The Cassidy Posse by D. N. Bedeker Page B

takes awhile to get used to,” observed Elzy. “Your crotch will toughen up. I started doin’ this when I was a teenager. Doesn’t bother you much then.”
    “Where are you from originally?” asked Patrick. “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
    “My folks were from Boston originally. Then they moved to Ohio,” said Elzy. “They just kept moving west.”
    Mike rose with some difficulty but stoically tried to hide the discomfort he felt from a full day in the saddle. “How duh we know this Butch is gonna catch somethin’?” he asked impatiently.
    “Butch always catches something,” Elzy assured him. “And if he goes hunting, he always shoots something. That’s why everybody wants to partner up with him.”
    “Well, why’s he with you?” said Mike irritably.
    Elzy smiled at Mike and took no offense. He was getting use to Mike’s abrasiveness.
    “I think I amuse him,” Elzy confessed, “but he’ll never admit to it.”
    He continued preparing breakfast. He threw a handful of coffee from a canvas bag into a banged-up coffee pot.
    “What did Butch do for Marshal Parker that he’s so beholding to him?” asked Patrick.
    “The Marshal was called down to the saloon when a bunch of Finnish miners got into a brawl,” said Elzy. “Going in, the Marshal didn’t understand just how little respect these foreigners have for the law. They overpowered him and were ready to kill him when Butch came in. I guess it was a sight to see. Somebody had gone and got him at the butcher shop and he ran over like he was. He came in screaming and yelling, wearing a bloody apron and swinging a big meat cleaver around. It took the Finns by surprise, and they let the Marshal go and skedaddled.”
    “Any one of yuh know anythin’ about chest?” asked Mike abruptly.
    “Chess,” Patrick corrected.
    “Yeah, chest,” Mike said, taking the telegraph out of his coat pocket. He handed it over the fire to Patrick who read it out loud:
    “RED ALVINS WAS SEEN BY RAILROAD DETECTIVE GETTING OFF TRAIN AT TABLE ROCK. DAUGHERTY AND THREE OTHERS STILL WITH HIM. BE EXTREMELY CAREFUL. REGRET TO INFORM YOU NELL QUINN WAS MURDERED BY UNKNOWN ASSASSIN. LETS KEEP CHESS GAME GOING. NEXT MOVE IS KING’S KNIGHT TO KING TWO. BOCKLEMAN”
    “King’s knight to king two,” Patrick said, thinking over the move. “How far have you advanced your pawns?”
    “I ain’t advanced nothin’,” said Mike. “We aren’t playin’any chest game.”
    “This can’t be his opening move. White would be jumping his own pawn.”
    “What the hell are yuh talkin’about?” yelled Mike. “I dun’t know how tuh play chest!”
    “Oh,” Patrick shrugged.
    “Bockleman was always try’un tuh get me tuh play,” said Mike. “I knew if he was that fired up tuh play, he could whip me arse so I never give’m the satisfaction.”
    “So you don’t understand what this message is about?” asked Patrick.
    “Sweet Jaysus,” shouted Mike. “What duh I have tuh do so yuh get that through your thick head?”
    “Maybe he’s trying to tell you something,” said Elzy. “Something that he can’t send over the wire.”
    “That occurred tuh me,” said Mike. “There’s no secrets over duh wire.”
    “Pawns are frequently sacrificed, Uncle Mike,” said Patrick. “Does that mean anything to you?”
    “Are you playing black or white?”asked Elzy.
    “I ain’t playin’ anything,” Mike declared angrily.
    As the three stood around the fire trying to interpret the obscure telegraph, Butch walked up with a rainbow trout that was over a foot long. He held it up triumphantly, but received no reaction.
    “Ain’t you boys hungry?” he asked finally.
    “Nice fish, Butch,” said Elzy. “Give it here. I’ll fillet it.” He took the trout to a flat rock and took out his knife.
    “What’s goin’ on?” Butch asked of Mike and Patrick. “You fellers look like you’re carrying a heavy load.”
    “Duh ya know anythin’ about chest?”