Rattler. Barry Andrew Chambers
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was it? I hit her as hard as I could. “Come on Pandora! Pour it on! Yeeha!”
She looked back at me with annoyance, but attempted to pick up her speed. Her pace quickened, her head bobbed and I noticed she had churned up pieces of turf in her wake.
As I told you, I wasn’t a quick draw, but I could pull a gun a lot faster than this horse could run. I began to think she was doing it on purpose.
“Okay, whoa, whoa girl.” Since she wasn’t going that fast, she went from clippity-clop to clip-clop in two strides.
I turned her around and we went back to town. I bought my first pair of spurs. This horse thing was becoming expensive, but I was determined.
We headed back to the meadow area. Pandora was prancing in a small circle like she was in the center ring. I leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Okay Pandora. Show me what you’ve got.”
I whipped those spurs into her with a brisk kick. At once, we were at that familiar, easy gallop. That wouldn’t do. With all of my leg strength, I dug those spurs in hard. “Go! Go! Go!”
She sped up a little, then abruptly stopped. I went flying, head over heels and landed on my back.
“Oof!” I lay there, stunned. Then, I felt a wet, slippery tongue in my ear. “Hey!” I rolled away from Pandora, feeling a soreness in my ribs.
She followed, and gently nudged me on the back of the neck.
“Okay, okay, I’m all right.” I got up. Pandora put her nose lightly on my chest.
“I guess you’re not a speed demon.”
She shook her head.
“I guess you didn’t like the spurs.
She shook her head once more. “I guess you have other talents.”
Pandora whinnied softly and used her head to push me to her side. I took off the spurs and tossed them on the ground. I mounted Pandora and stroked her mane. “Let’s go home, girl.”
During that week, I got to know Pandora and she got to know me. We had an uneasy relationship, but I liked her and she liked me. I hoped.
I stopped in Andre’s Hats For Men to accumulate my “teacher disguise”.
“I should get a straw hat,” I told Pandora as I looped her reins around a hitching post. “What do you think about a straw hat?”
She looked at me with no emotion. I shrugged. “I’ll get a real dandy with a red band.”
In the hat shop, there was a large assortment of western wear. As a school teacher, I’d worn black pants with a white or grey shirt. Most of the time I wore a bow tie with a black coat. Margie Furman, who was a whiz at geography and science, had told me that I looked like a funeral director.
For my undercover look, I wanted to appear light, non-threatening. That meant light grey or tan pants, a pale pink or blue pastel shirt, and a bleached white straw hat. A red stringed bolero tie would complete the outfit.
I plucked a little number with a red band off the straw hat rack. I put it on my head at a cocky angle and checked it in the mirror. I looked like a carnival barker or worse, a dealer in a casino.
“Hey! Get out of here you!”
I turned and saw the shopkeeper. He was a bald, slightly built man with a sunken-in chest. His voice squeaked when he yelled. “That’s right, I mean you!”
Then I saw who he was yelling at. Pandora’s head was sticking inside the doorway. The clerk took a brown Stetson off the hat tree and waved it at her. “Shoo! Shoo!”
I ran over and grabbed the reins. “I’m sorry sir, she’s…she’s uh…” I looked into Pandora’s eyes. They were sparkling. “She likes hats.” I led her out and lashed her back to the hitching post. “How did you get loose?” I looked down the street to see if any truant schoolboys were lurking behind a rain barrel trying to hold in their mirth. It was obviously some schoolboy trick.
After returning to the shop and purchasing my outfit, I rode over to the house where I rented a room. I put on the teacher clothes and looked in the mirror. “Now that’s what a real school teacher looks like,” I told my reflection. I tilted the straw hat to the side. Yep, that was the look I was going for.
Not far from the center of town was a German beer garden. Mr. Stienhaus from Chicago ran a successful establishment. He’d started others in Indiana and southern Illinois, but this was the first one in Kansas. People liked to sit outside at long tables and feast on thick bratwurst sandwiches and cold beer.
I wound Pandora’s rein an extra time around the hitching post and walked into the front of the beer garden to place my order. After a few minutes, I took my food on a tray to the back where a man pumped a hand organ to entertain the open air-diners. Near the hedge was a long table where two cowboys and a banker sat, exchanging dirty stories. I took the end spot and tried to look like a school teacher. It never occurred to me to just be myself. After all, I had actually been a teacher. I took out a copy of Les Miserables and read as I ate.
As I took a big bite of bratwurst, my straw hat blew off—but the air was as still as pond water. The cowboys and banker laughed. A little girl eating with her parents laughed and pointed at me.
I turned and saw Pandora on the other side of the hedge. She had my straw hat in her mouth and backed away.
“Hey! Come back! How did you get loose?!”
She started to canter off. There was an opening in the hedge and I shot through it. I caught the slow loping Pandora by the reins. “Give me that hat!”
She nickered and turned away.
I grabbed the brim, but she held it tight in her teeth. “Let go! Give it to me Pandora!” I pulled. The straw stretched and the hat went from round to oblong. I let go and it sprang back into shape. “Okay! Fine! Keep it!” I yelled.
I started to walk away. As I did so, a shadow followed. I felt the hat drop onto my head. “Well that’s more like it.”
Rather than return to the beer garden, I decided to go to a saloon. I lashed Pandora to the hitching post and went inside. I ordered a beer, sat at a table, and watched her. For a full two minutes, she didn’t move. Then she drew her face close to the reins around the post. Her head bobbed. She moved away from the post with the leather in her mouth. She flipped the reins in a reverse order from how they were wound.
“Impossible,” I whispered.
She moved back to the post, ducking under it and catching the reins with her teeth. It looked like she was blowing with her mouth as the reins flipped back up over the post, toward her. After repeating these actions three more times, she was loose.
“Impossible,” I said once more. Then, I laughed. I laughed so hard, people began staring at me. “Impossible!” I yelled, laughing and slapping the table.
After that, I was asked to leave.
I took a circuitous route to Clearview. My plan was to approach the area as if I were coming from Colorado. It would be on the edge of Comanche territory, but I wanted no witness seeing me approach the town from the east. My story was that I was from Tenbone, Colorado and it had to look true.
About thirty miles out, I camped in a clearing amid gently rolling hills. I shared some beef jerky with Pandora who proved to have a taste that ranged from old leather to sweet potato pie. She was acting a little edgy that night as I lay by the fire. She neighed quietly.
“What?”
She neighed and nodded.
“No. I don’t feel like singing. I sang for you last night.”
Pandora turned her head to the right. I followed her gaze to a thick, dark, pine tree.
“What is it you want?”
She pranced over to the