Guns on the Prairie

by David Robbins

  “It’s closest,” Grant said.

  “Let me have your cup,” Stone said, and when his new acquaintance produced it from a saddlebag, he filled it and indicated Grant should take a seat. It puzzled him that Grant appeared somewhat unhappy about the turn of events. Turning so he faced the east edge of the clearing, he sank down, placed his Winchester across his lap, and said, “I’m all ears.”

  “I told you there’s not much to tell,” Grant said. “I’m a deputy, like you.”

  Stone smiled. “You’re kind of prickly. Not that I blame you, bein’ shot at and all. But who appointed you?” It was customary for the marshals in each district to appoint their own deputies. In districts where lawlessness was rampant, there could be dozens, if not scores. “Hodder? It couldn’t be the marshal before him, Clyde Smith. You don’t look old enough to have known him.”

  “I’m older than I look,” Grant said. “But it was Hodder.”

  “How long ago?”

  “What?” Grant said.

  “How long ago were you appointed? Don’t take offense, but you look new to the badge.”

  “It was, oh, two months ago, I guess,” Grant replied in a strange tone.

  “Are you askin’ me or tellin’ me?” Stone said, and laughed. He remembered being green once. “What’s your assignment?”

  Grant appeared confused by the question. “I don’t rightly have one. I’m just sort of wanderin’ around, learnin’ the territory.”

  “That sounds like Hodder. Learn as you go,” Stone said. The marshal was a big believer in the old saying that experience was the best teacher. “It’s lucky you ran in to me.”

  “How so?” Grant said. He hadn’t touched his coffee.

  “We can partner up, and I can learn you the ropes,” Stone proposed. “You see these wrinkles?” he said, and pointed at his own face. “I’m not braggin’ when I say I know just about all there is to know about bein’ a marshal. I’ve been at it more years than anyone in the district.”

  “I don’t know,” Grant said.

  “Why wouldn’t you?” Stone said. “Hodder, himself, would say it’s for your own good. Come with me to North Platte, and after that, who knows?”

  “I don’t know,” Grant repeated himself. “Maybe I should go back and try to find whoever shot at me.”

  “What made you think it was Indians?”

  “This is Sioux country, isn’t it?” Grant said. “Although it could have been one of those men I met this mornin’.”

  “Who?”

  “One called himself Burt and the other was named Wease. Burt was friendly enough, but I didn’t trust that Wease.”

  Stone sat up, all interest. “Describe them, the best you can.” After the younger deputy complied, he nodded and said, “Grant, you’re about the luckiest lawman alive. That two-gun hombre was none other than Burt Alacord. His pard was Weasel Ginty. Everyone calls him Wease.”

  “Should I know of them?”

  “They ride with Cal Grissom. Alacord is quick as anything. Wease is a backstabber. Alacord would come at you straight-up, but Wease is just the sort of no-account to take a potshot and then skedaddle.”

  Grant touched his badge. “All because I’m wearin’ this?”

  “Sonny, that badge makes you a target for every badman there is,” Stone warned him. “Never let your guard down.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You know,” Stone said. “This is a stroke of luck in more ways than one. Grissom and his bunch must be close by. Once I get Loudon, here, to the sawbones, you and me should go after them.”

  “Just the two of us?”

  “Why not?” Stone said. “It gives us somethin’ to do, and I can teach you as we go.”

  “Just so we don’t wind up dead,” Grant said.

  9

  Alonzo was so taken aback by this latest development, he didn’t know what to do.

  What were the odds that he’d run in to a real lawman way out in the middle of nowhere? That the lawman took him as genuine surprised him no end, but then, he’d always been good at his impersonations.

  One of his secrets was to always say as little as possible about whatever profession he was pretending to follow. When he impersonated a minister, he hardly ever referred to the Good Book. He didn’t know enough of the Bible. But that was all right so long as he smiled a lot and treated people like a real parson would.

  Now he must do the same with his lawman role. He must only talk about the law when Jacob Stone asked him a direct question, and then keep his answers short. He might give away his ignorance otherwise.

  So now, as they wound along the slowly flowing river toward North Platte, he didn’t speak unless spoken to. It helped considerably that Stone didn’t like to gab. He was one of those old-timers who thought that talking was something you did for a reason and not just to hear yourself talk.

  As they rode, Alonzo racked his brain for all he could recollect about Federal law. He’d known that each deputy marshal had a territory they roamed, or “district,” as Stone called it. He got the impression that they could do pretty much as they pleased, but he might be wrong about that.

  It was another gorgeous day along the river. Any other time, he’d have admired the bright sunshine, the soft sounds the water made, the abundant wildlife. But he was too worried to admire much at the moment.

  Alonzo needed to be shed of Stone. How to go about it without raising the lawman’s suspicions, that was the question. He needed an excuse to part ways, but a believable one. Finally he decided he would play it by ear. Maybe events would give him the way.

  They had been on the go about an hour when Stone looked back and smiled. “You’re not much of a talker, son. I like that.”

  “You do?” Alonzo said.

  “I’ve had partners who talked my ears off,” Stone said. “One in particular—his name was Fred—used to jabber like there was no tomorrow. Used to drive me loco. I was glad when we parted company.”

  “How often do you work with other deputies?”

  “Oh, about half the time, or a little less, I’d reckon,” Stone said. “Marshal Hodder knows I like bein’ on my own. He’ll be plumb surprised when he hears I took you under my wing.”

  Alonzo saw his chance. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I can get by on my own.”

  “Nonsense,” Stone declared. “I’d be failin’ in my duty if I didn’t give you the benefit of my years. I’ve been at this a long while, and I can teach you things.”

  “I’m obliged,” Alonzo said with little enthusiasm.

  Stone chuckled. “I know what you’re thinkin’.”

  “You do?”

  “That I’m an old goat who should mind his own business. You’d rather learn as you go. That’s how I was when I was your age. But as folks say, there’s nothin’ like experience to burn the fat off a brain.”

  That was a new one on Alonzo. “Where do they say that?”

  “Down in Texas, where I was born and bred. Texans have a lot of savvy sayin’s. We take pride in who we are.”

  “If you like Texas so much,” Alonzo said, “what are you doin’ in Nebraska?”

  “I have asked myself that very thing many a time. I ended up here because they were short of deputies up this way, and I volunteered. Must have been out of my mind.”

  Stone laughed. “Lookin’ back, I think the change in scenery appealed to me. I wanted somethin’ different for a spell. Figured to give it a try for a year or two and then return to Texas. But it’s been a lot longer and I’m still here.”

  “Why do you stay on?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” Stone said. “There are days I could kick myself. But I do like the state. And I like the people. For the most part, they’re the salt of the earth, as good and decent as you’ll find anywhere. Plus, I’ve gotten used to it, and
we tend to stick with what we’re used to.”

  “You’re quite the”—Alonzo had to think to remember the word—“philosopher.”

  “All old men are,” Stone said. “We’ve lived so long, we feel we have to share what we’ve learned with everybody else.”

  “I hope I live as long as you,” Alonzo said, for want of anything better.

  “You just might, if you’re a quick learner like I was. Use your head more than your guns, and you might live to retire someday.”

  “I’ve always believed in usin’ my head,” Alonzo admitted.

  “That’s a good start, a smart start.”

  Just then Alonzo noticed that Stone’s prisoner, Loudon, was starting to slide off his horse. The man had recovered enough that they were able to get him on his animal, but Loudon rode hunched over and groaned every so often. Now he was quaking and sliding, and Alonzo quickly brought Archibald up next to him. “Stone!” he said. He grabbed at Loudon just as the man went to pitch from his saddle.

  Reining around, Jacob Stone lent a hand. “Consarn it all. I was afraid of this. He’s gettin’ worse every mile.”

  They stopped, and Stone carefully lowered Loudon and placed him on his back in grass close to the river. Loudon had passed out. Stone placed a palm to the man’s forehead, and frowned. “He’s burnin’ up.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Get a fire goin’,” Stone said. “I’ll clean his wound again, although that’s not doin’ much good. Once infection sets in, it’s hard to stop.”

  So Alonzo had heard, which was why he made it a point not to be shot. He busied himself gathering firewood and kindling a fire. Stone, meanwhile, filled his coffeepot and set it on to boil, saying, “For him, not for us.”

  “I don’t need any coffee,” Alonzo said.

  Stone glanced at his packhorse. “You must need somethin’. What’s all that on your pack animal? Most deputies travel a lot lighter.”

  Alonzo said the first thing that popped into his head. “I’m new at the job, remember? That there is everything I own in the world.”

  “You tote it all with you?” Stone said in astonishment. “I’m surprised Marshal Hodder didn’t say somethin’. Deputies have to travel light.”

  “Now I know,” Alonzo said.

  “When we get to North Platte we’ll find somewhere you can store most of it,” Stone proposed.

  “If that’s what needs doin’,” Alonzo said. Although he’d rather cut off his arm. His outfits were his livelihood. Without them, he’d be stuck in the role he was playing.

  “That’s the spirit,” Stone complimented him, and bent to Loudon.

  Alonzo watched the river flowing by, and sulked. Running into the old deputy had taught him a lesson. Never again would he pretend to be a lawman. The risks were more than he’d imagined.

  “This ain’t good,” Stone said.

  Loudon’s breathing had become labored. He was as pale as a sheet and sweat poured from every pore.

  Alonzo had an inspiration. “I can ride on to North Platte for the doc.” Only he wouldn’t return with him. He’d switch to another outfit and head for parts unknown.

  “We’re still days out,” Stone said. “It’ll be over sooner than that.”

  Alonzo had never seen anyone die. He’d seen bodies—his own parents, at their funerals. And others. But he’d never been by someone’s side when they passed on. It was unsettling.

  Loudon lingered for another couple of hours. His body seemed to slowly deflate, like a water skin drained until it was empty, and he shuddered a lot as if cold despite the heat of the day. The only sounds he made were low groans. Once, half-startling Alonzo out of his wits, Loudon opened his eyes wide and raised his head a few inches, gaping at the heavens. “I see you!” he cried. “I see you!” Then his eyes closed and he sank back, spent.

  “What was that about?” Alonzo breathlessly asked.

  Deputy Marshal Stone shrugged. “Who knows? People say strange things when they’re at death’s door. One time I had a man grab me and call me God and ask my forgiveness for his wicked deeds. Another time, an outlaw thought I was his ma and kept beggin’ me to burp him because he had an awful bellyache.”

  “No,” Alonzo said.

  “Yes. He had the ache because he’d tried to shoot me and I put lead in his gut. I was goin’ for his chest but he moved just as I shot.”

  That gave Alonzo something to ponder. “How many men have you shot, altogether?”

  “Had to shoot,” Stone amended. “I never do if I can help it.”

  Alonzo liked that, and said so.

  “I’m not one of those who is always on the prod,” Stone said. “And to answer your question, I’ve had to shoot four, countin’ Loudon.”

  “That’s not so many.”

  “Compared to what?” Stone said. “I know a lot of lawmen who go their whole careers and never shoot anybody.”

  “I’d like to not shoot anyone,” Alonzo said.

  “I’m pleased to hear that,” Stone said in earnest. “But don’t let that slow you when it shouldn’t.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Always be on your toes. You never know when a drunk or somebody might go for their gun or try to stick you with a knife. Myself, I’m always friendly to everyone—but I never trust anyone until I’m sure I can.”

  Alonzo had little interest in learning the dos and don’ts of being a lawman. He figured, though, he should show some interest or it might make the older man wonder.

  So he asked, “How can you be sure?”

  “It comes with that experience we’ve been talkin’ about,” Stone said. “You learn to read folks like some read a book. It’s in how they act, how they look at you, what they do and don’t say. Trust me. It will come to you with time. The trick is to live long enough to learn it.”

  Loudon opened his eyes again. He gazed skyward as if searching for something, then said in a level, calm tone, “These are my last moments.”

  Stone leaned over him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you want me to get word to any of your kin?”

  “There’s no one,” Loudon said.

  “How about your ma and pa?”

  “I left home twenty years ago. I don’t even know where they are.” Loudon tore his gaze from the sky. “I want you to know I don’t blame you, Deputy. You did what you had to. After you bury me, you’re welcome to my things.”

  “I wish we could get you to a doc,” Stone said.

  “Too late.” Loudon weakly smiled, let out a long breath, and became completely still.

  “Well, hell,” Stone said. “He died fine. No fuss at all.”

  Alonzo marveled that the man had gone so peacefully. Were it him, he might rail at the heavens for the injustice of it all. “I’ll help you dig a grave. Or would you rather take the body in to North Platte?”

  “What for? It’d be ripe by then, and the dirt here is as good as the dirt there.” Stone shook his head while slowly rising. “No, I’ll file a report on him, when I can. Let’s plant him quick. I want to get after Burt Alacord and Weasel Ginty. With any luck, they’ll lead us to Cal Grissom and we can put an end to his wild bunch.”

  “How many are we talkin’ about?”

  “I can’t rightly say. It changes from time to time. Six or seven at the least, I expect.”

  The whole time he was digging, using a broken branch to break the earth and his hands to scoop it away, Alonzo was thinking that to go after the Grissom gang was plumb loco. It would be Stone and him against six or seven killers. He couldn’t come right out and refuse to help. No real lawman would. But he could raise enough of a doubt to give the older man pause. Or so he hoped. Clearing his throat, he said, “Is it wise? The two of us tanglin’ with that many?”

  “Bothers you, does it?” Stone said as he shoved dirt aside
. “Long odds come with the badge. We could telegraph for help, but by the time other deputies got to North Platte, Grissom will be long gone.”

  Alonzo tried to come up with a different argument.

  “It’s just you and me,” Stone went on. “That’s the way these things happen sometimes. We just have to make the best of it.”

  Alonzo dug slower. He was in no hurry to go after the outlaws. The best thing for him to do was to give the old man the slip as soon as a chance presented itself. Engrossed in debating whether to do it that night when the lawman was asleep, he didn’t quite hear something Stone said. “What was that?”

  “I wonder if the girl will be with them.”

  Alonzo looked up. “What girl?”

  “There have been reports of a girl ridin’ with Grissom and his crew. A stage driver swore a girl was with them when they robbed his stage, and the citizens over in Unionville claim a girl held their horses when they struck the Unionville Bank.”

  Just when Alonzo thought he’d heard everything. “Then it must be true. A girl outlaw! Who would have thought it? What do we do if we come across her? Arrest her and bring her in?”

  “Didn’t you just hear me say she helped to rob a stage and a bank? Females break laws the same as men. We treat them the same. Yes, we arrest her. Unless you’d rather fall in love and marry her.” And Stone snorted and laughed.

  10

  Jacob Stone had taken a shine to Robert Grant. The younger man had a friendly disposition that would come in handy when he dealt with others, and Grant was so green behind the ears, Stone couldn’t help but want to take him under his wing and teach him important things about their job, things that might keep Grant alive and let him reach the same ripe age as him. Which might be stretching things. Few lawmen stayed at it as long as he had. By rights, he should have gone off to pasture long ago.

  As they rode eastward along the Platte, searching for sign of the outlaws, Stone tried to find out a little more about his new companion. He soon discovered it was like trying to pour whiskey from an unopened bottle. Grant refused to open up. He was so reticent that Stone began to wonder if there was something in the younger man’s past that he was embarrassed about, or a tragedy of some kind. People were often reluctant to gab about the bad things that had happened to them.