Finally, just after sunset, Captain Cody shooed them gently off and gathered everyone under the mess tent for dinner and the meeting. Word had been spread of this meeting, and it was clear people were curious, and perhaps a little apprehensive.

Perhaps because the last such meeting he’d called had been to announce that their manager had absconded with all the money.

Lanterns on every table gave plenty of light, and it took remarkably little time for the company to sort themselves out and get seated. Once everyone was served, Cody stood up, and got instant silence. He looked around, his demeanor relaxed, and smiled. “First off, lemme tell y’all this ain’t bad news.”

A wave of relief spread across the tent. Spoons and forks that had been held in tense hands now clicked against tin plates. If Cody was going to talk, that was all well and good, but so far as his troupe was concerned, it was no reason to refrain from eating, when you could listen and eat at the same time.

“So, here’s what I done figgered out. Now, you all know Miz Ellie’s from these here parts, and I was askin’ her ’bout how folks felt ’bout our show an’ all, an’ she commenced to tellin’ me ’bout a writer feller in Germany who, 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.”