When
Words FailWhen
Words Failby Jill
© 2000
"There are times when silence has the loudest voice."
- Leroy Brownlow
Today Is Mine
The next day's ride is uneventful. Jimmy and Ike make good time and arrive at Ft. Laramie in the early afternoon. They deliver the letter to the captain and then wander around for awhile, looking for something to do.
"One a the most boring rides I've ever been on," Jimmy says to Ike as they walk down the street, and Ike has to agree.
"You wanna go over to the Saloon an' have a sarsparilla?"
<Sure,> Ike signs. A sarsparilla would taste real good right now. They walk to the Saloon together, but just before they enter Jimmy stops. Ike looks at him, puzzled.
"Dang," Jimmy exclaims. "I left my money in my saddle bags. You go on in, Ike. I'll be right back." Jimmy turns and quickly heads back to the livery stable. Ike shrugs his shoulders and smirks teasingly at Jimmy's back before entering the building.
The Saloon is like any that can be found in the towns along the frontier. The initial wall of thick smoke almost makes Ike choke, and the smell of alcohol permeates the air. In one corner, a man loudly coaxes boisterous music out of the ivory keys of an old upright piano, and there are several card games scattered about the room, as well as a few scantily clad women. Ike quickly averts his eyes from them, but he still feels the heat rising in his face. Hastily, he makes his way over to the bar and sits down. Now comes the part he always dreads; ordering. A rather sour looking man, long overdue for a bath and shave, comes over to Ike.
"What'll ya have, boy?" he growls. Ike is tempted to just wait for Jimmy, but he is thirsty after the long ride.
<A sarsparilla, please,> he says in signs that hopefully anyone can understand.
The man just stares at him.
Ike tries again. He makes a sign like drinking and then points to a bottle of sarsparilla behind the counter, sure the man will understand this time, but instead of understanding, a wicked smile creeps onto the man's face.
"Well looky what we got here. You escape from the circus, boy? Er maybe yer tryin' ta do one a them plays?" He says loudly, causing many of the people to turn and stare at Ike.
Ike glares at the barkeeper, rage smoldering in him. His face is deadly white, his lips pursed together in a thin line.
"You know, Dummy, I really hate to diserpoint ya, but I don't like serve freaks in my Saloon. Bad fer business. But maybe ya could give us a little entertainment? How 'bout a show?" Turning to the rest of the room he continues, "He wants ta give us a show, don't he?"
"Yeah!"
Some of the men move up around Ike, who is now seething inside, but he also knows this could turn nasty if he doesn't do something quickly. He gives them all a look that could freeze water in July, and starts for the door. Before he has taken two steps, however, three men latch onto his arms and stop him.
"We ain't said ya could leave yet, boy," the barkeep says menacingly. "Ya still got a show ta give." The men start to drag Ike towards the raised stage. He struggles for all he is worth, but he is completely outnumbered. By now his face is red from exertion, rage, and embarrassment.
"Let him go!" a voice demands from the doorway. Ike has never been so glad to see Jimmy standing there, his beloved colt revolver trained on the men holding him; and yet, at the same time he hates the fact that he needs rescuing at all.
The men restraining Ike release him. Shoving around a dumb boy is one thing, but messing with a guy with a revolver is another. Ike stares at them, cold fire in his eyes as he leans down to pick up his hat which has fallen off in the struggle. Then he turns his back on them and walks over to Jimmy.
"That boy is a menace ta respectable society," the bartender growls, angry that his fun has been interrupted. "He should be locked away!"
"An' I should give you a lesson in manners," Jimmy growls back.
Ike's emotions are surging inside him, on the point of boiling over. He wishes with all his heart he could utter some scathing rebuke to the bartender, offer some choice words in his own defense, but as is always the case, he is reduced to glares only. And sometimes glares just don't cut it! He stands staring at the scornfully faces in the room for a few more seconds, inwardly fuming, and then turns and storms past Jimmy. Jimmy waits long enough to make sure the men have no intention of following, and then he hurries after him.
"What happened in there?" he asks Ike as he catches up to him.
Ike's whole body is tense with suppressed rage, his lips pressed and his eyes hard steel.
"Ike!"
<Nothing!> Ike signs violently. Jimmy grabs him by the arm and almost jerks him to a stop.
"It didn't look like nothin' ta me. Now what happened?!" Jimmy demands.
<The same thing that always happens with me!> Ike signs fast and clipped.
"I don't understand what ya mean, Ike," Jimmy tells him.
<See! Even you can't understand me! No one can!>, his hands getting faster and faster in his agitation.
Jimmy puts his hands on Ike's shoulders. "Ike, just calm down and go a little slower."
<Why? It doesn't matter. I'm just a dummy anyway,> Ike gestures bitterly.
"Ike, I ain't sure what happened in there just now, but you ain't no dummy. Yer twice the man any a those losers could ever hope ta be," Jimmy says sincerely.
Ike looks up at him. He realizes that in his anger and frustration at the men in the bar, he has been lashing out against Jimmy, too. Sometimes he just can't take it anymore, though! The angry sneers, the whispers of people when he's around, as if he couldn't hear, too. The disgusted looks as he walks down the street. It gets to the point where he feels like he is drowning in it and he has to fight to stay sane! But he shouldn't be fighting his friends. Ike takes a deep breath before replying to Jimmy.
<I'm sorry, Jimmy. I didn't mean to take it out on you. Thanks for your help.> Ike tries to force a weak smile on his face as he signs this.
Jimmy watches Ike's hands carefully, determined to understand him.
"Don't worry 'bout it, Ike. Ya woulda done the same fer me. How 'bout we go check inta the hotel fer the night? Wouldn't mind a soft bed fer once 'stead a that hard bunk."
Ike finally manages a real smile as he says, <And no Buck snoring!>
Jimmy laughs, and together they walk toward the hotel and enter.
The lobby is spacious and well furnished, for a frontier hotel. Off to the left, several tables of the restaurant are visible. To their right is the registration desk, and they approach the clerk behind the counter.
"Evenin'," he says.
"Evenin'," Jimmy responds and Ike nods, content to let Jimmy take the lead here. "We'd like two rooms fer the night."
"Certainly Mr.....?"
"Hickok. James Butler Hickok and this is Ike McSwain."
"Mr. Hickok, Mr. McSwain," the clerk greets each of them with a nod. "Well, if you'll just sign here, I'll put you in rooms 204 and 205."
Ike takes the register to sign his name.
"Oh, and it'll be a dollar each, paid in advance, please."
Jimmy digs into his pocket for a dollar as Ike finishes signing his name. Ike then tries to give the pen to Jimmy, but Jimmy turns red and sends Ike a pleading look.
Instantly, Ike understands! Jimmy can't read! He must not be able to sign his name either. Quickly, before the clerk turns back with the keys, Ike signs Jimmy's name on the line below his. Jimmy gives him a grateful look as the clerk brings the keys.
Jimmy and Ike hand over their dollars and then climb the stairs to put away their stuff. Neither of them notice the surly looking fellow who is sitting at one of the dining tables. He has been paying close attention to the pair since Jimmy announced their names. When the two boys disappear up the stairs, he stands and quickly leaves the building, a pleased smirk on his face.
Half a mile outside of Ft. Laramie, a group of men are gathered in a clearing. They are dirty and unkept and they have the hardened look of men who live for their own pleasures, with no thought for anyone else. Suddenly, one of them sits up straight and looks back towards the fort.
"Horse comin', Terry," he calls.
Ralph Terry, the obvious leader of the group stands and draws his gun. He is a tall man with wild brown hair, but unlike the other men, he gives the impression of being well educated. His face is handsome enough, but his eyes are cold and cruel, and he looks like a man to fear.
The horse nears and then the first man calls out again. "It's just Johnson comin'."
Terry re-holsters his gun, but remains standing as Johnson rides in and dismounts.
"What did I tell you about coming out here in daylight?" Terry growls menacingly at the man. "Dang it man, do you want to give us away?"
"Just listen fer a minute, Terry! Ya know that Hickok fella? The one who killed yer brother. He's in town."
"James Hickok?" Terry asks darkly. Johnson nods.
"What's he doing?"
"Don't know. Maybe deliverin' the mail. Heard he works fer the pony express. Anyways, just saw him check inta the hotel."
"Is he alone?"
"No, checked in with another boy. Prob'bly another express rider. Least they looked like good friends."
Terry's scheming mind is already hatching a plan for revenge. James Hickok shot his younger brother as they fled from a bank robbery a year ago. Shot him in the back! And now Hickok is going to pay for that.
"Ya want us ta ride in an' get him?" Johnson questions.
"No. You say he was with a friend, huh?"
"Yep, both checked in tagether."
"Then I've got a plan," Terry says, an evil glint in his eyes.
