out like he was there!”
She sighed. What Cody said made a great deal of sense. The stories were still good stories; the characters were fine people, people she wished she knew! They just weren’t . . . true.
And Cody was right. They didn’t have to be true to be good.
But that brought up something else. “I overheard you saying something to Kellermann . . .” she ventured. “About not understanding why there were so few people who came to the show a second time.”
Cody blinked at her, and pushed his hat back on his head. “Huh. Well, ayup. Thet’s got me puzzled. We got good crowds first couple’a days, then arter thet, it jest peters out. Thet didn’ happen in England, nor in Italy, same people’d turn up two, three times. We got outa France purdy quick, seems they jest didn’t cotton t’Wild West shows, an’ it ain’t jest us, Buffalo Bill had th’ same problem.”
“Well . . . I think it is because of Karl May,” she said, hesitantly. “It is because in Karl May’s books, the Indians are heroes. They are noble people, who only fight because their land is being taken. And in your show, they are savage bandits. You just told me not to contradict what people think because of Karl May, but that is what the show itself is doing.”
Cody stared at her. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again, and stared at her some more. His moustache bristled with alarm before it settled down again.
“All right,” he said, finally. “Our job ain’t t’edumacate people, like I said. Our job’s t’make money. So . . .” Now it was his turn to furrow his brow and sit in silence, thinking. “I reckon . . .” he said, slowly, sounding as if he was thinking out loud. “I reckon we gotta change th’ show. Like, ’stead of th’ Injuns attackin’ th’ settlers . . . the bandits could.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, inviting her comment.
“The Indians could rescue them,” she offered. “And instead of starting that off with the war dance, perhaps they could all become friends and have some other sort of dance?”
He shook his head. “No, we need th’ war dance, but th’ war dance kin be ’cause they’re chasin’ the bandits off. An’ the settlers kin be goin’ t’ Californy, steada Texas.”
“So they could have a peace pipe ceremony?” she suggested. “Karl May thinks pipe ceremonies are very important. I think everyone will want to see one.”
“’E got thet right, at least,” Cody mumbled. He drank the rest of his beer. “Lessee . . . I wish’t we had more buffalo. We could hev a buffalo hunt. But them critters is hard ’nuff to control as ’tis, an’ I wouldn’ wanta risk runnin’ ’em on account of they might take a notion t’go through the barreecade inter th’ stands, an’ anyway, there ain’t ’nuff of them t’make a good show. The ones we got was trained from calves, an’ they’re still no picnic t’handle, but at least they kin be controlled pretty reliable.”
He was rambling. She did her best to get him back on the subject. “Well, Leading Fox is an Air Master, why don’t he and I have a shooting contest?” she suggested. “Or . . . you know . . .”
It was an audacious idea. And if she had not trusted Fox and his control of his Elementals, she would not have suggested it.
“. . . he could do knife and perhaps tomahawk tricks with me as his target.” She began to warm to this idea, as Cody’s eyes widened in alarm and his moustache practically stood up by itself. “He could make my outline in arrows or knives. He could split an apple on the top of my head with an arrow or a tomahawk! I could hold things for him to shoot! He could shoot a cigarette out of my mouth!”
Cody stared at her in utter disbelief. “You . . . you’d let him do thet?” he gaped.
“He is an Air Master. He cannot miss as long as his Elementals and mine are making sure all is well,” she pointed out. She grew even more enthusiastic. “We could say we are blood brothers! That is very important in the Winnetou books, and in fact, we are, in a way. We could say that I trust his aim because of that!”
“An . . . you think people’d go fer thet?” He shook his head.