by Edward Gates
Charlie left the restaurant and walked over to the marshal’s office. He shared the same feelings of responsibility that Marshal Cook had about going out in search of Mac Sherman. He knew he couldn’t let the marshal go out there alone. He saw Marshal Cook seated at his desk as he walked by the window. Charlie opened the door. “I’ve got a couple of things I need to do first. Then I’ll be back. Don’t go out there without me.” He shut the door before the marshal could reply.
Charlie walked a few blocks to the Amarillo Hotel. He spoke with Henry, the proprietor of the hotel, and arranged a room for Russell. Since there were no first-floor rooms, he reserved a room closest to the top of the stairs on the second floor overlooking the street. The problem was getting Russell out of Hanna’s and upstairs to a second floor bed. Russell was certainly not in any condition to get there on his own. Henry assured Charlie that it would not be a problem. He had a solution.
Three of the staff of the Amarillo Hotel accompanied Charlie back to Hanna’s, carrying an old cavalry stretcher they kept for emergencies. They set the stretcher on the floor next to Russell’s cot and Charlie helped them move the boy. Russell let out a cry of pain as the four men transferred him from the cot to the litter. He grimaced and groaned as he was set down on the thin canvas stretcher. The three men and Charlie easily carried Russell from the eatery to the hotel and up the stairs to Russell’s new room. After Russell got transferred from the stretcher to the bed, Charlie raised the shade and opened the curtains to let in the sunlight.
“Thanks for your help, men.” Charlie handed each one of them a silver dollar. The men nodded their thanks and disappeared into the hallway and down the stairs.
“You okay?” Charlie asked.
Russell nodded while he settled into a comfortable position. “That was horrible, but I’ll live. The bed feels better than that cot.” Charlie looked at Russell. He wanted to talk to him about his life. Instead he simply looked away and stared out the window. He didn’t know how to begin a story that he never told another living soul. He decided that it would be better to postpone his talk until later, after he got back.
“Look, Russell, there are some things I need to talk to you about,” Charlie began, “but, I’ve got to go with Cook right now. I’ll be back later on this afternoon to look in on you. We’ll be able to talk better then. You get some rest.”
Charlie put on his hat and walked out of Russell’s room without looking back at him. He walked over to Solomon’s and picked up his order from the previous day. While he was there he picked out a blanket and some new sheets for Hanna to replace the ones Doc Morgan ripped up. He loaded his supplies onto Gus and carried his bundles to the marshal’s office and set them on the table.
“I’ve got to see Hanna for a minute. I got her some things for her.”
Marshal Cook just smiled and looked down at his desk. “New bed linens, huh? I don’t know, Charlie, seems like it’s getting pretty serious,” the marshal quipped.
“Just do your paperwork,” Charlie shot back. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Not enjoying the marshal’s wit, he gave Marshal Cook an irritated look as he left the office.
Hanna was at the back counter when Charlie came in. All the tables and chairs were filled with people eating their midday meal. He walked to the back carrying his bundle of new sheets wrapped in brown paper. “I got these here for you. I figured you could use a new set. Now, don’t say anything or make a fuss. It’s the least I can do.”
“Oh, my!” She opened the string and the brown paper wrapping. “Thank you, Charlie, thank you! They’re just wonderful! I can really use these. You really didn’t have to do this!” Hanna gave Charlie a big hug.
“Well, I’d better be off, now.” Charlie moved toward the door. “Thanks again for watching over the boy. I’ll see you soon.”
Hanna flashed Charlie another thankful smile as he left the restaurant. He walked over to the marshal’s office and the two looked at each other for a moment.
“That didn’t take long,” the marshal said.
“Hobble your lip.”
“You sure you want to join me, Charlie? You didn’t seem too keen on the idea a little while ago.”
“I’m not keen on it at all, and I really don’t want to join you,” Charlie said. Then he smiled, “But I just can’t let you go out there and have all this fun by yourself.”
It was early afternoon when Marshal Cook and Charlie mounted their horses and headed out of town toward the cowboy’s camp. It wasn’t long before they arrived in the midst of the thousands of cattle roaming the valley. The dust hung thick in the air as the cows moved around stirring up the earth.
Marshal Cook looked all around. “I don’t like this. There ain’t a single herd rider here.”
“Maybe they saw us coming and headed back to the campsite,” Charlie said. “I’m sure they weren’t expecting us to come to them. I think they’re camped about a mile down the valley. How do you want to do this?”
“I don’t think we’ll be able to sneak up on them.” The marshal grinned. “So we might as well make an entrance.” With that, he tapped the sides of his horse with his spurs and took off at a fast gallop down the valley toward the cattle drive’s encampment.
Charlie shook his head. “Hell! Here we go, Gus!” Charlie lightly spurred Gus and took off behind the marshal.
The cowboys were all busy somewhat packing up their gear in anticipation of their boss’s eventual return when Charlie and the marshal rode into their camp.
The group stopped what they were doing and encircled the two lawmen. Charlie recognized the one cowboy who took a few steps forward.
The cowboy shook his head “I gotta hand it to you boys. You got a lotta sand coming in here like this.”
“I remember you,” Charlie said. “You were at the ranch. You’re Bonnam.”
“That’s right. I watched you gun down Jeremiah and Mac.”
“As I recollect, you never pulled your gun.” Charlie tried to bait him into a mistake. It was plain to see by the expression on Bonnam’s face that Charlie struck a nerve. The cowboy, nicknamed “Crabtree”, ranked second in command behind Mac. Charlie moved the reins to his left hand and lowered his right hand closer to his gun, all the while staring at him. Crabtree nervously looked around at the other cowboys. They were all watching him.
Breaking the silent standoff, Marshal Cook demanded, “Where’s Sherman?”
“I ain’t seen him.” Bonnam shifted his attention from Charlie to the marshal. “Where’s Abe?”
“You’ll get Walker when I get Sherman,” the marshal countered. “I know he came back here last night. Now where’d he go?”
“Gone,” said a different cowboy standing behind Charlie.
“Gone where?” Charlie said.
“Pecos, I guess. Don’t rightly know,” another cowboy behind the Marshal said. “Packed his gear last night and lit out at first light. Just like that. He’s only got a half day head start on you boys if you want to try an’ catch him.”
All the cowboys laughed. Crabtree Bonnam took a few slow steps toward Marshal Cook. Charlie unstrapped his hammer guard and put his hand on his gun.
“Just to let you know, Marshal. We ain’t too happy with this situation,” Bonnam said. “We spent three long hard months on a tough drive getting here and you got our pay locked up in jail. Then you killed two of our crew and shot up and locked away another.”
“They shouldn’t have tried to kill me,” the marshal replied.
“Just the same, it don’t set well with us. Now you come out here wantin’ our help? When Abe gets back, your life won’t be worth spit. Like I said, you got a lotta sand. You’ll get nothing here.”
Marshal Cook looked at Charlie and the cowboys surrounding him. It was obvious to both of them that it was pointless to press any further conversation. Marshal Cook turned and headed out of the cowboy’s campsite. Charlie followed close behind. Once they got out of sight of the campsite, Marshal Cook stopped his horse a
nd Charlie did the same.
“You think he’s really gone?” the marshal asked.
Charlie shook his head. “I don’t think he would go all the way back to Walker’s ranch with so many loose ends unsettled. His boss and ranch hand are locked up, the herd ain’t sold, and then there’s me. My guess is he’ll find a place to hide out for a while, somewhere close by, like maybe Tascosa. He could blend in and disappear there pretty easily. I figure he’ll swing back around Amarillo in due time and set things straight. He won’t leave until Walker’s out and his boys are paid.”
The marshal looked at Charlie. “You got any suggestions?”
“Let Walker out so he can pay his boys.”
“That could be risky,” the marshal replied.
“We could try to go after Mac. But, with his horse and his head start, we’d be hard pressed to even follow him, much less catch up with him,” Charlie said. “That’s assuming we know where he went.”
The marshal shook his head. The expression on his face showed how upset he was.
“What do you want to do?” Charlie asked.
“Well, it looks like we wait and play it your way.” Marshal Cook nudged his horse forward and started walking back toward town. The two rode their horses at a slow pace in silence. The stern look on Marshal Cook’s face showed his frustration and disappointment. After a while the marshal shook his head. “This is twice that two-bit cow puncher got away from me. It won’t happen again.”
Charlie kept silent. He wanted to tell the marshal that Mac Sherman was anything but a two-bit cowboy. Mac was a cool-headed and calculated killer, but telling that to the marshal at this point wouldn’t affect his mood at all. So it was best to let it go. They rode back toward town silently.
Charlie began thinking of what he needed to tell Russell. He was a little nervous about the speech he was preparing in his mind. He hadn’t mentioned his story to anyone in thirty years and he wasn’t sure how Russell would respond, but he was getting himself ready to find out.
17
Release
On the ride back to town from the cowboy’s encampment Charlie told the marshal he had some tasks he needed to attend to and that he would meet the marshal back in town. Charlie left the marshal north of town and headed to his cabin with his supplies. Marshal Cook returned to his office.
The marshal was still riled over a wasted trip to the cowboy’s encampment and letting Mac Sherman slip through his grasp once again. He pulled the key from his desk, unlocked, and swung open the cell’s heavy wooden door. Like a caged animal, unsure of the open door, a dirty, unshaven, and tired Abe Walker slowly emerged from the stone cell followed by the other wounded cowboy. The marshal blocked the path of the cowboy. “You stay put.” He closed the door and locked it again.
Walker looked at Marshal Cook, apparently a little confused.
“You’re free. You served your time. Get out of here,” Cook growled.
He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and removed Walker’s hand tooled leather gun belt and holster. From it he pulled Walker’s nickel plated Colt .45 with the hand carved ivory grips.
“So you made yourself judge and jury now, too,” Abe Walker said. “You made a big mistake, Marshal.”
“Yeah, I did.” Marshal Cook emptied the cartridges from Abe’s gun. “But locking you up wasn’t one of them.”
“What about my man in there?” Walker pointed to the cell.
“You can have him back when the circuit judge gets through with him.” Marshal Cook shoved the holster and the empty gun into Walker’s hands and stepped up close to him. “Now get out of my town and stay out. Take your crew and your cows and get your business done. The next time you drive cattle, you take them North to Dodge or East to the Chisholm. But you stay clear of Amarillo. Now get out of here!”
“I’ll go where I damn well please,” Walker shot back, “And you, or any army like you, won’t ever keep me from it!”
Marshal Cook took another step forward, which forced Abe to take a step back. Abe put his hand on Cook’s chest to halt his advance, but the marshal slapped it away and took another step forward. Abe backed up until his back was against the front door.
Walker opened the door with the marshal standing right next to him. He stopped in the doorway, glaring at the marshal, and, in defiance of the law, strapped his gun belt around his waist.
“The next time we meet …” Abe began.
“The next time we meet,” the marshal interrupted, “you’d better have your guns out because if I see you within rifle distance, I’m gonna kill you.”
Then the marshal gave Walker a final shove out of his office and slammed the door shut. He kicked one of the wooden chairs as a release of his anger, but it didn’t help. Turlock had better be right about this. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself.
After retrieving his palomino from the livery, Abe Walker rode out to his encampment where his crew gathered around and welcomed him as he rode into camp.
“Is Mac here?” he asked in a painful raspy voice.
Crabtree Bonnam stepped forward. “He packed his gear and lit out of here first light.”
“Send someone to Tascosa and tell him to get back here right away,” Abe ordered.
“Tascosa? How do you know he’s in Tascosa?”
“Because that’s where I told him to go,” Abe growled. “Now you gonna stand there asking questions all day or you gonna do what I tell you?”
Crabtree grabbed the first cowboy he saw, a saddle bum named Bart Chaney hired only for this drive, and ordered him to cut a fresh horse from the stock and head out to retrieve Mac. He helped Abe off his horse and handed the reins of the big palomino to another cowboy. He guided Abe over to a seat by the chuck wagon.
“That marshal and that ranger came out here this morning looking for Mac. But Mac was already long gone,” Crabtree said.
Abe sat straight up and his face reddened with anger. “Those two were here? And you didn’t kill them?” he roared.
“They just kind of busted in here. We didn’t have a chance to do much of anything, Mr. Walker.” Crabtree hung his head.
Abe Walker took a swing at the cowboy but missed and lost his balance and almost fell over. Crabtree backed away and then stepped forward to help Walker regain his balance. “Damn you bunch of cowards! There were fifteen guns here and you were held at bay by an old broke down ranger and one marshal!” Walker roared, trying desperately to contain his need to cough. “You’re all yella!”
Abe surveyed his crew who all stood with their heads lowered. He desperately wanted to assemble his men and ride his small army back into Amarillo and deal with Marshal Cook and Ranger Turlock, but he knew he needed to get his herd sold. He was already behind schedule.
“Get on your horses!” Abe ordered.
“We going back after those lawmen?” Crabtree asked.
“No. Not now. We’ll take care of them later. Right now, you’re going to do your job. I want every cow rounded up. We’re moving them to the stocks.” Walker turned to Bonnam and pointed his finger in his face. “You will pay for every missing head. So you’d better be thorough.”
Bonnam nodded and walked away shouting orders to the other cowboys and before long all were mounted and out rounding up every stray and driving them back to the centralized herd.
Abe pulled his jacket a little tighter around his chest and let out the cough he had been holding in.
“Coffee’s hot, Mr. Walker,” the cook said. “I was just about to toss it and start packing.”
“No coffee,” Abe said with a wheeze in his chest. He rose and slowly and unsteadily staggered toward his wagon. “Get me a blanket and a bottle of my medicine.”
Charlie straightened up his cabin and stored the supplies he purchased at Solomon’s. He gathered up all the dirty clothes he wore on his trip to and from Cañon City and stuffed them into a canvas bag to take to the laundry in town. He rolled up Russell’s clothes and shoes and hid them in a drawer i
n the washstand. While Charlie was cleaning he took inventory of the clothes and items he had acquired over the past thirty years. He set out bare necessity items he would take with him and stowed the things he would leave behind.
Charlie was thinking about coffee and a can of peaches, but he needed to check on Russell. He thought he might just stop in and have some coffee and something to eat at Hanna’s. Not that he was looking for an excuse to see her.
He heard Gus neigh loudly and went to the front window to see what the horse was warning about. He picked up the Remington 1883 shotgun he kept by the door, and slowly pushed open the window shutter. He couldn’t see anything, but he heard someone or something moving through the trees down the hill below his cabin. He walked outside and carefully moved toward the sound, slipping from behind one tree to the next.
Then Charlie saw one of Walker’s cowboys riding his horse through the trees. He recognized this cowboy from his trip to their encampment earlier today. Charlie raised his shotgun as the cowboy drew near.
“What’s your business?” Charlie yelled out.
Charlie’s sudden question seemed to startle him. It was obvious that the cowboy wasn’t expecting anyone among the trees. He immediately stopped his horse, keeping his hands in plain sight.
“No trouble, mister,” the cowboy answered, “just looking for strays.”
“Hadn’t seen any up this far. You’d better head back down.” Charlie kept his shotgun aimed.
“Much obliged.” The cowboy turned and headed back down the hill.
Charlie lowered the shotgun and walked back up the hill. He saddled Gus, tied on his saddle bags, and tied the canvas clothes bag to the saddle horn.
“I hope that fella didn’t recognize me.” Charlie patted Gus on his neck. “You ready to take another ride? How you feel about pulling one of Tuck’s buckboards later?” Gus gave a snort.