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One would think a knife thrust to the chest of such a slight fellow would have caused him mortal harm, but Mink’s prominent ribs had deflected the blow from any vital organ, and he lay sorely hurt but alive, the doctor reassured us before he went off to check on Earle.
Whether Mink would be charged with anything beyond causing a public nuisance, I didn’t know. Mr. Northstar said he would be happy to return for a trial and see if the Iowa kidnapping laws covered little colored boys, and Miss Lightfoot offered the forged papers to the sheriff gladly. Tauseret wanted to accuse him of theft, but I pointed out most folk would find it hard to believe if she presented herself as both the item stolen and the witness.
Before he left with a wagonload of prisoners, the sheriff declared that since no one had seen Ceecee’s demise, he must assume that one of the fled vagrants was the culprit. With elation I realized that the sheriff did not have much int
erest in pursuing the matter. Shame followed. I had killed a man, and no matter how he deserved it, I shouldn’t celebrate, but thank the Lord for his mercy.
“What now?” I asked as Mr. Webster hurried off the remaining locals with promises of a hearty breakfast.
“We go home,” said the colonel.
I wrapped my arm around Tauseret’s waist and looked about me for the others, suddenly afraid to lose them.
Mr. Ginger, hat on head, held Miss Lightfoot’s hands as they talked quietly. The excitement must have agreed with her, for she glowed as much as a scaled woman could. Bertha and Minnie sat at their feet in the dirt of the platform. Not far from them, Moses and Willie leaned over the platform edge and poked at something with a stick.
Farther away, Mr. Bopp leaned against Apollo’s legs like an ugly dog and laughed as Archie Crum told a joke no doubt unsuitable for a boy Apollo’s age.
Lillie sat with Earle on his roomy new wagon. He sported a lopsided bandage on his head and a sling on his arm. Lillie turned the pink pages of a Police Gazette salvaged from the wreckage of his old cart, while he read aloud, and she made appropriate noises of shock, disgust, and approval.
“Your friends can join us if they wish,” said Colonel Kingston, amusement in his voice. “Eddie and Frank have already said they’ll come.” He gestured to the nearby lot where the Arabian brothers tended to their camels and the assorted horses.
Mr. Northstar rounded the corner of the brick station house, Willie’s small hand in his.
“Mr. Northstar,” called the colonel. “I’d like to offer you a job.”
Mr. Northstar gathered Willie in close as he approached. “He’s not a performer, sir.”
“You, sir, not your son,” replied the colonel. “You are a lawyer, are you not? Do you know contracts?”
“My specialty,” answered Mr. Northstar, looking confused.
“A business has need of contract lawyering,” said the colonel.
My mother would be proud that her lectures about the colonels casual business practices had borne fruit at last.
“You won’t find it easy having a colored lawyer,” said Mr. Northstar.
“Look around you, Mr. Northstar,” said the colonel with a sweep of his arm. “Do you think that any one of us has found life easy?”
Miss Lightfoot and Mr. Ginger came over as if drawn by his gesture.
Mr. Northstar hesitated and then smiled. “I have not found reason of late to trust showmen,” he said, “but you have helped me rescue my son. I do believe I will accept your offer of a job.”
“What about you, ma’am, and you, Mr. Ginger?” asked the Colonel.
Miss Lightfoot looked at Mr. Ginger, and Mr. Ginger cleared his throat. “Dear Ruby, as long as you use the name Mrs. Ginger, I’m sure I shall not mind you performing a song or two.”
Miss Lightfoot nodded, a smile of sublime relief on her face.
“Oh, well done!” I cried, and grasped Mr. Ginger’s hand to congratulate him on his engagement.
“But I’m afraid I do not care to tread the boards again as the two-headed man,” Mr. Ginger announced.
“No one has to exhibit himself in my show, if that is not his wish,” the colonel said. “There are plenty of jobs available. I’m sure you have other skills.”
“He paints lovely pictures,” cried Bertha.
“And he plays a squeaky pipe,” growled Mr. Bopp from somewhere near my knees. He and Apollo had joined us.
