Rawhide Robinson Rides a Dromedary Read online

  “But not for long, sad to say. See, that horse I was on was as friendly as he was fast. And when he sensed them other horses wasn’t going to come on down without an invite, he proceeded to send them one. His welcoming whinny, of course, alerted them road agents to my whereabouts. They rode toward them trees and I rode away from them.

  “Now, them trees was the only thing in the way of cover for miles around. Out on them plains there are about as many trees as there are on the Atlantic Ocean. So I was about as exposed as a baby’s bottom come diaper-changin’ time. Them boys mounted a charge, and I kept that horse of mine moving fast enough to keep them from gaining ground. But then, they started shooting.”

  Rawhide Robinson paused, made his way to a water bucket and dippered himself a drink. He settled back into his place beside the rail, doffed his thirteen-gallon hat and mopped his brow with the wild rag around his neck. It only took a moment for the crowd to reach the borders of their forbearance and encourage, in no uncertain terms, the cowboy to commence the continuation of his tale.

  “Patience, boys, patience. Now, where was I?”

  “You just said, ‘But then, they started shooting’,” an audience member offered.

  The raconteur rubbed his chin, adjusted the lay of his vest, flicked a fleck of dust from the toe of a boot. “Did I say how fast that horse I was a-ridin’ was?”

  There came a chorus of affirmative, if impatient, answers.

  “Well, with their hardware smokin’ and them wantin’ to send me to heaven to hunt for a harp, there weren’t a thing I could do but run. So I did. With all the lead in the air, that horse soon got the idea. And once he hit his stride, them bullets didn’t bother us a bit.”

  Once again the cowboy waited.

  Soon, an exasperated sailor spoke: “Why not? You’re not going to tell us you outran them bullets are you?”

  “Land sakes alive, no! There ain’t a horse ever lived could outrun a bullet fired from a gun. But that horse ran fast enough that those lead pills was more like floating past than flying by. I could have reached out and grabbed them—which I did a time or two but gave it up as they was too hot to handle. So what I did was, I lifted my lid”—which he demonstrated—“and set to swatting them bullets out of the air,” he said, flailing his thirteen-gallon hat as he re-enacted the race. “I whacked them away, swiped them aside, walloped them hither and yon, slapped them sidewise, and otherwise disposed of the danger.”

  “Absurd!” someone said.

  “Balderdash!” said another.

  “Claptrap!”

  “Drivel!”

  “Eyewash!”

  “Flapdoodle!”

  “Garbage!”

  “Hogwash!”

  “Impossible!”

  And so on, all the way down the alphabet.

  “It’s true, boys, as sure as I’m sittin’ here. Looky here now—here’s irrefutable proof.” He reached into a vest pocket and pulled out a perfectly pristine plumbum projectile, fired from a forty-five. “Here’s one I caught. Kept it as a keepsake.”

  “Poppycock,” a sailor said. “That could have come from anywhere! You coulda yanked it out of a cartridge this very morning!”

  “Well, then, if you won’t believe that’s one of them bullets I caught, look at this.”

  They looked. They saw. There was Rawhide Robinson’s pointy finger wiggling through a hole in the brim of his thirteen-gallon hat.

  “That, boys, is one that got away.”

  “%^$&#*@(!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  * * *

  Sailors and Turkish laborers scurried around on the beach on the shore of the Smyrna Strait some ways away from the seaport—and the influence and interference of the interloper Hasan Hussein. Ensign Ian Scott ordered the crews about as they measured and sawed, hefted and hammered, arranged and assembled. Harry was on hand to interpret orders and relay instructions to the native laborers.

  Rawhide Robinson looked on with wonder as the boat from the Cordwood carried himself and Major Wayne to the beach. The oarsmen expertly ran the boat aground and one leapt out to drag the boat further ashore then secured it with a line hitched around a stake driven into the sand.

  “Major Wayne, sir,” Ensign Scott said with a snappy salute. “Thank you for coming. I believe you will find my arrangements for loading the camels aboard the Cordwood capable of accomplishing the task.”

  The major watched the men working. “You’ve certainly got these men busy, Ensign.”

  “Yes, sir. They are intrigued with the project, our men and the Turks alike. Like me, they are excited at the prospect of seeing their handiwork in action.”

  “As am I, Scott. As am I.”

  Rawhide Robinson said, “Me, too, Ensign Ian. How is it you’re fixin’ to get them camels aboard the boat, anyhow?”

  “Ship.”

  “Ship—boat—floatin’ barn—whatever you call it, them hay stackers and grain sackers are near finished and we’re all a-wonderin’ about the camels.”

  Harry stepped forward. “Major Wayne, Mister Robinson—”

  “—Rawhide—”

  “—Mister Rawhide—seldom have I seen so inventive an undertaking. Ensign Scott’s scheme will prove up to the task, I am certain. I, too, cannot wait to see it in action.”

  “All well and good, gentlemen,” Wayne said. “So tell us how it works.”

  With effusive excitement and expansive enthusiasm, Ensign Ian Scott led the small assemblage from one lumber pile to the next, from one labor crew to another, from sea to shore, from sawdust to sand. He pointed out the place the barge would tie up offshore near the beach. He showed them the “camel car”—a rectangular box slightly longer and wider and higher than a camel—and pointed out how it had been necessary to enlarge the crate to accommodate the oversized tulu. He demonstrated the solid bottom of the box, the fully enclosed sides, and how the ends, hinged at the bottom, dropped to the ground and created shallow ramps. He displayed the axles and wheels—pilfered from freight carts at the wharf—upon which the car would ride. He exhibited a modification to the wheels—a wooden circle a couple of inches larger around than the wheels, fastened to the ends of the axles to cover the outside of the wheel.

  And, finally, the young officer revealed the genius of his scheme: parallel strands of planks, joined together, narrow edges at top and bottom, and tied side-by-side with crosspieces to form a set of rails on which the car would roll—in effect, a short-line railroad to carry the camels.

  “We’ll stake one end of the rails to the beach, attach the other end to the barge with a simple tongue-and-groove arrangement, heft the car onto the rails, lower the gate, load a camel, and roll it from the beach to the barge by means of applying manpower to these push rods affixed to the sides of the car. We shall rig a crane aboard the ship to hoist the camels to the deck, and again to the lower deck as necessary.”

  “Ingenious, Ensign Scott,” Major Wayne said.

  “Thank you, sir. We are confident it will work.”

  Rawhide Robinson said, “Has anyone asked the camels what they think?”

  “What!?”

  “I’ll admit it’s a pretty fancy plan. But most critters I’ve dealt with have a mind of their own. I suspect camels ain’t no different. They might not want to go for a ride.”

  “You are right, of course. We will not know how the camels will react until the time comes,” the ensign said.

  Harry stepped forward. “Mister Robinson—”

  “—It’s Rawhide, Harry—”

  “—Begging you pardon, Mister Rawhide, I show to you the camel car, constructed with solid sides so a camel cannot see out and become alarmed or anxious concerning his circumstances. We will also consider blindfolding the camels. In my experience, what a camel cannot see, he does not fear.”

  The cowboy mulled that over for a moment, then agreed. “I reckon you’re right, Harry. Leastways that works with horses. Even the orneriest bronc will stand still for darn near anyth
ing if he’s got a wild rag wrapped around his peepers. But when you pull off them blinders, watch out.”

  Harry smiled. “It is so, Mister Rawhide. But we shall have on board the ship a secret weapon to mitigate any such difficulty, if not eliminate the threat altogether.”

  Major Wayne raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes.

  Rawhide Robinson tipped his thirteen-gallon hat back off his brow, wrinkled his eyes and laughed.

  “Secret weapon?” the cowboy said.

  “What am I missing here, gentlemen?” the major said.

  “He’s talking about Huri—Hurry, if you’d rather,” Ensign Ian said with a smile.

  Harry nodded his affirmation. The officer looked no less perplexed.

  “I get it,” Rawhide Robinson said. “Hurry will meet the camels once they get to the boat—”

  “—Ship—”

  “—ship, dadgum it—and with a little pattin’ and scratchin’ and strokin’ and a few kind words, she’ll calm them right down. I reckon she could put them right to sleep, if she was of a mind to.”

  “Hmmph,” said Major Wayne. “I know you think highly of her, Robinson, but she’s but a girl.”

  “She’s a girl, all right. But that don’t matter none to them camels. I’ve seen her work her magic and I ain’t ashamed to say she’s taught me plenty about handling camels already. And I reckon there’s a lot more she’ll be teaching me.”

  “We set sail for Alexandria once the camels are aboard. Any future education will have to come from Harry. The girl won’t be coming with us.”

  “Harry’s a fine hand with a camel, I’m sure,” Rawhide Robinson said with a nod to the Turk. “But that little gal’s got something extra. If we don’t take her with us, we ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of fools.”

  “But Robinson, I say again, she’s but a girl!”

  “That she is. Besides that, she’s brave. Trustworthy. Loyal. Courageous. Smart. Dedicated. Helpful. Honest. Resourceful. Shrewd. Reliable. I could go on, Major, but you get my drift. She can handle them critters better than any ten men. Besides that, she likely saved my skin—and her uncle Harry’s here. Ol’ Balaban would have had us toes up and sleepin’ under dirt sougans if not for that girl. I say she goes with us.”

  “Unfortunately, you are not the one who gets the say, cowboy. The decision belongs to the United States Army.”

  Ensign Scott cleared his throat. “Major Wayne, sir—if I may?”

  “Speak freely, Ensign.”

  “With all respect, sir, I believe the navy has a say, as well. And I am all for bringing the girl.”

  “The navy surely has a say in the matter—but that will be Captain Clemmons’s say, not yours.”

  “Yes, Major Wayne, sir.”

  “And I am given to understand there are certain taboos about females aboard a military vessel—let alone a young girl.”

  “That, too, is true. There may be some dissension among the men. And it would be an unprecedented eventuality for the USS Cordwood to have a girl aboard. . . .”

  “Is there something else, Ensign?”

  “Well, sir, we are—or will be—after all, carrying a cargo of camels. So, the unprecedented, the unusual, the uncommon, even the unimagined surely must be reconsidered where this voyage is concerned. If I may say so, sir, hints have already been dropped among the men about the possibility of the girl sailing with us.”

  “What!? Who has been dropping such ‘hints’ as you call them?”

  “I can assure you it was on an informal basis, sir. Rawhide Robinson suggested—no, I should say strongly recommended—that the girl accompany us when talking with the sailors recently.”

  The army officer turned his attention to the cowboy. “And how did they react, Robinson?”

  “Some scoffed at the thought. Some didn’t seem none too bothered by the notion. Them as has seen Hurry in action is all in favor. Them sailor boys recognize a hand when they see one.”

  “Ensign Scott, what do you think Captain Clemmons’s thoughts on the subject might be?”

  “Wouldn’t dare say, sir.”

  “Hmmm. . . .”

  “But, sir, if you will pardon my saying so, if we approach the captain with a unified front, I dare say he may be amenable. If not, I believe he could be persuaded.”

  “Unified front? I’m not sure I am persuaded myself, let alone join your unified front.”

  Rawhide Robinson said, “Aw, c’mon. Hurry ain’t of a size to do any harm. And she could sure as shootin’ do lots of good. Come down to it, you’d be better off to leave me behind and take her.”

  “I’m sure it won’t come to that, Robinson.”

  Major Benjamin Wayne, hands clasped behind his back, paced up and down the beach for a moment or two, head bowed in thought. He stopped in front of the waiting ensign, cowboy, and camel handler.

  “Harry, we have not heard your thoughts on the subject. What do you say?”

  “Huri is family. It is my responsibility to see to her well-being. Arrangements have been made for her care by distant relatives here in Smyrna. While such would be acceptable, I—and my late sister—to Allah we belong and to Him is our return—would much prefer she stay with me. There is nothing before us—here, upon the seas, or in your America—that my Huri cannot face with courage and meet with success.”

  “You gentlemen seem to be in agreement. And determined. I shall take the matter under advisement and discuss it with the captain.” Wayne smiled and clapped his hands together. “Now, let’s see if this contraption of yours works, Ensign Scott! Let’s load some camels!”

  “We will be ready at first light, Major.”

  “Then we had better make arrangements to caravan the camels to this place, and alert Captain Clemmons of the schedule. Let’s get back to the ship.”

  The major and Rawhide Robinson climbed back into the boat and Ensign Scott joined them for the return trip. Harry would return to the city overland at the end of the day’s work to see to the movement of the camels and, come morning, lead the caravan to the jury-rigged loading contraption.

  The Americans’ venture had, by now, caught the attention of many in Smyrna. Curiosity compelled a goodly number of citizens to follow the procession come the morning. Joining the parade in his official capacity was Whitman Fitzgerald. Also in the crowd—and also in an official capacity, it could be said—was Hasan and his henchman Balaban, carrying a bandaged hand in a sling.

  The parade reached the beach where, as if by magic, an assemblage of colorful awnings had sprouted in the night, shading vendors and their offerings of food and drink and small, festive American flags on sticks for the arriving crowd. Even spyglasses, binoculars, telescopes, opera glasses, and other seeing aids were available for rent to those wishing a closer view of the bizarre—and, most thought, absurd—operation.

  Offshore, the USS Cordwood lay at anchor with Captain Clemmons and crew on board to hoist the camels from the camel car. Hurry stood by to calm the camels once they arrived. Ensign Scott supervised operations ashore, with a handful of sailors and Harry.

  The operation experienced a minor hiccup when the Turkish workmen who signed on to help disappeared into the crowd with the arrival of Hasan and Balaban. But, anticipating such an eventuality, the ever-industrious Ensign Scott had already assigned sailors to the work. Major Wayne was on hand to see to the well-being of his camels, while Rawhide Robinson lent Harry a hand wherever and whenever he could. Assistance from the aloof and indifferent Ibrahim was questionable as his interest seemed limited to the tulu.

  Harry opted for the safety of the blindfold and he and the cowboy walked the first camel into the car without incident, accompanied by a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” from the intrigued crowd. Sailors manned the handles affixed to the car and waded into the surf, pushing the car along the rails. It rolled easily to and onto the barge and the camel stepped aboard without incident. When the barge held a sufficient load of dromedaries, the sailors released the end of
the rails and the oarsmen propelled the barge to the ship.

  The crowd milled in excitement as the shipboard crane rigged by the navy engineers went to work. A cheer went up with the first camel and intensified as it swung over the ship’s rail. The barge returned when empty, the sailors rejoined it to the rails, and the operation was repeated.

  “Congratulations, Major Wayne,” Whitman Fitzgerald said. “Your scheme appears to be a success. Many in Smyrna—including Hasan Hussein—considered it a fool’s errand doomed to failure, but you have proved them wrong.”

  Indeed, Hasan, having seen enough, started back down the path to the city with Balaban in tow.

  Wayne watched him go. “It would have been so much easier had not that infernal Hasan pulled his invisible strings to deny us a berth at the wharf,” he said. “But it seems Ensign Scott—who deserves credit for all this—has dealt the final blow in our conflict with that hoodlum and his hooligan. We will soon set sail and trouble you no further. Your assistance has been and is much appreciated, Mister Fitzgerald.”

  “I can only apologize for my inability to effect a more satisfactory fulfillment of your mission. Unfortunately, Hasan’s power is stronger than my ability to overcome. You can rest assured my efforts to eliminate his evil influence will continue. My reports to Washington will reflect his meddling, along with the refusal of the Grand Vizier to intervene. It may well affect relations between the United States and the Ottoman Empire.”

  “All that is beyond my ken, Mister Fitzgerald. As for my reports, they will state that you did your best and your contributions were uniformly positive.”

  “Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I will take my leave. There are duties at the office that require my attention.”

  The men shook hands and the army officer offered a smart salute in parting. From somewhere among the camels came the voice of Rawhide Robinson: “So long, Whit Fitz!”

  Throughout the morning, the cowboy and the Turk cinched a sling around each camel’s belly, wrapped a blindfold around its eyes, and escorted it into the camel car. The camels rode the rails, rode the barge, rode the crane, and landed on the deck of the USS Cordwood, and the operation repeated itself, without a hitch, until every dromedary was aboard.