Disclaimer: As ever, I do not own Frank or Hidalgo, and I make no profit from this writing.
One more show, and he was trying hard to leave the bottle alone. Phoebe Ann dropped by and saw him putting the full bottle under his cot.
"Too close, Hop. You can still reach it when you're lying on that bed."
"You made sure I didn't have any this morning, didn't you," Frank stated, trying to banish thoughts of the first drink from his mind.
"You've been leaning on it a little heavy lately, Hop. You know that. It ain't sociable no more."
Frank turned the cloth he was holding, trying to find a cold spot. His head was throbbing and the air seemed too heavy to breathe. He didn't know what to say to her. She was right – the bottle was becoming his friend.
"Take it," he said, pressing the cloth to his eye.
"Sorry, but this is something you do for yourself. But how about I treat you to some home cooking. If you get any leaner, I'm going to have to take your costume in and I reckon it's easier to cook for you than to sew. I have a good beef steak for that eye, too."
He'd be a fool to turn down an offer like that and he was no fool. An hour later he was pushing back his plate and easing his belt. He looked round her tent, grander than his own and full of womanly touches. She might shoot like a man, but she made a place a home as well as any woman. She had managed to get a few truths out of him, too.
"Hop, I do believe you look a little less peaked. But that's one hell of a shiner you're going to have tomorrow. Damn this weather – it's hotter'n hell in here."
That might have been a cue to change into something more comfortable. But that wasn't Phoebe Ann's way. She had no designs on Frank, and he felt all the more secure with her because of that. He had his reasons, she had hers, and they left it at that.
"Are we movin' on soon? This is the back end of nowhere. I thought we was headed somewhere worth visitin'." Frank eased himself back in his chair, content for the first time in a while just to sit and chat. The tequila bottle had slipped to the back of his mind.
"Day after tomorrow. One more show, then back to that train."
"I like the train better. Air's movin'. And a good game of cards passes the time pretty well."
"You lost much money to Texas Jack lately? I swear, you get through your money faster'n any man I know."
"No reason to hold onto it. Might as well pass it on to the next man – maybe they can make better use of it than me." Frank raised his eyebrows as Phoebe Ann looked at him. There was truth in his statement but it was not a whole truth.
"Well, maybe. But you earned it. Maybe you ought to try keeping hold of a little more of it."
"You're full of good advice tonight, ma'am," Frank said, and it was an honest piece of admiration, not a sarcastic comment.
"I know. Ain't like me at all. Now, you go on back where you should be. I guess enough people here now know you've been visitin'. I don't want them thinkin' what they'll be thinkin' if you stay any longer."
Frank didn't want to go back to being on his own. The temptation of the bottle would have no counterbalancing weight of conviction that he should leave it alone. But she was holding the flap of the tent open, inviting anyone who passed by the opportunity to see that everything was above board, so he had no choice.
He was lucky that night. By the time he got back to his tent, his full bottle had become a half-empty bottle, courtesy of a couple of visiting friends. One small slug hadn't led to any more, because the good food, and the easing power of a good steak left him sleepily aware that he had had enough for one day. He pulled off his boots, lay back and let himself sleep.
The next day was hotter than ever, and angry-looking clouds were beginning to build on the horizon. Frank got himself some breakfast, food not drink, and was half-hoping someone might relieve him of the rest of the tequila. He wasn't feeling too bad, considering he hadn't had a drink in the better part of thirty-six hours. In fact, he was beginning to think straight and not sure he liked the feeling of that.
The afternoon runround went better than usual, with Hidalgo pulling off a couple of neat tricks, Frank fully in control to help him remember them, and everyone applauded – the people that counted, that is, the people in the show. He was patted on the back, and invited to a party or two after the evening's performance, which made him feel a little more like his old self.
By the evening, the still air was beginning to stir and the distant thunder, which had been grumbling all day, came a lot closer. But they still had an audience, some folks who had come in from aways off, in wagons and on horseback, and though the benches weren't full they couldn't let the people down. So Cody went through his repertoire of fanciful interpretations of the recent past and Frank performed his heart out, trying to see faces in the gathering dark. He had sworn off the real world but he still wanted to know who was applauding him. At least that night he deserved it.
But he was back at the bottle within a few minutes, having witnessed just what Cody thought happened at Little Big Horn. He'd known what Cody was doing all along but it had never been so clear to him before. His own stories, well, they went to a good story round the way of the truth, but what did that matter? He was telling the truth of what happened; Cody wasn't even close. As for the re-telling of Wounded Knee, he could hardly believe he'd been able to stand for it; the lies, the perversion of justice and decency, offended Frank in a way he had not really noticed. So maybe the bottle was best after all.
Then, as they say in the story-books, the heavens opened.
Hail. He had reason to remember hail, and the first time he had met a woman he wanted. Then, it had drawn them together. Now, it was hard, and biting, and dangerous, the clods of ice as large as a child's fist, sending everyone running for shelter more substantial than canvas. There wasn't much – just a space under the seating, which was raised on wooden ramps, and on his way there Frank almost stepped on two children huddled together under a coat. A man lay close by, knocked cold by the hail, and the children were crying loud enough to be heard under the onslaught of ice.
Frank tried to right himself but had pulled aside so suddenly he couldn't keep his feet and fell awkwardly, a thudding crash which frightened the children into screaming. He cursed the drink. He couldn't think straight, command himself to be useful and his brain was only telling him to get away, to save himself.
With a huge effort of will he got to his knees and reached for the smaller of the two children. She kicked and scratched at him, forcing foul words from his mouth but he managed to grab her and stood, putting her on his hip and taking the older boy by the hand. He led them down, into a fast-flowing stream of water which coursed across the ground and then along to the end of the stand. He tucked them under the boards, into relative safety and stood, taking the blows from the ice on his back without caring. He climbed back up to the man, who lay on his belly, blood on his forehead, and Frank unsteadily pulled him until he could get a shoulder under him. As he lifted him, the falling ice ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and Frank looked up. He knew that noise. Twister. Close. Nothing to do now but get the man to his children and run for Hidalgo. He wanted something, but not here, not in the mud of the show. Out there, on the prairie, that's where he would look for what he wanted.
He walked as fast as he dared with his burden, aware that the huge grey funnel was lapping at the earth on the horizon. He heard the children's cries and put the man on the ground, then pulled him by his boots into the dark recess under the seats. If the twister hit, the wood gave little protection but at least they looked safer. There were several other adults crouched there. They'd be able to look after the little family.
Then he ran, as fast as the mud would let him, to the corrals where the horses milled and screamed their panic. Hidalgo ran straight to him and he opened the gate for him, leaping onto his slick, bare back and grasping his mane. The other horses in the corral ran by, making Hidalgo skittish, but he settled when Frank leaned down, patting his reassurance. Then let Hidalgo run. He did little to guide him. They both had the same thought – away from there. Maybe it wasn't the most sensible thing to do; but it was what he had wanted to do and in his frame of mind that is what had counted.
Hell roiled above him yet it was comforting to be with this horse, chasing across the prairie as he had done as a boy, and the air and adrenaline cleared the alcohol from his mind. He eased Hidalgo into a canter and looked behind him. The funnel danced, as if playing with the ground. It dodged near the town, then away, then caught at an outlying building which exploded at the touch, sending fragments of itself spinning into the sky.
Frank pulled up and dismounted, and stood holding his horse's head, waiting to learn their fate. The tornado jinked again, tearing at the town in another place then rushing away, leaving everything else untouched. It skirted Frank warily, and he hung on to Hidalgo as they weathered the cutting wind and rain. Then it was gone.