St. Joseph
, for a ground cover.
 
They pulled blankets up over themselves and balefully stared at their guide who was laying out his own worn robes.

     
Delacroix smiled to himself.
 
He was beginning to like these two.
 
The boy had sand and Jubal seemed an able and willing hand.
 
They had taken the edge off his joke by finishing the snake but he had enjoyed himself.
 
One had to make do for pleasantries while on the plains. The trapper banked the fire and began to uncoil a stiff rope around his bedding.
 
The inquiry was only moments in coming.