All-Star Western Presents:
The Whippoorwill Fire





Whippoorwill, Colorado, July, 1876--

I’d just arrived in Whippoorwill last night and had reckoned on being back on the trail by noon, yet, here I am. When I rode in, I never would have figured I would be a part of a bucket brigade, yet, again, here I am. The regulars with their fancy water tank are doing their best to save the barn, me and the rest of the town, are doing our best to soak everything else made of wood in the barn’s immediate vicinity. We don’t know what started the fire, and we probably won’t until it is put out, but the whole town showed up carrying anything that would hold water. They understand what will happen to the homes and businesses if even one spark escapes our notice. A single, unnoticed spark could wipe out the whole town; it’s happened before. We’re doing our darnedest to keep that from happening here.

“Tucker!”

I don’t know if it is because of the boy’s proximity to me or the desperation in his voice, but I hear his cries even above the yelling and hollering of everyone fighting the fire. For whatever reason, though, I seem to be the only one to hear him. When he starts towards the barn, I squat down and wave at him. We make eye contact and he runs to me.

“What’s wrong, young’un? Are you looking for your brother?” Since he called out “Tucker” instead of “Pa”, I figured it was a brother he was looking for.

A stream of tears cut ravines down his cheeks. “I can’t find my pup, Tucker.”

“I’m sure he’s around here somewheres.” I put my hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve looked everywhere.” His words are little more than sobs now. “Cain’t you help me find him, Mister?”

I look at the barn and at all the folks trying their best to keep the flames from spreading to the rest of the town, then back at the boy. I know what is more important overall, but my heart tells me to this littler feller, “Tucker” is equally as important. “Where all have you looked?”

The little boy’s shoulders sagged. “I’ve looked everywhere Tucker likes to go. There’s only one more place he likes to go.” He began drawing in short breaths without letting any of them back out. He raised his hand and pointed at the barn as he began to wail.

I can feel my heart sink and it feels like it won’t stop until it reaches my boots. I look around, hoping to see a parent looking for a lost child, but I’m not that lucky. I do see one of the girls from the saloon, so I motion for her to come over. “What’s your name?” Hopefully, I can shift his focus away from the obvious; it usually works in a card game.

“Sam,” he replies.

“Howdy, Sam. My name is Bartholomew, but my friends call me Bat.”

Sam looks up at me. “Hello.”

“Sam, I’m going to need you to do me a favor,” I say as the girl approaches. “I need you to go with…”

“Maggie,” the girl says.

“...Maggie. She is going to take you to the saloon where you will be safe.”

“But, Tucker.” He starts to cry again and Maggie bends down and puts her arm around his shoulder.

“I promise I will find Tucker for you. I just need you to be safe.” I look up at Maggie. “I owe you one.”

“Yes,” she says. “You do.”

Reluctance keeps Sam in place for a few seconds, then Maggie stands and takes him by the hand. He looks back. “You promise you will find him, Bat?”

“I promise.”

I refill my bucket, then head to the barn. I toss the water on the smoldering hay, then continue. One of the town regulars sees me and comes over to meet me.

“Your bucket’s empty.”

“Yeah. I dumped it out on the hay.” I take a deep breath. “How long do you think it will take to put the fire out?”

“What’s the matter, stranger?” the man asks. His aggravation is obvious. “You anxious to leave town?”

“I just met a young’un who’s looking for his pup.”

The man’s expression softened a little. “That would be Sam. I declare; he is always a-lookin’ for that pup of his. I hope you sent him home.”

“Actually, Maggie took him to the saloon where he would be safe.”

“Look, Mister. If it’s like any other time Tucker has disappeared, he will show up soon back at his own place. Now, I gotta get back to trying to put this fire out.”

I put my hand on his shoulder as he turns away. When he looks back, he isn’t happy.

“Listen, Mister. I ain’t…”

I cut him off. “Sam thinks Tucker is in the barn.”

The man’s jaw loosens and he unballs his fists. “Oh, Lord a-mighty.” He looks back at the barn.

“I have to get in there.”

“To go in their now would just get you killed.” He looks around. “Wait here. I will go talk to Red; he’s in charge.” He didn’t wait for me to respond.

I’m not sure how long he is gone. It seems like forever, but I doubt it is more than a minute or two.

“Are you feeling up to taking a turn at the pump?” he asks. “Ole Tom is starting to wear down and could use a break. If we can keep the pump going, Red believes we could have the fire out in about half an hour.”

I hand him my empty bucket. “Tell me where to go.”

Ole Tom looks to be about 60, but from the determination in his eyes, I don’t reckon he would have asked to be replaced even if his arms dropped off. “Put yer hand on the handle when I raise ‘er up,” Ole Tom tells me, “and I’ll skedaddle out of yer way when it starts down.”

We manage to change places without interrupting the flow of water.

“Just keep her goin’, young feller.”

I give him a nod.

“And keep ‘er steady.”

I give him another nod.

I guess Red has dealt with a lot of fires in his time because the fire is out pretty close to when he said it would be. That doesn’t stop the townsfolk from soaking their homes and businesses; don’t reckon I blame them for being cautious.

Ole Tom arrives leading a mountain of a man with red hair.

“Mister,” Red says, “I want to thank you for sticking around to help out. The town sure appreciates it.” His voice is rough, a result of yelling directions and all the smoke.

“I am glad I was able to help. I just wish my business here was done.”

“Yeah. Pete told me. The barn is still standing, mostly, so I wouldn’t advise anyone to think it’s safe to go inside.” He wipes sweat from his face. “Of course, you strike me as a feller who isn’t afraid of a little danger. If you want to check out the barn, I’ll go in with you.”

“I don’t particularly want to, but I promised Sam I would check. The only thing I’m afraid of is we’ll find Tucker.”

Red nods. “You got a bandana? Cover your nose and mouth.”

If you think the smell of a burning barn is bad on the outside, you couldn’t imagine what it’s like inside. The air is thick and breathing is hard; it’s like being tied up really tight and every time you try to breathe in, the rope gets tighter. It fills your nose and coats your tongue. Whenever you blink, your eyes feel like you’ve rubbed sand in them. I can’t imagine how bad it would be without the bandana.

Everything inside is black. One of the only things recognizable is the charred remains of a wagon to the left of the door; anything further back is destroyed.

I head over to the wagon and almost immediately, something catches my eye. Red joins me. We exchange looks; we don’t have to look any further.

“I know Sam’s parents,” Red says. “I’ll go find them and take them to the saloon. Pete told me that’s where you sent Sam.”

“I’ll collect Tucker and meet you there.”

Red looks around, spots whatever he was looking for, and walks away. When he returns, he is carrying a large piece of canvas. “At least wrap him up. The townsfolk will be less inclined to notice you and break the news to Sam or his folks before we do.”

“Makes sense.”

Red heads off in search of Sam’s folks as I set myself to the sad task before me. The first thing I notice when I squat down beside the wagon is that Tucker’s fur is covered in soot, but he doesn’t appear to be burnt. I reckon he panicked and decided under the wagon would be a safe place. I gently slide him out from under the wagon and lay him on the canvas. His little stomach is a bit bloated; I reckon it is from the smoke he inhaled. Aside from that, and the soot, he looks like he is just sleeping. I remember seeing a Sioux woman wrap up her papoose once, so that’s how I wrap Tucker. The little fellow doesn’t hardly weigh anything as I pick him up.

Ole Tom is waiting outside the door with a few other men. “It’s okay, young feller. They know what you’re carryin’, but they ain’t gonna tell nobody.”

Pete is with them and he sets a bucket on the ground. “Red told us. I figured it might be easier on the boy if Tucker isn’t covered in so much soot when he sees him.”

“Smart thinking. Thanks.”

As I lay Tucker on the ground, the men move to block anyone from seeing what I am doing. Pete hands me his handkerchief to clean the pup off. I take my time and the men don’t seem to mind.

Ole Tom stands over me. “Ya done a good job. You want me to carry ‘im?”

“Appreciate the offer, but I promised Sam I would bring Tucker to him.”

Ole Tom smiled. “I understand. Let me check and make sure ain’t nobody gonna git too nosy when you leave here.”

The way is clear, but I head away from the saloon just far enough for anyone watching to lose interest in me. When it’s clear, I cross the street, move into the shadows, and make my way to the saloon. Despite wanting to get this unpleasant business over, I can’t seem to make myself hurry.

Glancing down at the bundle in my arms, I realize I am carrying Tucker like a baby. The canvas has fallen away from his face: his lifeless eyes are staring up at me as if he’s asking, “Why me?” I lay him down on a bench and wrap him again, this time making sure nothing is exposed. For some reason, the loss of my family comes to mind, but this feels different. The desire for vengeance has kept me from properly mourning my folks, but I know Sam’s little heart is going to break when he sees his pup. I walk even slower.

The aroma of burnt would, hay, and leather is strong in the air, but my nose is picking up another scent. It’s not overpowering, but catching whiffs of poop. I step into the street and lay him on the boardwalk. Unwrapping him, I see Tucker’s body has expelled the contents of his bowels. Can’t let Sam see him like this. A trough is close and no one is near, so I take the canvas over and rinse it out. After wringing it out, I wrap Tucker up again.

Normally, after a fire, business at the saloon would be booming, but word must have gotten out about what was about to happen because there’s nobody around. Except Red and Ole Tom.

I find something out about Red that I didn’t know. In addition to him being the feller in charge of putting out fires, he is also the town sheriff. He meets me a few feet from the door.

“Started to think you weren’t coming,” he says. He glances at the bundle I am carrying. “Is that wet?”

“I guess when we wrapped Tucker up, the movement affected his internals.”

“And you stopped and cleaned him up again,” Red adds. “That’s might kind of you...Bat.”

Our eyes meet and I expect the worst.

“The family is already prepared for the bad news, although I don’t think that will cushion the blow,” Red says. “When I met them here, they asked if I found him and I told them the stranger was bringing him. It was Sam who told me your name. He didn’t know you were wanted.”

I take a deep breath, then exhale. “Can I at least fulfill my promise to Sam?”

Red smiled. “I’m not going to stop you. As far as the family knows, you’re just a stranger named Bat who is passing through. I didn’t tell them no different.”

“I appreciate it.” I look down at Tucker, all wrapped up like one of those mummies they keep finding in Egypt, and sigh. “I reckon I better get in there.” I start toward the door, but Red touches my arm.

“I heard about what happened in Texas,” he says, “and the way I understand it, you tried to talk your way out of that fight, but that deputy wouldn’t back down.”

Ole Tom stepped forward. “I was a’tellin’ Red here not five minutes ago I heard they was a posse down around Loredo had Bat Lash cornered in stable.”

I look at the two men, not really understanding exactly what I am hearing.

“As far as I am concerned, and anyone in town will back me up, you was just a friendly stranger passing through who did your best to help us keep our town from burning to the ground.”

“Sam’s waiting.”

Both men step aside.

I step between them, then stop. “Thanks, Red. I appreciate it.” After a deep breath, I push the door open and step inside the saloon.



* * * * *

Whippoorwill is three days behind me, and I keep thinking about poor little Tucker. I keep wondering why he ran into that barn instead of away from the fire. Surely, he could have got out the same way he got in. I guess the little feller just got so scared, he didn’t know what he was doing.

Ah, what am I doing? A man could go crazy trying to figure out what was going through his little mind during the fire. It’s been four days since the fire and, I swear, I can still smell the canvas, soiled and soot-covered, that I carried Tucker in.

I take a drink from my canteen, hoping it will rinse the lump out of my throat. It doesn’t. Perhaps I need to pick a destination and find something to distract me. I think I’ll head to Deadwood. That should be a distraction.