Free Crows & Cards by Joseph Helgerson Page B

threw back his head and clear out of the blue crowed like a rooster. "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
    I couldn't help but laugh with everyone else.
    Right on cue a cross-eyed man in a mud-splattered, ragged shirt lunged forward, shoving money at Buffalo Hilly, though where he'd come up with the price of the elixir was an open question and drew some snickers from the crowd. Still, the doctor treated him as if he was the genuine article—a sick man in need of healing. Flinging back his cape, Buffalo Hilly climbed down off his wagon to oblige his tipsy customer as if they were old friends, which somebody in the crowd accused them of being.
    "Friends in good health," Buffalo Hilly shot right back, taking such ragging right in stride, which primed the pump good. People surged forward.
    You might have thought he was the captain of a sinking ship stepping into the last lifeboat, the dignified, high-minded way he came down off that wagon. Along with a couple of real friendly assistants, he started passing out tonic bottles and reeling in dollars fast as his hands could jig. And all the while he done it, people couldn't resist reaching out to touch him, to reassure themselves he wasn't river mist, I guess. He let 'em do it too. He patted and hugged 'em for free, just 'cause they needed it, and told 'em, "There, there, everything's going to be all right now."
    That elixir of his sold for a dollar and ten cents a bottle, with refills promised at half price. What with all the dangers roaming this world, it sounded pure bargain.
    "What about boils?" a doubter called out.
    "Wallops 'em without mercy!" answered Dr. Buffalo Hilly.
    "Pinworms?"
    "Mortifies 'em with a slug."
    "What if you're healthy?"
    "Makes you healthier."
    By then I'd crept close enough to add my own question. "How about cheaters? What would it do for them?"
    "Son," Dr. Buffalo Hilly said, sweeping off his plumed hat and covering his heart with it, "I'm sorry to report it can cure most everything but dishonesty. Why, it's even been known to work on Mormons."
    That earned a round of catcalls, seeing how unpopular Mormons had lately become in the state of Missouri, but even if that elixir could have cured the pope of being Catholic, as my pa was known to say of something first-rate, I didn't have a dollar ten to spare. All I had me was a nickel left over from buying Chilly's telegraph wire, and Dr. Buffalo Hilly didn't look the breed to hand out discounts, no matter how desperate the need, not with bottles fairly flying out of his mitts at full price. So I hung around, mostly fretting about poxes and fevers and every once in a while remembering to check up above for crows.
    ***
    After Buffalo Hilly and his assistants had wrung out every sale they could manage from the crowd, the doctor spread his arms wide and started yapping again. "Some of you've got ailments and infirmities that can't be cured by anything that comes in a bottle. I know that and so do you. A bottle can only hold so much. But don't think I've forsaken you, 'cause now comes the time to introduce you to the most amazing oracle this side of ancient Thebes. I'm talking 'bout a man who can look so deep into your very soul, it'll make your heart flutter. He can separate the wheat from the chaff and advise you with the mystical, otherworldly seeing powers of his people. I've seen him listening to owls and conversing with catfish. I'm talking about none other than the noblest of savages, Chief Standing Tenbears, who's visiting your fair city for a short spell only."
    Right then that Indian princess, the one with the swimmingest eyes, came leading Chief Standing Tenbears around the medicine wagon. Good thing she hadn't picked me out of the crowd yet, 'cause I was blushing like a spring rose just to see her. Don't ask me why. What with all my sisters, girls weren't anything new, but this one sure was different. Maybe it was the way she carried herself so proud-like, without looking to either side. Or it could have been the way