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for what it was, of course.
    The R marked Luck as a runaway slave who’d once tried to flee his lawful master and was thus never to be trusted again. It was a Mark of Cain that he’d once richly deserved.
    Luck made no effort to offer us coffee, but did listen intently to what John Wesley was saying to him about the Wild West show. All the time, the black man’s thin fingers crumbled the bread roll on his plate.
    When Wes finished speaking, Luck said, “The officer you threatened with death is General George Armstrong Custer. He’s leaving for Kansas today to take command of the Seventh Cavalry.” Luck’s brief smile was the flash of a knife blade. “I rather fancy that the gallant Custer will soon provide enough action against the savages for a dozen Wild West shows.”
    â€œMy point exactly,” Wes said. “I want to bring that kind of frontier excitement to audiences back east and even beyond, to Europe.”
    When he put his mind to it, Wes could talk like a lawyer, even to a Negro.
    Luck brushed bread crumbs off his lap and without looking up said, “No one has come up with an idea like yours before, Mr. Hardin, and it just might work.”
    â€œIt can’t fail,” Wes said.
    Luck raised his eyes. “Any business can fail. I just lost money on a Mississippi plantation that I was sure I could resell at a profit. Somebody burned down the big house and I was left with six hundred acres of land, half of it swamp.”
    Wes wouldn’t say it, but I did. “Sorry to hear that.” My face was empty.
    Again Luck’s smile was slight and fleeting. “Yes, I’m sure you are.”
    â€œWell,” John Wesley said, “what do you think of my proposition?”
    â€œIt interests me, young man,” Luck said. “I believe your Wild West show idea has potential.”
    â€œGood,” Wes said, beaming. “How much do you want to invest?”
    â€œNot so fast. First I want to see a business proposal from you.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” Wes asked.
    Luck steepled his fingers and cocked his small head to one side. “You will draw up a cover letter, executive summary, business and market feasibility analyses and studies, financial data, and supply me with the curriculum vitae for all the members of your management team.”
    â€œHell, is that all?” Wes blinked like an owl.
    â€œFor the time being, yes,” Luck said. “Have it on my desk by the end of next week.”
    Wes nodded, then turned to me. “You heard the man, Little Bit. Have all that stuff on his desk by the end of next week.”
    My face said, “Huh?” but I heard the croak of my voice say, “Sure thing, Wes.”
    â€œVery well, our business is concluded,” Luck said. “Now, if you gentlemen will withdraw and allow me to finish my lunch?”
    Wes rose to his feet and I did the same.
    â€œDon’t worry, we’ll get you all that . . . stuff,” Wes said.
    Luck nodded. “Good. In the meantime stay clear of Custer. He can be a dangerous enemy.”

CHAPTER SIX
The Wrath of Custer
    â€œWell, what do you think?” John Wesley asked me.
    â€œHell, I don’t know anything about that business stuff.”
    â€œYou read books.”
    â€œNot about being a tycoon and the like.”
    Wes thought about that for a spell. “Well, just do what you can.”
    â€œI’ll need a pencil and paper,” I said.
    â€œThere’s a general store across the way. It’ll have what you want.”
    We stopped in the middle of the street to let a heavily loaded dray drawn by an ox team trundle past.
    The wagon kicked up a cloud of yellow dust and when it cleared three men stood staring at us. One of them was Custer and he had his plumed hat set at a fighting angle. He jabbed a finger at Wes. “That’s the scoundrel who threatened my life, Constable.”
    One of the men with the