Silver Creek (The Parker Family Saga)

by G. L. Snodgrass

“Mr. Tuthill,” Luke began as he sat down across from the man. “You may have heard. I’m looking into the death of Tom Johnson.”

  The banker nodded as he folded his hands across his stomach. His eyes narrowed, looking for a trap.

  “I was wondering,” Luke continued, “if you can tell me anything about this Travers, the man Tom sold the ranch to. You don’t see a lot of cowboys walking around with a thousand dollars in silver. Did he get it here at the bank?”

  Tuthill frowned as he studied Luke for a long moment then shook his head. “I’m sorry Mr. Parker. But I normally make it a habit to never discuss bank business. It just wouldn’t be right.”

  Luke felt his gut tighten. “Even for a murder, Tom Johnson was a good man.”

  Mr. Tuthill shrugged. “I am sure he was. I didn’t know him personally, he didn’t keep his money here in the bank. In reality, the man probably never had enough to make it worth his while.”

  A cold tightness filled Luke. That oh so familiar feeling of violence scratching at the edges, begging to be released.

  “I am sorry,” the banker continued, “but you can imagine how quickly I would be out of business if people heard I was talking about them.”

  Luke’s eyes narrowed and he saw the man recognize the anger building inside of him. The banker swallowed then said, “But … I can tell you. That Travers was not a customer of this bank. In fact, we have never met.”

  Luke sighed, it was the most he was going to get from this man.

  He thought back to the rest of the discussions he had held with the townspeople. There wasn’t a sense of guilt in their responses. People weren’t hiding things. They didn’t know. Tom had been liked and people out here weren’t exactly the weak type of people who scared easy. There were quite a few theories, mostly gathering around the Feltons. But not any proof, just rumors.

  Luke did pick up on the fact that the Feltons had ruffled more than a few feathers. They had become too big, too important, but that wasn’t enough to prove murder.

  Once again, he’d hit a wall. The lack of progress was eating at his gut. He was walking past the general store when the door opened and an Indian Brave and his family stepped out. Tall, proud, with long black hair tied off with a leather thong, the man stared at Luke, daring him to say something.

  Luke nodded as he quickly examined the beadwork on the woman’s belt. Shoshone, if he had to guess. They were a little far south, but not too far. Maybe they were down from the Duke River Valley area. She held the hand of a small Indian boy and a parcel wrapped in brown paper.

  “Ma’am,” he said as he tipped his hat to her and smiled. Her expression didn’t change but he knew she was surprised to be treated the same as any other lady he might meet.

  Her husband glared at him for a long moment then said, “You are the man who seeks Johnson’s killer.”

  Luke was at first stunned that once again, there were no secrets in this land. Except those that eluded him. Then he was slightly surprised at the man’s grasp of English but he knew things had been changing. More and more of the Indians were learning the language. Once again, he thought about how much he had missed by being away for four years.

  “Did you know Johnson?” he asked. “I am an old friend. We walked the same trail together.”

  The tall Indian studied him for a moment then touched his chest with a closed fist, “I am Kwe’-Nal, Red Hawk. A friend of Rebec-ca, she of the golden hair.”

  A small sense of jealousy filled Luke. This man had spent time with Becky while he was off fighting a war on the other side of the country. Then suddenly he thought about the local Indians. They had more than enough reason to have killed a settler. The horse was missing, another indication it might have been Indians. But something inside of him told him this had been a white man. There were too many coincidences.

  “If you know who killed him, I would appreciate it if you told me. I would see that Johnson’s spirit rests easy.”

  Red Hawk frowned. “If I knew, the man would already have met his death.” Then nodding with his head, he guided his wife and son down the boardwalk and around the corner of the building.

  Luke watched them go and slowly shook his head. It took a special kind of bravery for an Indian to walk into town like that. To silently scoff at the prejudice and hate of most of the people in town. He wondered briefly what was in the package his wife carried. What was so important that it was worth the risk?

  One more mystery, he thought. Another thing to burrow into his soul and gnaw at him. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the street to Helen’s restaurant. His heart jumped at the thought of seeing Becky again. There was something about her innocent kindness that just made the world feel better being around her.

  When he stepped inside, he found Helen removing the empty coffee pot from the brazier and replacing it with a new one. She smiled at him then said, “She’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  He grinned, “Maybe it was you I wanted to see? A pretty woman who can cook.”

  She laughed as she used a towel to swipe at him. “Go on with you.” Her cheeks grew red as her eyes danced with joy.

  He sat down in his regular chair in the far corner and watched as Helen poured him coffee.

  “Becky was lucky you found her,” he said. “Thank you.”

  Helen winced and shook her head. “What that girl’s gone through. It ain’t right.” She turned on him as her brow narrowed. “Don’t you be hurting her. She’s been hurt enough.”

  His stomach dropped. “I would never hurt Becky.”

  The woman lifted one eyebrow and stared at him with doubt. “Men got a habit of hurting women and not even knowing it. I figure you lot lose brains the taller you get.” Seeing that he got her message she turned back for her kitchen.

  Luke took a sip of his coffee as he thought over what the woman had said. He would never hurt Becky. Had Helen seen the coldness in his heart? Seen what the war had done to him and realized he wasn’t good enough for Becky. Well, she needn’t worry. He agreed with her.

  As he sat there, he silently went over every fact he knew about Tom’s death and the loss of the ranch. He’d learned that the sale looked to be on the up and up. The question was, were the killers tied to the buyer? And where did he go from here?

  Finishing his coffee, he got up to get a refill when Becky stepped in from the kitchen and smiled at him. The kind of smile that made a man feel special. As if there was a God and He’d put her on this world just to show how wonderful things could be.

  “Your lunch will be ready in a moment.”

  He nodded as he sat down again, “What do you know about Sarah Felton?” he asked. “I imagine you two must of run in the same circles.”

  Becky laughed and shook her head. “You know what ranch life is like. Especially out here. You go to town every other month if you’re lucky. I don’t think I’ve talked to Sarah more than a half dozen times in the last eleven years.”

  “You two were about the same age. A couple of hours apart. Not a lot of other women in the area. I’m surprised.”

  She shrugged. “Sarah is different … let us say that she was always looking to climb up. A poor farmer’s niece wasn’t something she concerned herself with.” Becky suddenly frowned. “Why are you asking about Sarah Felton? She is very pretty, but I don’t think her brothers will let you within a dozen feet of her.”

  Luke laughed to himself, was that a hint of jealousy in Becky’s tone. The thought made him feel good inside. “No, just trying to get a handle on the characters in these parts. What about Scarlet? over at the Red House. Do you know her?”

  Becky smiled as she shook her head. “We don’t talk about … ladies … like Scarlet Perkins. At least not openly. But yes, I know of her. Every woman in town knows. She is hard to miss.” Her brow narrowed. “How do you know Miss Perkins?”

  He shrugged. “She was there the night your uncle sold his ranch. Told me he said he was doing it for you.”

  “Me? Why?”


  “Again, I don’t know. But if we could figure out the why the Feltons ended up buying your uncle’s farm, maybe we could figure out the who.”

  She looked off into the distance and he studied her for a moment. The woman was truly beautiful. That classic, pure innocence that said woman. He well knew her inner strength. And her laugh made the world seem right. But it was the combination of all of these things mixed with her innate kindness that pulled at him.

  “What about Kwe’-Nal, Red hawk?” he asked.

  Her eyes opened in surprise. “You do dig around, don’t you?”

  He shrugged as he watched her closely.

  She smiled then said, “Uncle Tom found him, about a half-mile north of us. He was just a boy. At least by our standards but a full warrior in their eyes.”

  “That man was born a warrior, I would wager,” Luke said.

  “Yes, well, he was hurt. He had been shot in the hip. He never told us who or how. But the wound had festered and he couldn’t walk. Uncle said it looked like he’d drug himself a mile or so before he came across him.” She shrugged again. “We took him in, patched him up. It must have been a month or so. Then one day he was gone like smoke in the wind.”

  Luke nodded, silently encouraging her to go on.

  “There’s not much more. But a couple of months later, two unshod ponies showed up in our corral. It was his way of repaying a debt, I guess. After that, he would stop by every six months or so, when he and his people were in the area. When my uncle thought they might be close, he’d stock up on coffee and trade it for furs and hides. Not a lot, but enough.”

  “A month in a small cabin,” Luke said. “That must have been interesting.”

  She looked at him strangely then shrugged. “The way I remember it was him constantly pestering me to learn English. He started out barely knowing any but he was doing pretty good when he left. I think that is why he used to come back so often, he wanted to keep in practice.”

  “Maybe,” Luke said. “Met him just a bit ago, he and his wife and boy.”

  “Ha-witch-e?” she asked, obviously surprised. “Gray dove? He brought her into town. I wish I would have known.”

  “I’m pretty sure they are well on their way back to their campgrounds by now. I don’t imagine this is a welcoming place for them.”

  Becky’s brow furrowed, as she nodded, obviously upset at missing them. She was about to ask another question when the restaurant door slammed open, spilling Pap Wilkins into the dining room.

  The old man bent as he tried to catch his breath then looked up with a white face and said, “They done killed the sheriff.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Luke shot from his chair as he rushed past the old man.

  “Luke!” Becky called after him but he ignored her. He’d been trained to charge into a fight, never give them time to regroup.

  When he hit the dusty street, he saw a dozen people milling outside the Red House. He checked to make sure his gun was clear and easy in his holster as he ran towards the crowd. As he approached, he scanned for threats. But there was no one who appeared to be a danger.

  Knowing this town though, he well knew that danger could appear from any direction. A rage began to build inside of him. That oh so familiar anger that threatened to explode whenever he fought. It was only because of the lessons he’d learned in the war that he was able to keep it under control. His senses heightened. Colors grew brighter, sounds louder. He became more aware of strangeness, anything out of the normal.

  When he reached the group, he pushed his way through. Sheriff Reed lay in the dirt with a young man bent over him holding a bandage to his head.

  “What happened?” Luke asked Jack Strumph, the hulking blacksmith.

  The blacksmith turned with an angry glare. “Mark Felton shot him.”

  Luke felt his blood turn cold as he looked down at the man in the street. His gun was still in his holster. Why? Had Felton given him no warning? Or had the sheriff gone in thinking it would be easy? No, surely not. He hadn’t struck Luke as stupid.

  The man tending Reed looked up and said, “He’s still alive. Help me get him into my place.”

  Several men helped carry the sheriff to the McAdam’s Barbershop. “The closest thing we got to a doctor,” Strumph told him. “But he’s better than most I seen.”

  He followed for a moment with an overwhelming need to talk to the sheriff. Was this related to Becky’s ranch or had the sheriff been shot for some other reason? More frustration, the way he’d looked, the sheriff wouldn’t be talking for a while, if ever.”

  “You got a moment?” Strumph said to him as he held him back then motioned three other men over. “This is Seaver, who runs the General Store.” Luke shook the hand of a small portly man. “And this is Frank Tuthill, owns the Bank.”

  “We’ve met,” Luke said as he held out his hand to shake the banker’s hand as he wondered why these men were taking the time to meet with him at a time like this.

  He needed to know what the sheriff knew.

  “And finally, John Jamison,” Strumph continued. “Our mayor, owns the High Line mine. Basically, the four of us are the town council. Along with Bill Cowels from the hotel, but he’s out of town.”

  Again, Luke shook the man’s hand as his stomach tightened. He didn’t like where this was going.

  The mayor studied him for a moment then said, “Reed talked to us about you. He thought you’d make a good deputy. He said any man who could face down Troy Cooper was a man to take seriously.”

  Luke grimaced inside. “I ain’t exactly in the deputy business.”

  Jamison continued to stare at him. “Well, you are now. We need someone like you. This town is getting too rough. Had one of my miners killed two weeks ago in a drunken brawl. Another got beaten last night to within an inch of his life. Stages getting robbed and farmers murdered. It ain’t right.”

  “And now a sheriff shot down in broad daylight. It’s bad for business,” Seaver, the store merchant said.

  “This is all our fault,” Strumph, the blacksmith, said as he looked to where the men had carried the sheriff into the McAdam’s shop. “We pressed Sheriff Reed to start cleaning things up. He went up against Mark Felton and came off the worse.”

  “I’m sorry gentlemen,” Luke began. “But like I told the sheriff …”

  “Mr. Parker,” Jamison interrupted. “Everyone knows the Feltons were messed up in this Tom Johnson business. People been talking how you been banging at the brush, hoping to flush something. Well, this is your chance to really cause a ruckus. With the law behind you.”

  Luke paused for a moment. Was the man right? Was this the best way to find Tom’s killer and get Becky her ranch back? He looked down at the pool of blood soaking into the dusty street. He’d liked Sheriff Reed. The man had been upfront and honest with him. It was wrong for him to be cut down this way. All for doing what the people wanted.

  “I couldn’t promise long term,” he told them. “That Oregon territory is calling at me. Once I get Becky her ranch back, I’ll be headed that way.”

  “Fair enough,” Jamison said. “We’ll take what we can get.”

  “And you lot will back my play?” Luke asked them, staring each in the eye. “I might have to break a few heads. It won’t be completely civilized.”

  The men smiled. Strumph actually laughed, “Mr. Parker. We ain’t even been a state but for a few years. We got standoffish Mormons east of us, the Shoshone north of us, and the Apache to the south. Then you add, one of the driest deserts in the world to the west of us. This place ain’t exactly civilized. But it is time it became so. Sometimes it takes a wolf to clear out a bunch of coyotes. It is only after they’ve been gotten rid of can we settle down to something that comes close to civilization.”

  Luke laughed to himself. Basically, they’d told him that once he was done, they hoped he move on down the trail. They wouldn’t want a man like him hanging around reminding them of what he had to do to clean up their town.
It was like the army. The country had needed them, then cast them aside when the fight was over. That was all right by him though, at least in his book. He wasn’t staying here long term.

  “Very well,” he said. He knew he was making a mistake, but this might be the only way to learn anything. Maybe someone might be willing to talk to the law when they wouldn’t to some drifting cowboy.

  The men sighed with relief. “Let’s go over to the jail,” Jamison said. “Swear you in and get you a badge.”

  “Where’s Felton?” Luke asked.

  Each man looked at the other and shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to track him down?” Jamison said. “But when you do, I want him arrested for both the shooting of Reed, and for the beating of my miner last night.”

  “We got a circuit judge coming through in a week or so,” Strumph said. “If you can get him alive. You keep him stashed until then. Of course, if he don’t come easy. Then you do what you got to do. Like we said. We’ll back you.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “You lot going to stand next to me when I brace him?”

  He watched as the color drained from their faces. He could see it in their eyes. These men had families, businesses. Stepping in front of a bullet wasn’t on their agenda.

  “Never mind,” he said. “Too many people would just make it confusing. I’ll handle this on my own.

  The look of relief behind their eyes was palpable. These were good people, he reminded himself. But they weren’t built for this type of thing. Was any man?

  Luke felt his stomach clench up tight. What had he walked into?

  .o0o.

  Rebecca listened again to Pap tell the story of how Sheriff Reed had confronted Mark Felton. Something about the beating of a miner the night before. And how, when confronted, Felton had drawn his gun and shot the sheriff.

  Helen’s friend, Chester Polk, with his familiar sawed-off shotgun in his hand, came in shaking his head to inform them that the sheriff still lived and had been moved to McAdam’s.

  “What about Luke?” she demanded.

  Chester shrugged then shot Helen a quick smile.