“The point I make, chaps, is that these are good men. Far better men than I am in their own way. If either of them is mistreated or made fun of you’ll have to answer to me and, I’d guess, your cobber here, the Chief. Now, one other thing, you’ll be on horseback. Any of you ever rode before?”
Chief Pharmacist’s Mate Wharton stepped out of the line. “Some of us have ridden before, Mr. Biggs. But we have a real Apache Indian with us and he said he’d show us how it’s done.” Wharton smiled.
“An American Indian?” Biggs said. “Never seen one of those gentlemen. Will you step out, sir, and introduce yourself?
“Charlie Two Blankets,” the Apache said, stepping out of the line. “I think some of our tribal trackers could go up against your people. Any time.”
“In your country, yes,” Biggs said. “Out here, no. It’s different, y’see, like our cricket and your baseball.”
“Charlie Two Blankets is the greatest bronco-busting rider in the Navy, Mr. Biggs,” Chief Wharton said. He was smiling at the Australian. “If you’ve got any horses that need breaking ol’ Charlie is the man to break them for you. At least that’s what he tells us.”
The Australian looked at him, the sun lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiled.
“Well, yes, chaps. I do have a horse that none of my Abo people can handle. Bucks like a mad thing if you get near the beast. Maybe Mr. Two Blankets would have a go at breaking him.” He turned to Flanagan. “If you’d allow it, sir?”
“It’s up to Charlie, I guess,” Flanagan said.
“Go on, Indian,” Wharton jeered. “Let’s see you do your stuff on the man’s wild horse.” Charlie Two Blankets shrugged.
“Show me the animal,” he said.
Biggs led the way toward a large corral. Walking beside Flanagan he dropped his voice to just above a whisper.
“Served my time in our Army, First World War,” he said. “I know what that handsome chap’s up to, egging on the Indian man. Hope the Indian can ride. Do you know?”
Flanagan shook his head.
The horse in the corral looked wild. It threw its head back and snorted loudly, its eyes rolling, as the group of men neared the corral. Charlie Two Blankets eyed the animal for a moment and then stooped down and undid the laces of his shoes and kicked them off. He took off his socks and placed a sock carefully in each shoe. Then he stripped off his dungaree shirt and trousers and walked up to the corral bars in his shorts. He vaulted over the top rail, dropped down in the dust of the corral, and walked toward the horse.
“Be careful, cobber!” the Australian called out. “That beast is dangerous!”
The Apache trotted toward the horse, making a sound deep in his throat. The horse laid back its ears and charged across the corral at the man. The Apache feinted to his left, and as the horse veered the Indian pivoted and took two running steps, and his hands shot out and grabbed the horse’s mane. In one smooth, sinuous movement, aided by the horse’s quick burst of speed, the Apache was on the horse’s back. He raised his voice in a high, wailing cry, and the horse bucked violently, rearing high on its hind legs, shaking itself from side to side to dislodge the man on its back. The horse neighed in a high scream, and the Apache answered with his own scream. The horse bucked, gyrating wildly, coming down with all four hooves hitting the ground, twisting and bucking across the corral in high jumps. The Apache clung to the horse’s back, his hands clenched in the mane, his powerful legs locked against the horse’s barrel.
“God, he’s a burr, that one!” Biggs said. The horse went upward, twisting. When the horse came down the Apache reached forward with his right hand, bending low over the horse’s neck, and grabbed the horse’s right ear. He pulled the head back savagely, and then with his bare heel he kicked the horse again and again in the side of its head. Then he leaned forward and bit the horse’s ear. The horse screamed, ran a few steps forward, and then stood, its sides heaving. The Indian sat very still on the animal, and then he leaned forward and began crooning in a low hum into the horse’s ear. He rapped the sides of the horse with his bare heels, and the animal trotted a few steps and then stopped. The Apache leaned forward over the horse’s neck and crooned again, softly. He tapped the sides of the horse gently with his feet and the animal raised its head and then trotted docilely around the perimeter of the corral. Charlie Two Blankets slid off the animal’s back and walked around to its head and stroked the long smooth muzzle, crooning gently as he did so.
The Apache led the horse over to the side of the corral, his right hand entwined in the mane.
“Here’s your horse, Mr. Biggs,” the Indian said. “He knows a man can hurt him and he knows a man can be gentle with him. Treat him kindly and you’ve got a good animal. Now I got to get dressed before this sun gives me a bad burn.” He vaulted over the top rail of the corral and pulled his shirt over his bronzed shoulders. Flanagan walked over to him as he finished dressing.
“I’m damned glad you didn’t get yourself killed, Charlie. I’m damned glad you hadn’t bullshitted people about the way you can ride.”
“Indians don’t speak with forked tongue, Chief. Only white man has a forked tongue. Didn’t you ever see any cowboy and Indian movies when you were a kid? Now I want to see some of these wiseass submarine sailors ride.”
The Australian walked over to Charlie. “I’ve been talking with my two chaps, sir. They want to know what kind of a tribe you come from. Can’t very well tell them about America, the Outback is all the world they know. They think they may be related to you by tribe, and I’ll thank you not to laugh, sir. To be related to an Abo is the highest honor they can think of. They’d like to touch you so their medicine and yours can mix.”
“I understand,” Charlie Two Blankets said. He faced the two aborigines and drew himself to his full six feet of height. He bowed his head slightly toward the two smaller men and stretched his arms out, his palms facing the sky. His voice rolled out in a sonorous chant, the liquid vowels and clipped consonants of the Apache language hanging in the still Australian air. The two aborigines stood quietly, watching him. When he had finished they stepped forward, their arms outstretched, palms upward. Gravely, they turned their hands and touched the Apache’s hands, palm to palm. The older of the two aborigines turned his head and spoke briefly in his own tongue to Biggs.
“He says he doesn’t understand your language, breaker of horses, but he would like to know what you said. He is sure you made a prayer to the Rain God. That’s the most powerful god these people have because water is so scarce.”
“I made a prayer to the gods,” the Apache said. “I asked my gods to protect them and give them many children.”
Biggs turned and spoke to the two aborigines, his deep voice chopping at the guttural speech. The two men smiled.
“Right thing to say, cobber,” Biggs said. “Children and water are the only resources these poor devils have when they’re on their own. Tonight they will pray to their gods and ask that their strength enter you while you sleep.”
On the bus that evening Chief Wharton walked down the aisle and perched on the arm of the seat where Charlie Two Blankets was sitting.
“I take back everything I ever said when I kidded you on the ship. You are just one hell of a horse rider. And some kind of rifle shot, too. You must have hit that one kangaroo at about two hundred yards and that damned thing was running and jumping.”
“I don’t like to kill a pretty animal like that,” the Indian said. “You should never kill animals unless you can eat them and that Australian fella said the only part of a kangaroo you can eat is the tail. He said they were pests, that they eat his crops. I don’t think I’d want to eat that thing’s tail.”