well, from ever’thin’ she an’ Kellermann says, he’s just about Twain, Dickens, Mister Alger, an’ Shakespeare all rolled up inter one. An’ he mostly writes ’bout our parts back home.”
Now she saw he clearly had the attention of everyone in the tent. They didn’t stop eating, but their eyes were fixed on him, intrigued.
“Seems like ’bout everybody buys his books and reads ’em. Herr Bauer an’ his herd, on this here farm? Yeah, ev’ one of them, iff’n ye can reckon that! Shoot that’s like—like our boy Johnny Dermot an’ alla his family back home gettin’ thesselves every consarn one of Twain’s books soon as one comes out an’ settin’ down ev’ night t’read one over supper!”
They all laughed at that as Johnny blushed, but grinned, since it was common knowledge that the cowhand could barely write his name. Still she could tell that made an impression on them all.
“So that’s why folks hereabouts are likin’ us way better’n the Frenchies did,” Cody went on. “But there’s jest one problem. This Mister May feller, the one that wrote all them books . . . he ain’t never been to the West. Hellfire, he ain’t never been to ’Merica. So he . . . kinda got a lotta stuff wrong.” Now Cody nodded at her. “So, tell ’em ’bout these books, Ellie.”
She stood up, all eyes on her, and licked dry lips. “The books that people like best are about a German, who is supposed to be May himself, and an Apache chief named Winnetou,” she began. And choosing her words carefully, she began telling them the narratives of the books that she had read.
Her audience began with raised eyebrows.
The explanation ended with howls of laughter on the part of the others, and with herself a bright scarlet. Cody motioned for her to sit down, and she did so in mingled embarrassment and anger. If I’d thought he was going to make a laughingstock out of me—
Her anger smoldered as Cody waited patiently for the laughter to die away. At that moment, if it had not been for Fox putting a restraining hand on her shoulder, she would have gotten up and stalked out of the tent . . . possibly even out of the show altogether.
“All right, settle down,” Cody said as the last of the laughter faded, casting her a slightly apologetic look. “I might could remind some of y’all ’bout the times you stuck yer feet in it right up to the knee, when we got over t’England now . . . like when you got drunk an’ shot up that pub in Manchester, Tom, an’ we had t’bail y’all out . . . or when Jem mistook that fancy anteeky Chinee pot fer a spittoon.” Cody’s eyes were scanning the entire tent, and there were several people who tried to avoid his gaze, wearing expressions of chagrin. “Right then. Iffen y’all was actually listenin’ t’what Miz Ellie was sayin’, ’steada laughin’, y’all mighta noticed somethin’. Seems like when the folks hereabouts read them stories, there’s one thing that stands right out. Injuns is the heroes.”
Stunned silence fell, a silence so absolute that the lowing of a cow from the next field over sounded so unnaturally loud that Giselle winced. Glancing around her, she could see her fellow showmen in various levels of shock and disbelief. And it looked as if some of them were about to open their mouths and—say something.
But Cody did not give them that chance.
“And that is why almost nobody comes back a second time to our show!” Cody said, with authority. “It’d be like us goin’ t’the mellerdrama, an’ instead of the hero winnin’, it’s the villain what gets the girl, the gold, an’ ever’thin’! We wouldn’t be comin’ back a second time if that happened, right?”
That stopped those who’d been about to speak up dead in their tracks. Giselle actually saw it happen. First, the sudden jolt. Then, the mouths opening, then closing again as they digested what Cody had just said.
Cody began walking back and forth across the little space in front of the tables, his voice turning persuasive. “So I said t’myself . . . Cody Lee, jest what are we over here fer? T’make money, that’s what! An’ what d’we do t’make money? Well, it’s purty damn clear we ain’t gonna make money by showin’ ’em somethin’ they don’t cotton to!” He paused to let that sink in. Eventually, he got nods. Some more reluctant than others, but nods