As bitter fire surged up through my throat and nostrils and head, and started to move sickeningly down my throat, I handed Slim back what was left of his Red Devil.
He pocketed it, him and the others who were chewing, slowly working their jaws in easy, practiced contentment, and waiting quietly for what Igor had to say. About the same time, Nick passed his lighted pipe to Ilya, who was sitting his chestnut mare next to Nick.
Igor looked at me, his pain-filled eyes knowing that I’d tried to warn him and was now going through the same torture.
“We have never,” he said in a thin voice, “had anyone killed in our games.”
With the cossacks paying close attention, and Nick nodding at both the questions and the answers from time to time, Slim went on. “Well, how the hell come not? That there sure is a killin’ course.”
“Captain Rostov,” Igor managed to say, “has taught us that it can be a matter of honor—to die for someone or something—loved.” He hesitated, and I realized he was doing the same thing I always did, which can kill anybody who’s chewing tobacco. I’ve always hated to spit and therefore didn’t, and he wasn’t spitting either, and when you’re chewing tobacco you’ve got to spit or wind up turned inside out. Then, swallowing a little, he went on. “But Captain Rostov has also taught us that it is a crime for anyone to be hurt, or to die, for foolish reasons.”
Slim spit expertly, hitting a small rock near Charlie’s left forehoof. “In this rough ol’ race ya’ got lined up here, what’s foolish an’ what ain’t?”
“He’s taught us that each rider must only do what he knows he can do.” Igor was struggling against the same nausea that I was. “If there’s any doubt he must not try it.”
“Makes good horsemen,” Nick rumbled. “Hurt your horse is even worse than hurt yourself.”
“Well,” I said, forcing my words one at a time through lips that were sealed against throwing up, “that explains that.”
“As long as there’s common sense,” Slim said, shrugging, “there can’t be too much damage.”
“You’re a goddamned spy,” Mushy said to Slim indignantly. “You’re here t’ see Shad don’t lose no hands!”
“Oh, hell, no.” Slim frowned. “You fellas can fool around all ya’ want, far as I’m concerned.” He spit again, hitting the same rock with deadly accuracy. “I’d just feel better knowin’ you’re not all gonna get yourselves killed off, for some dumb damn reason here in this peaceful valley.”
I looked at Igor and saw that he couldn’t take it much longer. And sure as hell, I couldn’t either. “Igor’s explained it,” I just barely managed to say. “Hell, we’ll show you the first part of the ride!”
Igor, in all his torment, caught on like a shot. His fading eyes looked at me like twin suns trying to come up feebly over a dark and dismal horizon. All he said, or could say, was, “Let’s go!”
He whirled Blackeye, and I spurred Buck, and we raced down toward the first pole by the creek. I guess he felt the same way I did, which was that if we happened to miss that first ten-foot jump we’d just fall in the water and hopefully drown, which right at that time would have been one hell of an improvement.
Shoulder to shoulder and at a full gallop we hit the edge of the creek and went flying into the air, and an instant later his good old Blackeye and my goddamned Buck were landing us down at full speed on the far side.
We didn’t pay any attention to the dimly heard cheers behind us, but kept going on like bats out of hell until we got to that second obstacle, which was a blessed stand of thick trees. Once inside those trees, we both jerked our horses up so hard they damnere sat down, and then we both slightly quicker than instantly abandoned ship.
With our horses staring at us in some mild confusion, both Igor and I started throwing up, our stomachs and throats and every other part of us trying to get rid of that poisonous chewing tobacco.
He finished first, standing there drawing in deep breaths. And then I finally came more or less to an end of all that painful heaving and stepped over to him, with one hand clutched hard against my aching chest.
“I tried t’ warn ya,” I said.
He took another deep breath. “How will we explain about disappearing in these trees?”
“Well,” I said, “we’ll just tell them we stopped t’ take a casual piss.”
Igor had learned that word some time back, so he knew what I was talking about but still wasn’t too happy. He even swore for one of the first times. “All this time for a goddamn piss?”
Impatiently I said, “Then we’ll just tell ’em we came here t’ throw up! ’Cause neither one of us can take Slim’s goddamned more’n-year-old Red Devil Chewing Tobacco!”
He thought about this, weighing it back and forth for a moment. “We stopped to take a long piss.”
Then we got back on Blackeye and Buck and rode out of the trees and back through the stream toward where the others were waiting near the rock.
“You fellas made pretty good time gettin’ t’ them trees,” Slim said, “but ya’ were a little slow gettin’ out.”
“We stopped t’ take a piss.”
“Oh?”
“A long one.”
Slim reined Charlie around and he and Nick led us off back toward camp.
“If we all ride as fast as you two,” Nick said, “we have good games.”
“That’s f’r sure,” Slim agreed. He pulled out his plug. “Either one of ya’ care for a little more Red Devil?”
Igor shook his head. “No thanks.”
I said, “Some other time.”
“F’r me, personal, m’self,” Slim said, taking another chew, “I sometimes find Red Devil downright inspirational in makin’ good time.”
He and Nick looked at each other and then spurred into a lope, and we followed them back up over the hill toward camp.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FIVE OF us woke up at an ungodly hour that night to ride the second half of the graveyard shift, and it was around sunup that Mushy and some others came out to relieve us. We went back to camp and got a few hours sleep, so it was pushing noon when we woke up and pulled on our boots and went over to see if there was any coffee.
Some of Slim’s coffee was still left over from yesterday, a little bit warmed over and added to. And tasting it on that second day, I’d guarantee no horseshoes or anything else would survive in it one way or the other.
Shad and Old Keats came riding in from checking out the herd and dismounted, Shad glancing up at the near high-noon sun. “Four of ya’ are gonna go in town t’day,” he said, “along with four cossacks. You’re gonna buy some supplies an’ have a good time. Who wants t’ go?”
Remembering Irenia in her tablecloth dress, I spoke right up. But after those hangings, not many others did.
From the cossack camp next to us, Rostov called, “Northshield?” And Shad and he took about three steps toward each other so they could talk.
Old Keats went on talking for Shad. “T’ kind a’ keep ’em off balance in there, these visits are gonna go on regular, every day. So on this first day especially, just to break them in right, whoever the first four of ya’ are, ya’ gotta handle yourselves just proper.”
“What the hell’s just proper?” Crab wanted to know.
“T’ act like ya’ own the town an’ yet not get anywhere’s near t’ gettin’ in a fight. An’ that ain’t gonna be easy.”
Like Old Keats said, it sure wouldn’t be easy, but their idea shaped up to be pretty simple. We were still playing showdown or chess or whatever. And we had to put on an absolutely fearless front without accidentally causing Khabarovsk or our far-off hidden meadow to become a battleground. Because with or without one of Rostov’s “Pyrrhic” victories, we’d sure as hell finally lose.