Crows & Cards (19 page)

"You plan on doing nothing?" The princess made it sound as though a dung beetle could have come up with a better notion.

"Don't you see?" I persisted. "That's the perfect way. If I don't touch that telegraph, Chilly will think your hand's a bust and won't bother dealing himself much of anything to beat you. Maybe an ace or something, but that's about all. Gamblers don't ever want to raise any more suspicions than they have to. So you ought to have a pretty good chance to win."

"What if our hand
is
a bust?"

"Well, there ain't no guarantees," I mumbled.

"Why don't you come up with some way to let us know what's in
his
hand? Now that'd be a plan."

"But that'd be cheating, and I'm aiming to turn over a new leaf."

"So it was all right to help him cheat us," she scolded, "but not to help us do the same?"

I almost said,
Well, that was then and this is now,
but something else sneaked up on me. "Are you saying it's all right to cheat a cheater?"

She reached out and rapped a knuckle on my forehead, which I'm sorry to say sounded kind of hollow. "'Course I am, if you're the one being cheated."

"What about 'do unto others'?" I asked, quoting the golden rule.

"If you're being cheated, cheaters are the others."

Fast as her answers were flying, she left me feeling slow as a slug, and though I wasn't entirely satisfied with what she'd said, I wasn't totally out of sorts with it either. After all, Chilly had brought all this down on himself with his crooked ways. But the princess didn't worry herself much over how I might be twisting about in the wind. She'd already moved on to flinging words at her father.

The chief, he peacefully sucked on his pipe the whole while she had at him, which lasted long enough for him to have a couple of hacky spells. When she was done, the chief had his turn, which didn't last anywhere near so long but didn't have any back-down to it either. Then around they went again, though this time the chief's answer was even shorter and flintier than before.

The princess didn't like what she was hearing at all and grumbled with a long face, "He wants to know if you can caw like a crow."

"Guess so," I answered, caught so unawares that I didn't even ask what that had to do with anything.

"He wants to hear you do it."

"I'll try." I tilted my head back a touch and situated my tongue, but all I managed was a measly little "Aw-aw."

The chief shuddered as if it was the most pitiful half-starved crow he'd ever heard.

"Crow," the princess scoffed, "not sparrow. Try again."

"There a reason I should?"

"My father says your plan's not enough, but maybe we can strengthen it, if you can crow."

"How's that going to help?"

"By spooking Chilly. He thinks crows are the worst kind of bad luck."

Soon as she said it, I knew it was right, 'cause Ho-John hadn't minced any words about Chilly being more superstitious than a one-armed fisherman. It explained why Chilly had shot out our bedroom window, and paid more attention to the sky than a farmer caught up in a seven-year drought, and acted so tickled when he'd heard that a crow had visited the chief instead of him. Still and all, I couldn't resist asking how they knew something so private. 'Course, they had an ironclad answer—a crow had told them. Now how could I argue with such reasoning as that? So I buckled down and put my mind to work on thinking
crow
with all my might.

"A
W
-AW."

The chief wrinkled his nose at my efforts. To prove his point, he laid down his pipe, cupped his hands around his mouth, and cawed so pretty that I almost checked the tent flap to see if one hadn't hopped inside.

It took at least a good dozen tries, along with some stiff coaching, before I got off a good enough caw to satisfy him.

"All right," I said. "Now what?"

"When Chilly's dealing out the cards," the princess instructed, "you caw three times."

"That's all?"

Apparently not. Just then the chief cupped a hand around his ear in that way he had when getting news from far off. His face took on a startled look, as if someone who never lied had just told him the moon was on fire. He shook his head in disbelief and said something to the smoke lifting out of the tepee, or at least that's what he seemed to be talking to. The princess rolled her eyes disgusted-like, particularly when her father cocked his head to hear more. After that, he answered softer, as though apologizing to someone.

Turning to the princess, he spewed out some blistering-hot instructions. Her eyes flashed and she answered back all shrill, but he held his ground and real gently, with both hands, pulled off his top hat, revealing a small leather pouch riding on his head. He lifted the little bag up and held it out to the princess, who snatched it from him and thrust it toward me. "My father wants you to have this."

"What's in there?" I asked, leaning back 'cause I thought I heard something rustling about inside the pouch.

"My father's eyes."

I didn't swallow that one, at least not all the way down. Far as I could tell, his eyes were still sitting in his head. But he was able to see someway or other, wasn't he? Cautious, I asked, "What do you mean?"

"The spirit in this bag sees for him," she said. "That's why he carries it on his head, so he can always hear what the spirit has to say."

"You mean he doesn't see all them things himself?"

"Only a spirit could manage all that, and right now it's taken pity and offered to help you. Don't ask me why."

She sounded middling jealous, as though maybe she'd been passed over, which bucked me up enough to ask, "Where'd he ever meet up with such a thing as that?"

"Atop a mountain, when he was young and brave."

"And what on earth am I supposed to do with it?"

"Listen to its advice. It's strong medicine."

Well, if the chief was offering me strong medicine, I wasn't going to turn him down.
Stronger the better,
I say to myself, 'cause I knew Chilly was a haystack waiting for a spark. When I put my hand out for the pouch, the princess couldn't resist warning, "Don't lose it."

"Guard it with my life," I promised.

She scowled but dropped the little bag on my palm just the same. Picking up its leather drawstring, I agreed to bring it back after tonight. Then I cleared out of there lickety-split, knowing I had to beat Chilly back to the inn if any of this was going to happen. I needn't have worried though. He was partaking of a chaw and nip with Dr. Buffalo Hilly on the other side of the medicine wagon. They were having themselves a back-slapping laugh about all the cawing coming from the chief's tepee. Buffalo Hilly was going on about how if it wasn't one thing, it was another flying down the chief's smoke hole. "Everything from fireflies to crows."

"Just so long as they stay away from my chimney," Chilly declared.

I hustled onward, thinking we'd see who got the last laugh 'bout all this.

Halfway to the inn something started whirring around inside the bag, and I could almost make out a few words too. They echoed a bit, seeming to come from at least ten different directions, the way voices skip about in a cave. It took a minute or two before I found the spit to take a peek at what was stirring in there.

What I saw nearly gave me the faints. There was a bird's foot in the pouch. A crow's, if I was any judge. Now how was that going to see anything for the chief? Or talk to me, for that matter? But when I fussed about it longer, I recalled the princess saying it was a spirit that did the seeing and talking. The leg must have been all that was left of that poor creature's earthly remains. Thank goodness it'd lost its beak. Thinking I'd put all this to the test, I closed up the bag and plopped it on my head same as the chief did, to find out what it might have to say for itself. But it'd turned silent for the moment; all I could hear was the clip-clop of a horse prancing down the lane. Lucky for me I'd felt kind of foolish about wearing a leather pouch for a hat and had slipped behind a wall. The horse coming my way carried the Professor, who appeared to be headed down to the levee on important business, fast as he was moving. He'd have spotted me for sure if I hadn't been hiding.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I
TOOK THE POUCH OFF MY HEAD
and held it the same way I would have handled a snapping turtle—by the tail (or drawstring) and at arm's length. Whatever was inside stayed still as I raced the rest of the way back to the inn. By the time I reached Goose's whale sign, I was in such a pant that I just dove under the house. Tearing along beneath the floorboards wasn't any bother at all, not with Chilly somewhere behind me. The footsteps and gruff voices up above my head moved me along too. Here and there shoots of light cut through cracks in the flooring, guiding me, and I was glad of it. Getting tangled up with Ho-John's hidden poke and blanket was the last thing I needed.

Back in the pantry, everything was exactly where I'd left it. So far, so good. I replaced the floorboards and climbed onto my shelf, where I did my level best to catch my breath and pretend I didn't have a pouch with a crow's leg in my hand. It took me a good while to calm down, and then, just when I'd started to get a grip on myself, Ho-John came shuffling into the pantry for a cup of flour, which stirred me up all over again.

"Suppose you're helping skin the chief tonight," Ho-John grumble-whispered.

"Hope not," I answered.

"Going to take considerable more than hope to put a stop to that. Right here's the time for taking a hard look at yourself. Ain't going to be none better. You needs to remember that we all gots to carry our mistakes with us, wherever we go, for the rest of our lives, and toting 'em around can get to be blistering hard work."

Hearing all that made me want to blurt out my plans in the worst kind of way, but before I could, Chilly came barging in. Chasing Ho-John out of the pantry, he grabbed hold of my ankle with one hand and aimed considerably higher with his other. Tight as his fingers were clamped around my throat, I couldn't stutter nor swallow nor breathe as he dragged me partway off my shelf. He never even noticed the pouch I was still holding 'cause he stuck his face right up next to mine. His goatee bristled my cheek and his breath, all minty and fiery with Dr. Buffalo Hilly's tonic, made my right eye moist and fluttery.

"You handle the telegraph right tonight," he rasped so nobody out in the main parlor could hear him, "or I'll flay you like a rabbit."

With that, he latched onto the back of my neck as if to show me how such a thing could be done. Hard as he was squeezing me, I couldn't hardly think straight and bucked against his hand without shaking anything loose but a low, cruel cackle from Chilly. Spots danced before my eyes as he bent my neck till it almost snapped.

Lantern light from the kitchen glinted off the gold stem of Chilly's pocket watch, which was nearly poking me in the nose. While he was growling threats in my ear, I found myself doing the most foolish thing imaginable, but I just didn't care. I wanted to teach that man a thing or two about mistreating people, especially if their name was Crabtree, and I didn't mind about the risks. You see, my fingers were reaching for his watch.

Maybe he was too busy tormenting me to catch on to what I was up to. Or possibly all my practicing sleight of hand with cards was paying off. I wasn't about to ask which 'cause right about then I was unhooking the watch's gold chain from Chilly's vest pocket. When he shoved me back onto my shelf, threatening me with a hiss that burned hot as a branding iron, I'd already dropped his watch into my own vest pocket.

"S-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s!"

Being threatened that way cleared up any doubts I had about if I was doing the smart thing. My business wasn't smart at all. Pure dumb, you might call it, crazed as Chilly was acting. But it sure felt right, and when it came to measuring things, I was praying that counted for more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE