Part 11 (1/2)

”Frank won't let me go without him!”

Mrs. Wood-who was, along with her husband, always eager to make the Missourians uncomfortable-Mrs. Brown, and I huddled together. The two of them would take Mrs. Wood's buggy and her fast mare. Frank and I would take Jeremiah and borrow a light buggy from another of the ladies. Mr. Graves, it was said, had his place some five miles out, along the Santa Fe road. I explained to the women that I needed to be supplied with a certain liquid commodity over and above the money I would be taking with me. The women hesitated, but then one of them went away. She came back half an hour later, muttering, ”It's on the seat of the buggy, wrapped in a quilt.”

Mrs. Brown's cousin was not quite as far as Mr. Graves, and her other friend was near to him but off the road a ways. With two buggies, we all agreed, there was more of a chance that one or the other would get through.

”Getting back will be the trick,” said Mrs. Wood. ”A keg of powder looks like a keg of powder.”

”We'll think of something,” said Mrs. Brown. ”Don't we always?'' They were very self-a.s.sured, these New England dames.

I met Frank lounging along Vermont Street, watching the drilling. He told me that one of our men, Pomeroy, had been taken and another man shot, named Barbour, who was riding his horse south to his claim to see his family after days in Lawrence. He was unarmed.

”We'll take that as our lesson,” I said.

Frank perked up.

We had Jeremiah hitched to the buggy in a few minutes and then went back to the Wood cabin to get the money they had gathered. Mr. Graves, of course, was known, at least by repute, to everyone, and my mission was considered less probable of success than that of Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Wood. As we drove south along Ma.s.sachusetts Street, Frank practiced gesturing to me as if I couldn't hear a word. But though there were roving bands of Missourians all along the way, and though I knew we would be relieved of our keg of highly rectified whiskey should any of them stop us, we saw only two or three, from a distance, and no one obstructed us in any way. This was, perhaps, more disconcerting. I couldn't shake the conviction that they were there, hidden in the brush, behind trees, down in the bottoms of the Wakarusa River, which ran south of Lawrence. That they didn't come out gave them mystery and power, and made them all the more deadly. Of course, I upheld the masquerade of deafness, but I listened to Frank's talking and singing with a heart that beat as rapidly with excitement as with fear. Jeremiah moved through the cold air at a steady fast trot, his ears forward and his look as alert as a watchdog's might be, but after a few miles of seeing and hearing nothing, I felt a little oppressed.

”Now, Mrs. Newton-for you see, I recognize you perfectly-” said Mr. Graves when we called him out, ”I take the arrival of you two young persons as a sign that my southern friends have shown their usual forbearance in refraining from burning out and looting the n.o.ble city on the hill, or rather, under the hill.” I saw that Mr. Graves had altered, or developed, his mode of speaking yet again. He was a mysterious man, possibly more dangerous than he allowed himself to appear.

”Still might,” said Frank cheerfully. ”They got some fieldpieces over there.”

”Do they, indeed,” said Mr. Graves, doubtfully. He showed no signs of asking us in, bitter cold though it was, and now that I was here, I realized that I had not developed a plan for gaining his supplies, should he have any. I said, ”How are your warts, Mr. Graves?”

He lit up. ”Now, ma'am, I'd forgotten that you were a party to, or at least a witness of, that most successful medical strategy. Yes, indeed, not one week after I left that package beside the road, I woke up miraculously-and I say miraculously, but indeed, the remedy was pure science- relieved of that dermatistical burden. I may say that the Indians of Kansas Territory look upon me as nearly a G.o.d.”

”Are you running a store, Mr. Graves?”

”A store, a school, a church, a surgical dispensary, of sorts. I have four cows to be milked, and I sell the milk. It's a quiet life, somewhat remote from the concerns of society-”

”But I thought you enjoyed-”

”I go among them, they come to me. It's all much the same. You, for example, have come to me. Bringing with you a most prepossessing young man.”

”You a trader?” said Frank.

”I am.”

”Look at this, then.” Frank pulled a large kerchief from his pocket and opened it on the footboard of the wagon. Mr. Graves stepped over to look. Along with a paper of needles, a tarnished spoon, half a dozen square nails, a small bit for a pony, and the head of a hammer, I was amazed to find myself perusing a pair of woman's earbobs, elaborately fas.h.i.+oned of what seemed to be gold, small diamonds, and large, tear-shaped pearls. Mr. Graves said, ”How much you want for that hammerhead, boy?”

”You got money?”

”I do.”

”K.T. money? Or U.S. money?”

”Silver money.”

Frank whispered to me, ”I got that for an old bucket I found. How much should I ask?”

”Fifty cents.”

”Four bits,” said Frank to Mr. Graves.

”Pah!” said Mr. Graves. ”An't got a shaft. I can get a new hammer with a shaft made in Cincinnati, Ohio, for four bits.”

”If,” said Frank, ”you intend to wait to do your hammering, but if you want to hammer now, this is the hammerhead I got.”

Mr. Graves laughed and put his hand in his pocket. He handed Frank two quarter dollars and pulled his ear for him. Frank handed him the hammerhead.

”Mr. Graves,” I said, ”how are you supplied for, uh, powder and lead?”

”My needs are taken care of. Powder and lead have come under heavy demand lately, I will say.”

”Other things, too, I'm sure,” I said, c.o.c.king my head toward the wrapped-up keg of whiskey.

Mr. Graves now looked directly at that and, I think, realized for the first time what it was. He grew very smooth, saying, ”When the first two are in requisition by my compatriots, the last is highly likely to be wanted, as well.”

”Yankee owned, Mr. Graves, but Kentucky made, I'm told.”

Mr. Graves walked around the buggy. The keg of whiskey seemed to take on a rather queenly bearing, wrapped as it was in a crazy quilt made of silks and satins. He looked again, then walked forward to Jeremiah's head and gave his ears a tickle. Jeremiah flicked them back and forth.

”Sir,” said Frank.

”Yes, son?” said Mr. Graves.

”Them earbobs are the real thing. They come from New Orleans, and when they were new, they cost three hundred dollars.”

I said, ”Frank Brereton, how did you get hold of such a thing? Who in the world would give those to you? If you picked them up on the street, you have to return them to their rightful owner!”

”I didn't pick them up on the street. I an't a thief.”

”I am not a thief.”

”I know you an't. I an't, either.”

I pursed my lips in frustration, while Mr. Graves said, ”Let me see those again, boy. I need to get a feel of them.”

Frank pulled out the kerchief and untied it. Now all three of us looked shamelessly at the earbobs. All I could tell was that the gold had a clean look. Mr. Graves took them up and cradled them in his hand. After a moment, he put them back, his expression sober, and said, ”You young people have taken a great risk coming here. There were Missourians here all night last night.”

”Then,” said Frank, ”you must be clear out of whiskey.”

Mr. Graves turned on his heel and walked into his cabin, closing the door behind him.

We sat there for a long time, but the door didn't open. At first we were quiet, but then Frank plucked my sleeve and said, ”Mrs. Lacey gave 'em to me. She said they were nothing to her. If Mr. Lacey was to get killed for having no ammunition, she could never wear'em, anyway.”