Cry of the Hawk

“I HEAR THE pickings are good up there in Kansas,” said the tall, long-haired, bald-topped Jubilee Usher in his soft-edged yet cannonlike voice.

Boothog Wiser longed to have the power to move men as Usher did, to wrap them up into his powerful presence and move them. Yet Wiser had to be content threatening this band of freebooters and cutthroats. Whereas Usher motivated through awe, Wiser maintained control only through fear.

Usher laid his big arm over the beefy shoulder of one of the band of scouts under Captain Eloy Hastings newly returned to Indian Territory from a long reconnaissance. “Fordham here tells me the country’s wide open up there.”

Riley Fordham smiled. Wiser couldn’t blame him. Any man among them would kill to bask in the glow of their leader’s bright light.

“Tomorrow morning, we’re pulling out,” Usher went on. “Riding north. The railroad’s up there in Kansas, boys. And you know what that means.”

“Whiskey!”

“Women too!”

“Yes,” Usher goaded them. “All that and more. It’s about time this bunch had a holiday, don’t you think?”

The roar of their voices was deafening, that band of more than forty now backslapping and shoulder pounding, dancing little jigs in anticipation of the hurraw they would have themselves once up there in Kansas Territory.

“I want the harness soaped and the wagon hubs greased,” Usher commanded, bringing some order to the raucous celebration. “Work first, boys. Then we play!”

Usher turned away from the celebrants, dragging Riley Fordham with him as he stepped back toward Wiser. “C’mon, Major Wiser. Let’s go have a drink with Riley.”

“A drink, Colonel Usher?” Fordham asked.

“Some of my best.”

Fordham licked his lips. “I’d drink your whiskey anytime. Not like the rest of that mule piss the rest of us been drinking.”

When they stood beneath the awning of Usher’s tent, each holding a china cup at the end of an arm, Usher’s Negro manservant poured the whiskey red as a bay horse from a decanter. Wiser watched Fordham close his eyes and drink in the hefty aroma of the aged whiskey.

Usher raised his cup. “To your successful journey, Riley.”

“Yes, sir, Colonel.”

“To Kansas, Colonel,” Wiser said as he brought his cup to his lips. He savored these moments shared with Usher, especially the bonded whiskey. Moments when Usher was as smooth as old scotch whiskey.

“Yes, Riley. Tell us about your trip to Kansas with Captain Hastings,” Usher suggested as he took his cup from his lips.

Fordham swiped a hand across his mouth, his eyes already alive with the potency of the whiskey. “Like a juicy fruit, Colonel. Ready to drop into our hands.”

Usher smiled the benign smile that made his whole face glow. “How far has the railroad penetrated?”

“They must be starting work by now, Colonel. West of Abilene. Track runs along the Smoky Hill River.”

“Headed west for Colorado?” Wiser asked.

“You remember Colorado, don’t you, Mr. Wiser?”

Boothog had fond recollections of the high country and the gold camps and the women who flocked to the places where men came to dig gold from the hard earth. He liked remembering the women. Times were this flat, rolling land ate at Boothog’s soul the way this running and hiding, and running again did. Times were he longed for those high places where the powdered, painted women flocked, there to do things to a man he had only dreamed of.

“Maybe Kansas has some women worth the trouble, Colonel,” Wiser replied.

Usher smiled, his big teeth brilliant in that shining face. “A man can find that sort of woman anywhere, Major.”

“They come west, right along with the track crews, Colonel,” said Fordham. “Chippies and the gamblers and the drummers all come marching right along with the railroad.”

“You see, Major Wiser. In Kansas we will find your type of woman.”

“Just once, Colonel—for once in my life I’d like to spread the legs on a woman like that one you’re keeping all to yourself.”

Boothog watched the grin drain from Usher’s face like water from a busted pail.

“She is not your kind—and you’ll not entertain such thoughts ever again, Mr. Wiser. That woman is truly a different sort, meant for the likes of me. Are we agreed on that?”

Wiser realized his mouth had gone dry. “We’re agreed, Colonel.”

“Make this the last time we will talk on this subject,” Usher said as Wiser’s eyes flicked to Fordham’s face with the movement of a hummingbird. “We are different people, Major. And we have different needs. Yours, well—yours are more primitive. While mine … what I have with that woman is something spiritual. Divine and ordained—we are truly bound to one another in the manner of the temple wed. Yet you likely don’t understand. Nor will you ever.”

“I’ll never, never cross you, Jubilee.”

“Colonel Usher,” Jubilee snapped, the sharp narrowing of his eyes indicating to Wiser that there was another man in their presence.