Arizona Blue Gunfighter: Crazy Sam (The lost, Episode)

[1884: Deadwood]

The Barn

“Yessam,” said Crazy Sam “you is tired, because I is. Don’t let dhem white folks work you da death!” Sam in the barn talking to a horse, moving a carriage away from Tasma.

“Keep me wake up till I get ya fed ol girl,” said Sam.

Sam jerked on the horse’s mouthpiece, to move Tasma away from the carriage, clutching her by the bridle.

Sam now paced the barn with his hands in his pockets, Tasma was not yet in her stall, which was open, “You ant git no free er,” Sam mumbled to Tasma.

The floor was dry, a few holes in the roof where you could see the sky, Sam looked up, and it was a star lit sky, a warm night.

“Come back this way,” Sam told the horse, but the horse was headed back outside. He walked the horse around the barn to slow her heartbeat, she was sweating (Lola had run the horse hard), and she still needed to cool down. The cow was in the back of the barn, she was making noise. The wind came through the open door, rattled something, spooked the cow, and then Tasma, both were uneasy.

Sam looked over the horse to see if she was cooled down, “Dhem foks hit you sho! Loa, she dhink ya can fly…. You com her and et,”

Crazy Sam, as he was known, started singing some old southern songs (he was originally from Alabama); said Sam as he fed Tasma again, “I goes my way and lets white folks go dheirs; I reckon.” Sam was born in 1823. He’d always tell folks he was born before the Alamo was shot up by the Mexicans.

“Dhey still dhink dhey own us,” Sam told the horse; now the barn door just shut, “Cant nobody hear down here, from dhe house, no-ways and folks dhink I is crazy anyhow; taint no joke in it, cus I talks to myself all dhe time.”

The cow was making noise again, as Sam put the horse in the stall, again; then all of a sudden, Lola’s voice could be heard:

“Sam, Sam!”

“I sho doneit now; I declare if I aint in trouble. Shut up that cow,” said Crazy Sam, annoyed.

The Rocking Chair

Sam was sitting back in his rocking chair, on the porch of his small shack of a house, in back of the livery stable he worked; Lola’s house, in the front, she owned the huge barn that was now used for a stable. It was in years past, a miners house, with a shaft, for streams of water to sort the gold from the dirt, with the water running down through the wooden shaft; now it was just horses, cows and whatever someone wanted to leave for a day or so, to be fed, bathed or rubbed down; or a combination of all.

Arizona Blue was in town and folks were talking about him, Crazy Sam had met him, a few years back, Lola had dated him. Lola owned a boarding house that was also connected onto the barn, and in back of it, fenced in corral, with a cow in it; and in back of that, Sam’s shack. She had done well for herself in the years past.

Sam was sitting back in his rocking chair, had finished most of his chores: his little shack was in back of the corral, he had two kids, older kids, one sixteen the other seventeen; it was Sunday and his wife and two children had just arrived back from church.

“Hush up,” said Sam’s wife, “go fetch your papas whisky jug, by his rocker, he’s had enough for Sunday morning,” she told the older boy (Matter).

Said Sissy, “Come on in the house Sam!”

“No, I’m going to the creek.”

“Whys that…?” said Sissy.

“dhey git company,” Sam said.

“Who is dhey…!?” said Sissy.

“Dhe town got that gunman back, yous know, Arizona Blue, and when hes in town, theres no tellin what goin to happen. Best ya stay indoors to.”

“I reckon we can plan on Lola seeing him haw pa?” said the younger boy.

“I don’t care,” Sam replied.

“I’m hungry Sissy,” said Sam, pausing to look at his old Negro wife, forgetting the creek.

She didn’t say a word, she was tired, and then they both saw Blue and Lola walking up the walk; Blue smiled at them as he checked his back, as often he did, he liked Sam and Sissy, and the kids, it was something he would have liked to have, a family. Blue’s figure was a blur for the old Negro though.

“Yah, that’s him alright,” said Sam, adding: “I’ll eit super out her tonight.”

“Whers my stew, my Sunday stew!” yelped Sam (getting irritated).

“Shhhh,” said Sissy. And she brought out a bowel of steaming hot stew for her husband. “Eit yor dinner now!” she looked about, said (looking at Cotton, her younger boy): “Git his spoon, “the steam of the stew was going up his nostrils, and some dripping from his lips.

Stew

Crazy Sam now was humming and rocking back and forth in his chair by his wife’s side, she in a stationary chair; then suddenly she got up and walked to the corral to check on the cow: normally Sam would do it, but he was half asleep.

“Ya’ll eat yor supper now,” she commented, while in motion, to her kids inside of the shack sitting at the table.

Cotton mumbled in the kitchen, ’I dont want anymore,’ and pushed it back out of his bowl, and it broke the cast-iron cooking pot over the heath.

When Sissy came back, it was now dark, the air was cool: said Sam as he stood up, “git yor nightie on, I wants to go to bed early, got to fix that wall clock in the moron….” Then they both walked into the shack, together.

In side, Cotton was cleaning fish, and the older son, Matter was playing on a bingo, “Dont ya come pesterin, ya hear me boys…?” Sam said as they went into the bedroom; both boys looking at one another; Sam never looking back to see if they heard.

Said the older boy to Cotton, “…yous got to tune up that bingo some!”

“Its too early to stop playing,” said Cotton, adding, “I thought I did tuned it up.”

“You is tonight,” said Matter.