Medicine Show
by Michael Smith

 

 

 

Dry Gulch, Wyoming, population: 346. That population is about to grow by one. Joe McGraw pulled up his horse at the end of what the townsfolk must surely call ‘Main Street’. Five days in the Arizona heat can make a man awful thirsty; five days in the saddle can make a man awful sore; and five days of beans can make a man awful … let’s just say, hungry for a good meal.

Joe was on a mission. He knew what was expected of him. He knew it would involve being real polite to folk, and smiling a lot. Thankfully, he still had most of his teeth. He removed the unusually red, broad-rim hat from his head, squinted down Main Street, then removed his blue kerchief from round his neck. He used the kerchief to wipe the damp band of sweat inside his hat, before wiping beads of sweat from his completely bald head. He knew the hat was important; he knew, through experience, just how to tip it to the fine ladies of a town which, when accompanied by a smile, ensured he was seen and, more importantly, accepted as one of the good guys. Joe returned his red hat to his head, and his kerchief to his neck, lightly picked up the reins, and gave his horse a gentle dig in the ribs; enough to set it ambling into town.

Dry Gulch was just like every other small town he’d visited on his travels. The Main Street contained wooden structures housing the Longhorn Saloon, the Sheriff’s Office, the Post Office, Deke’s Hardware Store, Ted Turner’s Blacksmith’s, and a guest house, optimistically named Ma Beecham’s Home From Home. Covered wooden walkways helped the foot traffic when heavy rain turned the dirt track main street into a quagmire. Joe had yet to visit a town sufficiently advanced to deal effectively with its own waste products, and the pervasive air of equine and bovine flatulence strangely made him feel quite at home.

All seemed quiet at the Longhorn Saloon. Joe took this as a good sign. He tied his horse to the rail outside and moseyed in, pausing at the door to gain that all important first impression. The place was almost empty. There was no card game around the circular green baize table; maybe this evening. There was no unattached woman leaning provocatively against the door leading to the back rooms; maybe tonight. There were no wanted posters glued to the saloon wall. And, judging by the floor around the spittoon, the folks round here didn’t aim too good either.

Joe relaxed and approached the bar.

“Whiskey.”

The barman collected a glass from under the counter and filled it from a half-empty bottle standing on the bar. Joe knew the barman had done this thousands of times before. He threw a small coin onto the bar, took the glass and emptied It in one smooth, well-practised motion. He returned the glass to the bar.

“Same again?”

“Sure.”

“You new?” asked the barman needlessly, as he refilled the glass.

Joe finished his drink before responding, “Yep.”

“You in town for long?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On if I like the place.”

A small hand movement from Joe communicated to the barman that he’d like a third shot of whiskey. The barman obliged. This time Joe sipped his drink, “Know where a man can get some vittles round here?”

“We got stew on the stove. Cost you a quarter.”

“Not beans?”

“Nope, beef. Want some?”

“Sure.”

It wasn’t long before Joe was cleaning the last of the stew off his plate with the remains of the bread that accompanied the beef.

“Where can a man find a resting place for hisself round here? And a stall for his horse?”

“Dirk’s Stables are at the other end of Main Street. Across from there is Ma Beecham’s Home From Home; the best guest house in town.”

“Much obliged.”

Joe left the saloon, untied his horse, and walked to the stables and guest house. Along the way he encountered several of the respectable looking townsfolk. To each he touched the brim of his red hat, smiled, and confidently said, “Howdy, ma’am” or “Fine day, ain’t it?” or “Let me carry that for you, ma’am.”

The process had begun.

 

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Ann Dubois had been born in Dry Gulch, nineteen years ago. She’d been one of the first in town to benefit from an education. The killing of both her parents in another of the young town’s senseless acts of violence had given her a different perspective on life in Wyoming in the 1880s. She saw clearly that the way to betterment lay through education, not revenge. Her aunt and uncle had continued her upbringing, and she was now referred to in town as ‘smart’; Ann took this as a compliment, but she knew it was rarely meant that way.

Ann’s Aunt Lois and Uncle Ralph were solid, dependable types. Later generations would claim that it was on the backs of folks such as these that America was built. They worked from sun-up to sunset; usually beyond. In one way or another, they had subdued America; subdued the land to grow crops, subdued the vast distances by building the railroad, and, of course, subdued the original Americans, either by the bullet or the bottle. To sustain and guide them through these times, many of these pioneers relied on the strength they drew from some form of chapel. Lois and Ralph belonged to the local denomination, occasionally being visited by a travelling preacher, but relying mainly on the Lord’s words from the Good Book. Ann had fallen in with her aunt and uncle’s religious ways, and considered the chapel to be a place where she could meet God, although she would admit only to herself, it did seem odd, given the wide open plains of Wyoming, that God would limit himself to a small, wooden building on the outskirts of nowhere. On the occasions she rode out of town, and into the vast prairie, under the endless sky; then she felt the enormity of God. She never told her aunt and uncle this; she felt sure there must be some sort of commandment against it.

On the day Joe McGraw rode into Dry Gulch, Ann was tending the flowers that grew in the grounds of the brightly whitewashed chapel. She crouched in the garden, feeling the soil between her fingers as she removed weeds from between those flowers struggling to survive in the arid landscape. She wore a bonnet, despite being sheltered beneath the tall tree that also offered the congregation some shade inside the small chapel. Her shade increased as a second shadow passed over her.

“Good day to you, Annie.”

“It’s Ann, I’m not a child anymore, Luke Turner, so you and your brothers can stop calling me Annie.”

Luke just laughed and rode on.

Ann and Luke had grown up together. Their lives were intertwined, and people in the town would not be surprised if they end up man and wife. She’d even let him kiss her once; but that was five years ago and she had been secretly avoiding him ever since. Just like the prairies, Ann had wider horizons.

The town’s small chapel was located on the outskirts, to indicate that folks who went there each Sunday morning were somehow removed from the drunken violence and promiscuity that littered Main Street each Saturday night. Ann continued with her gardening until a shadow passed over her again. Without bothering to look up, Ann said, rather harshly, “I told you before Luke, you call me Ann.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but I ain’t no Luke. The name’s Joe. Joe McGraw.”

Ann looked up to see the silhouette of a man she didn’t recognise. She shielded her eyes and spoke, “Pleased to meet you Joe McGraw. You new here?” It was a stupid question, she knew.

“Yup, rode in earlier today. Lookin’ for work. Is there any job needs doing at the church?”

“It’s a chapel. You’d better ask my uncle. He kinda looks after the place; I just help out.”

As Ann stood, Joe continued the conversation, “And where might I find your uncle?”

“He’ll be out in the fields right now. Why don’t you call round this evening, round sunset? I’ll tell my aunt to set an extra place for dinner.”

“That’s mighty hospitable of you. Thank you.”

“Just ask anyone down the Main Street where Lois and Ralph live and they’ll give you directions.”

“Thank you kindly, ma’am. Much obliged.” With that, Joe touched the brim of his red hat, smiled, and rode slowly away.

 

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As arranged, Joe dined with Ann and her aunt and uncle. He took care to make clear his enjoyment of the meal, and to answer correctly all their questions. And definitely no cussin’. After dinner, the quartet sat on the veranda which extended across the front of the house.

“Ann tells me you’re looking for work,” asked Uncle Ralph.

“That’s right, sir. If you know of any, I’d be much obliged.”

“There’s always plenty to do in Dry Gulch. Can you saw wood?”

“That I can, sir.”

“Any experience in construction?”

“Yes, sir. On my way through Kansas I helped with the construction of a new church.”

“You driven cattle?”

Joe laughed an easy laugh, smiled, and replied, “You might say cattle driving is my specialty, sir. I’ve spent most of the last five years in the saddle. But I can turn my hand to most things. I’m a quick learner, sir, and eager to work hard.”

“Those are fine qualities, Joe. This town will be very pleased to have someone like you around. More lemonade?”

“No thank you, sir. It’s been a long day,” replied Joe, as he got to his feet, “and I need me some sleep.”

“Tell you what, Joe. Call round here tomorrow noon, and I’ll find you some work.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you kindly. Tomorrow at noon, sir.”

They shook hands.

“Night, ya’ll.”

“Goodnight, Joe.”

As he walked away, Joe overheard Aunt Lois comment, “What a fine man.”

Joe smirked.

 

Within minutes, Joe had entered the Longhorn saloon, and ordered himself a beer. This time the card table was occupied by four men of varying age and build. This looked like a regular game. A fifth seat beckoned to Joe.

“Mind if you deal me in, or is this a private game?”

Four pairs of eyes assessed this stranger. Eventually one of the poker players, Seth, said, “Reckon your money’s as good as anyone else’s.” The other three raised no objection either, and Joe was told the local rules and limits. He accepted an offered cigar, ordered a second beer, and relaxed with his newfound friends.

“What do folks call you?”

“Joe. Joe McGraw.”

Seth smiled, glanced at the others and said, “Mind if we call you Baldy?”

“Why?”

“This gentleman here’s also called Joe,” said Seth, pointing across the table to a silent, moody type.

“Sure, why not? Baldy it is then.”

“That way folks won’t you get confused with the real Joe here. And, anyway, it makes it clear to everyone who you are. Baldy.”

By the end of the evening, Joe had lost a little, but laughed a lot. He had told tales of his exploits from the Mississippi to California. The others had enjoyed his company almost as much as they’d enjoyed taking his money. But Joe didn’t mind. He didn’t object to his new name, either. It was all part of the long plan.

 

Joe spent the next few weeks doing many odd jobs around the town, some paid, some unpaid. He spent time helping Ann with the gardening at the chapel. He spent his evenings either accepting invitations to dinner from grateful townsfolk, or playing cards at the saloon. He attended chapel some Sundays and worked hard at avoiding the more extreme activities available on a Saturday night. And, as the time progressed, people increasingly referred to him as ‘Baldy’.

Joe was beginning to like the folks of Dry Gulch; shame he would have to leave soon.

 

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A month later, the traveling medicine show hit town.

Once his horses had been watered following their long haul from the last unsuspecting town, and the early afternoon dust had settled, the show’s proprietor, Phineas T. Munroe, took little time opening the side and back of his specially adapted waggon. He knew the prairie folks in these small towns experienced precious little entertainment and, in each new location, he allowed natural curiosity to generate the kind of crowd he craved. In an oft-repeated operation, he transformed his humble prairie waggon into a small stage, with hand-painted billboards advertising the essential and potentially life-changing potions, unctions and ointments he was peddling across the state.

“Is this a circus, mister?” asked a small bare-footed, sandy-haired boy.

“Well now, young fella, we ain’t got no lions or tigers, but we do aims to put on a mighty fine show for the folks of this good town. Your mammy and pappy around?”

“Sure.”

“Bring them along here at sunset, and there’s a whole bottle of Sarsaparilla just for you.”

“Gee, thanks,” enthused the boy as he began to run home.

“Tell ‘em Phineas T. Munroe sent you!”

The remainder of the afternoon was spent setting up and then advertising the well-rehearsed medicine show. In every town, Phineas would first make for the saloon, where he would buy everyone present a beer.

“Well, boys, I gotta tell ya, I’m sure today is gonna be a great day for Dry Gulch,” said Phineas to his impromptu saloon audience, “Yes, sir; no matter what ails you, be sure to call by my waggon at sunset. You might see something to your liking. Now, I’m not making no promises, but in most towns on my trail, towns just like this one, someone has purchased something that has improved their life.”

He placed his large hat on his full head of long, greying hair, and walked to the saloon exit. Turning, he called, “Sunset, gentlemen. Until then.”

 

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Ann had lived all her life in Dry Gulch and was sufficiently attuned to its heartbeat to recognise any disturbance. The neighbours moved a little quicker; conversations were shorter and more focussed. Either a storm was heading their way, or something had happened to disturb the normally tranquil equilibrium of their existence.

Luke found her, as he suspected he would, tending to the chapel. “You going to the medicine show, Ann?”

Ann looked at Luke but made no answer. He continued, “The whole town’s going, I reckon. Everyone’ll be there. I’d be happy to escort you.”

“You called me Ann, not Annie. This must be serious,” she replied finally, with a grin.

The hat Luke held in his hands got squeezed a little harder, “Reckon it’s on account of you bein’ all grown up now.” He straightened his stature. “Can I call for you just before sunset?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“I’ve not quite made up my mind if I’m going,” she replied in a faraway, distracted manner, before looking him directly in the eye and adding, “Or who I’m going with.”

Luke left with a curious mixture of disappointment and hope.

 

Around an hour later, Ann experienced a similar encounter, this time with Joe. He too wanted to accompany her to the medicine show.

“My, what has got into this town?” she declared, “I wait nineteen years to hear an offer to walk out with a gentleman, and then two show up on the same afternoon.”

“Two?”

Ann ignored his question. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. We’ll see.”

“I’ll call by just before sundown.”

“I may be here,” she replied enigmatically, “or I may not.”

Joe too left with a curious mixture of disappointment and hope.

 

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As the sun began its final, reddening approach to the western horizon, Joe strode purposefully towards Ann’s house, and soon fell in step with Luke. A curious glance passed between them, and simultaneously both men realised they were looking at their rival.

Arriving awkwardly at Ann’s aunt and uncle’s house, both men politely greeted the ageing couple.

“You boys gonna be mighty disappointed. Ann’s already gone into town alone to see that no-good medicine show,” Uncle Ralph informed the crestfallen pair. “Said she didn’t want to cause no bother between you boys. I reckon if you leave now you’ll catch the start of the show.”

Joe and Luke bade goodnight, and walked quickly, side by side into town. It wasn’t long before they joined the throng of other townsfolk heading to the Medicine Show waggon to enjoy this rare entertainment.

The sun had now dipped below the horizon but light still refracted across the plains to create an eerie backdrop. To augment the failing light, the Medicine Show had been surrounded by burning torches. Normally, such travelling salesmen chose to sell through entertainment during daylight hours, but Phineas T. Munroe knew the value of atmosphere to generate a degree of magic in the minds of his clientele.

“Friends, friends,” he began, calling the faithful to his altar. “Friends, I am here today to impart upon you all a potentially life-changing opportunity.”

A few good-natured ‘Oohs!” rose from the growing crowd.

“Friends, we all have our ailments, our aches, even our pains. Maybe uncomfortable things we’ve been living with for years.”

“Oh, you’ve met the wife then?” was shouted into the warm night air, to the amusement of all present.

Phineas held up both hands, smiled, and continued, “Friends, it is good that you can joke about such things. Laughter is itself a great healer. But I have here with me tonight, other great healers.” He walked over to a wooden chest positioned stage right, looked inside, and produced a brown half-pint bottle with a cork stopper. He returned to the crowd, “Friends, I have here a liquid that might prove beneficial to many of you here this evening.” He slapped the bottle with the palm of his hand, “This, friends, is Phineas T. Munroe’s famous elixir. As sold already in fourteen counties of this state.”

While looking for Ann, both Joe and Luke had remained close, neither trusting the other. Simultaneously, they saw her standing in the front row, arms folded, with a determined look on her face. They approached and stood with her, Joe to her left and Luke to her right.

“Well, evenin’, gents. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Any reply was drowned by the continuation of Phineas’ sales pitch, “Unlike other travelling salesmen, I make no claims about these here products. Instead, I let them speak for themselves. But I need a volunteer; someone known to this town who would be willing to step up here and try a little of one of these fine potions. Anybody?” He peered around his audience.

Wanting Ann to himself, Luke saw a golden opportunity, “Hey, mister, how about Baldy here? Reckon you could make his hair grow?”

Phineas smiled and, to Luke’s surprise, Baldy Joe looked relieved.

“What is your name?”

“Baldy McGraw.”

“Well, Mr. McGraw, are you willing to accept this challenge?”

Joe nodded his response to Phineas, before quickly jumping onto the small stage.

“Friends, we have us here a brave volunteer. Give Mr. McGraw a round of applause.”

Under the cover of the cheering, Phineas swiftly whispered to Joe, “Well, that was a stroke of good fortune. Where’ve you been? No, don’t answer.” The showman then returned his attention to the crowd of townsfolk assembled in front of his stage.

“Friends, I do believe, what our brave volunteer here needs is a dose of Phineas T. Munroe’s patented hair restorer. Careful, though, this is not to be drunk. This is to be rubbed into the scalp, like one of those fancy shampoos from out east.” He turned to Joe, “Would you be willing, here and now, for me to wash your head with this lotion?”

“Can’t see I’ve anything to lose.”

More cheers, mingled with laughter.

The crowd then watched Phineas wash Joe’s scalp with the liquid from the brown bottle.

Luke took the opportunity to draw closer to Ann, but his initial confidence was soon quashed as he recognised that Ann was more interested in Joe’s on-stage performance than in his own advances.

Joe dried his head with a rough towel as Phineas turned once more to his audience, “Please do not expect immediate results. It might be a few hours before you witness something that might astound you. I will be here again just after sunrise,” he turned to Joe, “when I hope we’ll be able to see a new Mr. McGraw.” Joe nodded enthusiastically as Phineas brought the medicine show to an end, “Friends, I wish you a good night, and please don’t forget to be here at sunrise.”

A ripple of applause soon finished, and the crowd dispersed.

Ann was disappointed to see that Joe simply walked away from the evening’s attraction without even attempting to look for her. It was as if he couldn’t wait to get away. She then dismissed Luke in a manner bordering on rude, and half walked, half ran, back to her aunt and uncle’s home. She went straight to her room, but could not sleep.

 

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Around two in the morning, and still unable to sleep, Ann sat next to her open bedroom window. The night air was warm, and she enjoyed the soothing sound of natural nocturnal noises. These noises provided a background to her deliberations. Something was not right. She didn’t know what, and she didn’t know what she could do about it. But she was unsettled; she was unsettled by Joe’s dismissal of her, and she was unsettled by the whole medicine show. Why had Joe allowed himself to be involved in that? It was so demeaning; he had allowed himself to be treated like some form of performing circus animal.

Her attention was suddenly wrenched away from these deliberations by the sound of a horse being ridden into town. Through the branches outside her window, Ann was able to see a lone horse and rider trot quietly into town. The rider looked like Joe; but why would he be riding into town? Was that his red hat? She returned to her thoughts of the medicine show.

About half an hour later, her eyelids heavier than before and fighting sleep, Ann saw again the mysterious horse and rider. This time they were leaving town by the same route.

 

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Ann arrived at the breakfast table looking exhausted.

“My dear, whatever’s the matter?”

“Oh, I just couldn’t sleep much last night, that’s all.”

“Eat up, dear. Your uncle’s already at the chapel, and he says he wants you there soon to help with the cleaning.”

“Of course. But first, I thought I might just visit that medicine show, and see how it all ends.”

“I don’t know why you bother with such nonsense. They’re all tricksters from out east. Out to make a quick buck from unsuspecting folk like us here in Dry Gulch.”

Ann said nothing, but pondered her aunt’s remarks.

Following breakfast, Ann headed into town as the sun was rising, with yellow and purple clouds streaking the horizon. Once more, Ann worked her way to the front row and stood with folded arms as the medicine show resumed. Above the crowd behind her she saw a familiar red hat, she caught his eye, smiled and gave a small wave. Her delight turned to disappointment as she realised he had completely ignored her.

“Friends, I trust you all slept well. Or were you possibly a little excited to see what is going to happen to our friend Mr. McGraw? Is he here?”

The red-hatted figure pushed through the crowd, and climbed onto the stage.

“Mr. McGraw, isn’t it?” asked a visibly excited Phineas.

“Yes, that’s me.”

The crowd grew silent. The showman gripped the rim of the hat. A pause. Then, the hat was swiftly swept away to reveal a full head of hair. Momentarily silent, the crowd suddenly exploded in cheering appreciation of the miracle they had just witnessed.

Eventually, Phineas was able to bring the townsfolk under some sort of control. He then said to them in a conspiratorial tone, “You said you called him Baldy. I think we are going to have to rename him!” More cheering.

Ann was deep in puzzled thought as Phineas launched into his main sales pitch, “Friends, I am selling here this morning, tonics and lotions that have been bought many times across this state. If you too wish to purchase any of my wares, please form an orderly queue right here.”

Suddenly, a shrieking whistle pierced the warming morning air. Everyone stopped. Everyone looked at Ann, who was slowly removing her bent fingers from her mouth. Recognising she would only have a few seconds of precious time, she immediately launched into her speech.

“Wait, wait, wait! This is all a trick.” She looked around at her neighbours and friends. “You’re all being tricked.” She noticed a few confused faces and a few faces growing angry, possibly that she was spoiling the show and ruining their dream of a full head of hair. “I don’t want you to be tricked. You are my friends. Real, true friends.” She recognised amongst the crowd some acknowledgement of her words, mixed in equal measure with growing resentment.

“How did he do it then?  Explain that!”

“Yeah, if it’s a trick, how’d he do it?”

Phineas remained calm and confident, “Please friends, let us listen to what this dear young woman has to say. I too am intrigued to know how such a trick could have been performed.” This last comment was greeted by some derisive laughter.

Everyone, once more looked at Ann. She took a deep breath.

“Twins!”

She knew all eyes were trained on her, so she knew she was the only one that morning who caught the brief look on Phineas’ face; the tell-tale momentary crack in the confident smile. She knew she had hit a nerve; the right nerve.

There was a collective, “Huh?” from the crowd, followed immediately by Ann rolling her eyes.

“Don’t you get it?”

The blank faces were answer enough.

Frustration permeated in Ann’s voice, “Think!”

A general narrowing of the distance between eyebrows told Ann that thinking was being attempted in some quarters.

“Let me help. Late last night I saw someone ride into town, and then ride out again. That someone looked like Joe. He even had that red hat on his head. Why?”

A general shrugging of shoulders drove Ann on.

“But did I see the same person?”

Light was beginning to shine behind the normally dull veneer of a few expressions.

“Twins!” Ann repeated to everyone, before returned her gaze to Phineas, “Tell me I’m wrong, mister.”

Phineas said nothing. He stood on stage, weighing his options.

Ann continued, addressing her remarks to Phineas, but sufficiently loud for the crowd to hear, “You never actually lied to us, did you? I’ve thought about it; trying to recall every word you said. But you told us just enough of the truth, hoping that we would deceive ourselves. In fact, you don’t need lies to deceive people; truths and half-truths, used in the proper manner, can achieve far more deception than mere lies. Isn’t that right?”

A few men in the crowd started to move menacingly towards the stage. Phineas smiled. He’d reached a decision. “I can see I will not be selling my wares in Dry Gulch. I thank you all. You have helped me reach a decision. I was thinking of changing occupation anyway. There will be no need, gentlemen, to run me out of town. I shall go peacefully and of my own accord. I do have plans, though. I intend to head for the one place in these great United States where my talents will be truly appreciated, and of value. Washington D.C.”

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