While trailing the train robbers, David Goldstein, Red Parker, and Jake Beckett have just joined a group of cowboys for a meal.David was surprised when the cook started playing a harmonica. Pointing at the instrument, Jake asked David, "Know what that's called?"
"No, it does not look familiar."
"It's a Jew harp," Jake answered smugly.
"I don't think so," David replied. "I believe I've seen a Jew's harp before."
"Naw, I'm tellin' you, it's a Jew harp," Jake insisted. David shrugged and tried to ignore him.
When David didn't show any interest, Jake pressed on. "Know why they call it a Jew harp?"
"No." David continued to try to ignore him.
Red, irritated, spoke up, "Tell us, Jake, why do they call it a Jew harp?"
Jake paused for a moment. A puzzled expression on his face revealed that he was trying to think of an answer. Finally he shrugged and said, "Damned if I know." Noticing the look of disdain on Red's face, Jake said, "What? You think it's easy bein' funny all the time?"
"I guess not," Red replied, "seein' as how I don't recall you ever bein' funny."
Jake scowled and slumped his shoulders.
The cook took the opportunity to throw his two cents in. "It is called a harmonica, young man. They not been around that long, I do not think. Ja, I got this one from some fellow who was in the War."
"See that?" Red told Jake. "It's a harmonica. Now stop pickin' on the Jewish feller. It's gettin' annoying."
A large cowboy had been listening in on the conversation. At the mention of David being Jewish, he put his plate down and got to his feet.
"This feller Jewish?" he asked. The man looked cold and hard, with a mop of disheveled dark hair peeking out from under his hat and a slouch that raised his shoulders up to his ears. He hovered over David, but to his credit, David did not flinch at the man's nearness, nor did he move to defend himself.
It was Red who came to his defense, looking up at the man and saying, "Why don't y'all just go back to yer food an' leave him alone?"
David waved his hand for Red to back down. "Thank you, but I told you before, I can take care of myself." Using his cane for help, David stood up and stuck his face inches away from the cowboy's. In a voice that was toneless yet full of confidence he said, "I suggest you listen to my friend and sit back down. I may not be much of a gunman, but I don't need to be. If you want trouble, so be it. I will take this cane and slide it so far up your hindquarters that it will straighten out your posture."
The cowboy looked at him strangely. "Don't make me laugh. Everyone knows that Jews can't fight."
"What?" Searching his recent memory, David responded, "I'll have you know that Jews fought in Gettysburg during the War Between the States, and at the Alamo when Texas won its independence."
"Yeah, but we all know how that turned out," the cowboy replied sarcastically. "Remember the Alamo."
Jake jumped to his feet. "Hey! Don't be talking like that about the Alamo." Two other cowboys also got to their feet, complaining in accents that betrayed their Texan roots.
The cook decided at this moment to speak up in an attempt to head off any trouble. "Zum teufel, sit down, Conlin!" he told the cowboy. "You gonna make everyone mad. We don't be needing no trouble from these fellows that we do not even know."
The cowboy reluctantly complied, staring daggers at David but secretly relieved. He had been surprised at David's response and was uncertain about engaging the Jewish man. "Sorry, Hubie. I just hate Jews."
"Why?" David asked.
"Because my father hated Jews."
David repeated, "Why?"
The cowboy shrugged. "He had his reasons."
"Do you know what they were?"
The cowboy shrugged again. "I loved my father. He was a good man. He knew what he was doing."
Dumbfounded at the illogical response, David shook his head ruefully and sat back down. To the cook, he said, "Thank you for intervening."
Hubie waved his hand. "Do not mention it."
"I haven't been out here very long. Is everyone out West prejudiced?" David asked the cook.
Red glanced briefly at David, wondering if this was the same man who had just made generalizations about Germans.
"Nein, they are not prejudiced. They just do not like der Juden very much."
David's face betrayed his confusion over the cook's response.
"Look, you, I knew a Jew once," the cook said in his thick accent. David perked up, hoping for an explanation. "Was when I was a miner. It was in Colorado--Leadville or Cripple Creek I think, I forget. Anyway, one of the miners was a Jew. He kept it a secret, so of course we did not know it at first. Not until a tailor in Leadville filled us in on the secret."
David waited patiently for the cook to continue the story.
The cook went on. "Ja, he seemed a nice enough fellow to me."
The cook paused in his tale again and drank some coffee. Flustered and impatient, David blurted, "So what happened to him?"
Almost surprised, as if he had forgotten what he was talking about, the cook replied, "Hm? Oh, when the miners found out he was a Jew they beat him half to death."
David was stunned into silence, as well as Red and Jake. After a moment, David said, "That's terrible!"
"Ja, it was terrible," the cook agreed, nodding. "A true story, too."
David was disappointed. "I was hoping that the point of your story was going to be that Jews are treated fairly out West."
"Well, you are being treated very fairly now, nein? Are you not? None of these men, here," he indicated the other cowboys, "wanted to hurt you, did they? Except for Conlin, but he did not actually try to hit you."
"So the moral of the story," Red whispered to David, "is keep yer mouth shut. Like when you told that cowboy"--he pointed at Conlin--"that you ain't much of a gunman but you don't need to be? Don't do that again."
"Do what?"
"If you're gonna be carryin' a gun, don't go tellin' anyone that you don't know how to use it. Otherwise you might as well be wearin' a sign that says 'please shoot me.'"
David wanted to point out that Red was the one who had revealed David's religion to the cowboys, but he held his tongue. He understood he was in a strange new world and he had to learn how to fit in.

A BRIEF EXCERPT FROM
SHALOM ON THE RANGE
by Michael S. Katz