Ghost Town at Sundown - Mary Pope Osborne [7]
Slim unsaddled Dusty, then handed Jack his saddle bags.
“Take those over to that grassy spot. We’ll camp there,” he said.
As Jack carried the saddlebags, his boots felt stiff and tight. His legs were sore and wobbly. But he didn’t mind.
He threw down the saddlebags and his backpack. Then he flopped himself down. He was very tired. Annie joined him.
“They seem so happy to be free and together again,” she said, gazing at the moonlit mustangs.
“Yup,” said Jack.
He lay back, using his backpack as a pillow. He looked up at the stars.
“If we just had the answer to the riddle, everything would be perfect,” he said.
“Yup,” said Annie.
“Hey, Slim,” he called. “I have a question for you.”
“Shoot,” said Slim.
“Do you know the answer to this riddle?” Jack asked. “Out of the blue, my lonely voice calls out to you. Who am I? Am I?”
Slim was silent for a moment, then said, “Sorry, Shorty, don’t know that one.”
Jack’s heart sank. “That’s okay,” he said. “We don’t either.”
“I have a question, too,” said Annie. “Why does the piano in the hotel play by itself?”
“I do know the answer to that one,” said Slim.
“What is it?” said Annie.
“It’s Lonesome Luke,” said Slim. “He’s a ghost of a cowboy who wanders the prairie.”
Jack sat straight up.
“I saw him! I saw him!” he said. “I just remembered! He scared the rustlers! If he hadn’t come, I never would have gotten away!”
“Oh, yeah?” Slim chuckled. “Well, lucky for us, Lonesome Luke sometimes likes to help folks out.”
Slim threw his saddle down next to Jack and Annie and sat against it.
“Years ago, Lonesome Luke had a gal who he was just crazy about,” said Slim. “She couldn’t take the Wild West, though. So she went back east.”
“What happened then?” asked Jack.
“Luke went loco. Every night he’d show up at the hotel and play the piano. He played ‘Red River Valley’ over and over.
“Then one night he just vanished into the prairie and was never seen alive again. His bones were found a year later. But folks say his ghost returns to the hotel piano to play ‘Red River Valley.’ It goes like this … ”
Slim took out a harmonica. He began to play a song. It was the same sad song Jack and Annie had heard in the hotel.
Jack lay back down and listened to the lonesome tune. A coyote howled in the distance. The horses stirred in the dark.
I better take some notes, thought Jack.
But he didn’t write a word before he fell asleep. He didn’t even take off his boots.
A fly buzzed by Jack’s ear. He slapped it away. He opened his eyes.
The sun was high above the canyon walls. He had slept a long time.
Slim and Annie were sitting by a fire, drinking from tin cups.
“Coffee? Biscuit?” Annie asked Jack.
“Where did you get them?” said Jack.
“A cowboy always carries biscuits and a canteen of coffee,” said Slim.
He walked over and gave Jack a biscuit and a cup of coffee.
“It’s hard as a rock,” Slim said. “And bitter as muddy river water. But a cowboy takes what he can get.”
Jack took a bite and a sip.
The biscuit was very hard and the coffee was very bitter. But that was okay with Jack. Since cowboys didn’t mind, he didn’t mind, either.
“I’ll saddle up Dusty,” Slim said, “and take you back to town to catch your stage.”
“Then what will you do?” said Annie.
“Head south with my herd,” said Slim. “Sell ’em. Then ride across the plains and round up more mustangs.”
While Slim saddled Dusty, Jack took out his notebook and pencil. He wrote:
“Hey, Shorty,” called Slim. “What are you doing?”
“Taking notes,” said Jack.
“What for?”
“He likes writing things down,” said Annie.
“Oh, yeah?” said Slim. “Me too. In fact, I first came out west to write a book. But one thing led to another. The next thing I know, I’m a mustang herder.”
“Slim, you should write your book,” said Annie. “And let the mustangs go free.”
“Think so?” said Slim.
They looked at the grazing wild horse.
“I know so,” said Annie.
“Yup,” said Jack. “Your book should be about the Wild West, Slim.”
Slim kept staring at his herd. “Maybe you’re right,” he said.