Chapter Five and a Half: The Entanglement

Joe craned his neck to see around the small juniper tree that flanked Cole McBride's ragged bunkhouse. Cole was definitely inside, but from the sound of things, he wasn't exactly resting up for his big day. A good sign. Joe could hear at least two other men and a woman. It was probably Sally Forester but he couldn't be sure. Another good sign. The tall Navajo looked back over his shoulder and motioned for Jones to accompany him at the corner of the house. Jones nodded and, with considerable effort, managed to roll the huge barrel of beer they'd carried from Lucy's up to Joe's side.

It had been a monumental task to get Vera to give up one of her barrels. Joe had known it was going to be tough because Vera was so paranoid about the Prohibition ban, but he finally convinced her. He just told her that no one ever wanted to mess with a drunken Indian so her beer was safe with him. She agreed and so he and Jones now sat next to Cole's house with a big oak cask full of beer.

"Thanks for helpin' me there, Chief," Jones muttered when he finally caught his breath.

"No problem," Joe said.

"You figure this is gonna work?" Jones asked, wiping the sweat off his brow.

"Probably not," Joe responded, "but short of killin' him or the horse, this is our best shot."

Joe was still amazed at what a big deal this whole race had become. Hoot's life as far as he could tell kind of hinged on it. But it went beyond that. Joe had been down to Pagosa on Thursday and, much to his surprise, Jake Sorrentino had a bunch of people hanging up signs announcing the race like it was boxing match. "Father versus Son" read one of the bigger announcements. It had gotten so out of hand, Joe had even seen someone hanging up red, white, and blue bunting like they often did on the Fourth of July. By the time he was ready to leave, a dozen or so folks had asked him what he thought of Hoot's chances. He, of course, thought they were nonexistent, but he replied that they were pretty good if Cole was three sheets in the wind. This elicited a chorus of hearty laughs, but it also gave Joe an idea. An idea that he and Jones were about to act upon.

"You want me to knock or do you want the honor?" Joe whispered to his anxious friend.

Jones arched his back as if stretching all of his muscles and then stood tall and approached the freshly-painted door of the bunkhouse. "I'll do it!"

Joe watched as the barrel-chested Welshman knocked authoritatively on the door. A series of muffled grunts and low-pitched shrieks erupted in the room before a slender, attractive young woman cautiously opened the door.

"Sally," Jones said in a tone that Joe sensed was a little too formal given the circumstances.

"Kay," responded Sally coolly.

Jones stood in silence for a few moments before he whispered just loud enough for Sally to hear. "Hoot just asked me to come down here and tell you he was waiting for you up at the camp."

Joe struggled to keep himself from laughing at Jones' bravado. Everyone but Cole and Hoot knew Sally was a sneaky little two-timer, but it was still fun to hear Jones call her on it when Cole was but a few steps away. She shifted nervously from one foot to the other in the doorway not knowing what to do. Her face soon turned a vivid shade of purple, but she was saved further embarrassment when Cole ambled to the doorway.

"Who is it, babe?" he insisted, nuzzling Sally on the back of her neck.

"Nobody!" she snapped back, but when Cole saw that it was Jones, he opened the door even further and, much to Sally's chagrin, greeted him warmly.

"It's Jonesy, everybody," the heavy-set miner chimed. "What brings you down here?"

"Just wanting to wish you good luck, Cole. We got some money on ya tomorrow and we brought a little gift to keep ya focused."

To that point, Cole hadn't noticed Joe standing at the corner of the bunkhouse with the beer barrel, but when he did, he jumped like a kid on Christmas morning. He lumbered out of the bunkhouse hollering like he won the lottery at the fair and cozied up to the barrel.

"You and Injun Joe here done brought me some of Vera's home brew?" he said excitedly as he slapped Joe on the shoulder like he was long lost friend.

"Yep," replied Jones, still giving Sally a look of reproach. "We just thought you could use a little incentive to win tomorrow."

"But we don't want you to go off and drink it all tonight," Joe interjected, slapping Cole on the back with a little more force than was necessary.

Cole burst out laughing. "Ah, ha, ha! Good one, Joe! Me and the boys'll take it easy. I swear."

By the time Cole had finished guffawing, a lanky red-headed coal miner named Jimmy Swenson had made his way out of the bunkhouse and was eyeing Vera's potent concoction. Not far behind Jimmy waddled Cus Dayton. Joe knew Cus had been giving Cole riding lessons but he was best known for his drinking escapades. Joe felt quite sure that the contents of the cask would never see daybreak.

"Now I thought you boys was Hoot's friends," Cus bellowed as he, too, drew a bead on the barrel. "Seems a little strange, you bettin' on Cole tomorrow."

Joe acknowledged Cus' intuition with a courteous nod. "That's just it, Cus. We are Hoot's friends, but if he wins tomorrow, he's gonna go off and leave us. We'd just as soon have him stay if it was up to us. Plus, it don't hurt to win a few greenbacks in the meantime."

"Makes sense," Cus reasoned before he bent down and picked up the entire barrel and placed it on his shoulder. As Cus, Jimmy and Cole all hustled back into the bunkhouse, Jones and Joe exchanged knowing glances. So far, so good.

Three hours and at least five trips to the outhouse later, Joe emerged from the bunkhouse arm in arm with Jones. The rest was up to Hoot.