I seen the fire when I was still a half-mile out. The sky was just starting to lighten in the east when I yelled, “hello the camp!”
“C’mon in!” the marshal yelled back, an’ I did.
Arliss was propped up agin’ the marshal’s saddle a little an’ mostly awake. I left the marshal to unload the mare, an’ I went over to him. He smiled at me.
“Rube,” he said, “what took ya so long?”
A hour later, me an’ the marshal was eating bacon an’ frybread, an’ Arliss was halfway through a can of big yella peaches. A little after we finished, Arliss kindly crawled away into the brush a while to relieve hisself. When he come back, he was panting some, but he made it.
“You all right?” I asked him.
“Some better,” he said, “long as I don’t stand up. How about you, Rube? You look a little pale to me. You had any sleep at all?”
“Nossir,” I said. “I figured you might need a big ol’ peach. I kin sleep anytime. I spent near fifteen a your dollars. I still got the rest of it.”
“You hang onto it, boy,” he told me. “You go roll up for a while. Lookin’ at you makes me tired.”
I slept most of the day, I reckon. When I finally woke up, Marshal Daniels had coffee ready, an’ beans an’ bacon an’ biscuits near done. I got a cup outa my kit an’ set by the fire. Arliss was propped up agin’ that saddle with a peppermint stick in his mouth.
“How are ya?” I asked him.
“Marion found that laudanum,” he said. “I’m doin’ right well. He cleaned out my head an’ neck an’ dressed my wounds up. I’ll be fine as soon as I can stand up without blackin’ out and fallin’ down. I’m gittin’ better, I can feel it. It’s just gonna take a little time.”
The marshal spoke up. “Me and Arliss talked it over,” he said. “If he’s still gittin’ better in the morning, I’d like for you to come with me to over around Gasconade to see if we can git a line on his wagon and stock. Winfield Simms is the sheriff over that way, and he ain’t worth piss on a grass fire. If I have to tangle with two or three fellas, I’d like to have somebody with me I can use. Can you shoot?”
“Yessir,” I said, “some.”
“You ever shot a man?”
“Nossir.”
“Will you come with me?” he asked.
“Yessir,” I said, “as long as Arliss can spare me to go.”
The next mornin’ about a hour after daybreak, me an’ United States Marshal Marion Daniels rode out of Arliss Hyatt’s camp on the way to Gasconade County, looking for a wagon pulled by a team a big ol’ red, tiger-striped mules.
CHAPTER TWO
We rode through the some pretty thick scrub an’ polk for a ways ‘til it opened up an’ I could ease along side Marion. I asked him how he come to be a marshal an’ such, an’ he looked over at me.
“How ‘bout you?” he said. “How’d you come to be a marshal?”
I was kindly got. “Me?” I said. “I ain’t no marshal.”
That was the first time I seen him smile. “Until this here ride we’re on is over, you damn sure are,” he said. “A deputized United States Marshal. Cain’t have no ordinary citizen doin’ this with me. Wouldn’t be proper.”
I couldn’t think of much to say about that, so we rode on for a spell.
“Arliss has got your handgun, I reckon,” Marion finally said.
“Yessir,” I said. “I left my Schofield with him.”
He lifted his Colt from the crossdraw and handed it over to me. “Short barrel,” he said. “Ain’t much good over ten yards. Pulls to the left a little. It’ll feel awkward if you’re used to a Schofield, but a feller needs a handgun. Where you from, Ruben?”
“I was raised up over in Cahokia,” I told him. “Worked with my daddy there ‘til he got kilt about a year ago. He was puttin’ a wheel on a wagon an’ the jack give way. Axel come down on his arm an’ just broke it all to pieces. It swole up real bad. The doctor done all he could, I guess. Even cut some pieces off it, but purty soon it turned colors an’ dark streak started runnin’ up toward his shoulder. Took a while, an’ then he passed away from it.”
“I’m sorry,” Marion said. “What’d you and your daddy do?”
“He was a carpenter,” I said. “A finish carpenter. Made cabinets an’ tables an’ such. I was studyin’ on it with him, but that’s over.”
“So you took to the road,” Marion said.
“Yessir. I sold off Daddy’s big equipment, took some tools for myself, an’ struck out. I been movin’ west close to the river. Always somebody building something close to the river.”
“Where you headed?” he asked.
“I don’t know, sir,” I said. “Thought I’d follow along around the Missouri ‘til I’d gone far enough, then maybe turn around an’ head back. I make enough to take care of myself.”
Marion wanted to know how old I was so I told him.
“Just comin’ nineteen this October,” he said. “Why son, you got your whole life ahead a you, got a trade, got you a rifle, a revolver, a good horse by the look of him, an’ a pack animal. Looks to me like you’re pretty well fixed to get on with life. Shame about your ol’ daddy, but you seem fine to me. Plus, you’re the kind a fella that stops to help somebody else in need. That says a lot for a man.”
He touched spurs an’ eased his roan up into a short lope. I come along behind. Seemed like our conversation was over.
We come to Chamois about the middle of the day an’ stopped by the general store. The fella there knew Marion an’ remembered me. He claimed he hadn’t seen nothin’ of a team of mules an’ a wagon, but he got kindly nervous when the marshal asked him about it. The smith over at the livery wanted to know why I come back without his horse an’ saddle, but I explained to him the fella that had ‘em couldn’t ride yet. When Marion asked him about the wagon an’ mules, he got real busy forkin’ straw into a stall. The marshal took a stance by the stall door.
“I ain’t in no hurry,” he said. “I can stand right here ‘til you’re neck deep in dry grass if that’s the way you want it, but you ain’t gittin’ outa that stall until I get a answer. Make it easy on yourself, bub.”
The smith stopped and looked at him. “You can’t treat me like this, Marshal,” he said. “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
“I decide what’s wrong,” Marion said, “and not talking to me is wrong. It ain’t as wrong as lyin’ to me, though. You damn sure don’t wanna do that. Lyin’ to me is a punishable offense, sir.”
The smith stood there for a little while, looking down at the straw, then commenced to sway back an’ forth some, kindly the way a horse does that ain’t been out for a long time. Purty soon he straightened up an’ stood still, but he wouldn’t look the marshal in the face.
“Ain’t nobody gonner want ta tell you nothin’, Marshal,” he said. “Folks be afraid to say much in case it got back to them boys.”
“What boys?” Marion asked him.
“Them Duncan boys,” the smith said.
Marion stiffened up a little. “I thought those boys lit out for Wichita or Lawrence or someplace a few years ago,” he said. “If memory serves, there was a bank or two robbed out that way soon after. Last I heard was they had gone out west. Arizona Territory or somewhere.”
The smith nodded. “They’re back,” he said, “at least for a little while. Their father died around a year ago an’ they has come home. I reckon it took some time for the news to find ‘em. He run some cattle northeast of Gasconade. Them boys is probably back just to sell off anythin’ left, or git whatever he wanted ‘em to have.”
“You sure it’s the Duncans?” Marion asked him.
“The other day,” the smith said, “near a hour or two afore this young feller with you showed up needin’ a horse an’ saddle, one a the Duncan boys come in here on horseback, all cocky like. He asked if I needed a team a mules. He didn’t have ‘em with him, but he said they was real good mules. I tolt him no, an’ he rode off. Could
be them’s the mules yer lookin’ for.”
Marion studied on things for a minute before he spoke up. “Grain them horses a little,” he said, “but not much. We got to keep movin’. I want a beefsteak. We’ll be back for ‘em in a while.”
He walked out an’ on down the street toward a cook tent set up next to a saloon or whorehouse or somethin’. I durn near had to trot to keep up. Like I said, Marion was real tall an’ most of it was legs.
It was comin’ on dark afore we were ready to push on, so we set up in a wash a few miles outside of town an’ built a little fire. Marion had salt pork an’ coffee, so we didn’t go plumb hungry. After we et, we made our places an’ stretched out. It was real warm. I kept my saddle blanket handy in case of a heavy dew, but I laid out in the open. I watched the stars until I drifted off. Marion snored some.
He had coffee goin’ when I woke up. I went off a ways an’ took care a things. When I come back, he smiled at me.
“Thought you was gonna sleep the morning away, Ruben,” he said. “I reckon these past days have wore you down some. Set an’ have coffee. We ain’t in no big hurry. I got some flour for frybread, an’ a little honey to sweeten it with. I usually keep a little honey with me. Always had a sweet tooth.”
That frybread an’ honey picked me up quite a bit. I had just saddled the sorrel an’ tended to his feet when Marion walked over and handed me a badge.
“Put this on,” he said.
I did, but it pulled on my shirt kindly funny, so I took it off an’ hung it through a cartridge loop on my gunbelt. Marion saw what I done and smiled.
“It’s heavy,” I said.
“Sometimes it can git a lot heavier,” he said.
I thought about what he said for a minute. “I doan feel like no marshal,” I tolt him.
Marion full out grinned at me. “I won’t tell nobody if you don’t,” he said, an’ swung up on his roan. As usual, I had to hurry some to keep up.
Winfield Simms was the town marshal of Chamois. When we got back into town, Marion rode down the main street an’ stopped at a little clapboard building set off by itself a ways, down the street from what could have been a small boarding house or somethin’. A couple of folks nodded at us when we tied our horses to a post with a ring set into it. One fella touched his hat brim at me an’ called me marshal. I almost looked over my shoulder. Marion chuckled an’ opened the door to that little building.
There was a fat fella with near no neck an’ cinnamon colored hair under a old derby hat leaned back in a chair with his feet on a desk. He wore his pants tucked into a pair a tall boots with long dog-ear pull straps dangling down on the sides, an’ a crossdraw rig with a big ol’ open top Remington revolver. The kind that was a conversion from the Army cap an’ ball. He grunted an’ swung his feet to the floor with a heavy thump an’ stood up. He was some shorter than me.
“Marshal,” he said. His voice was thin and sorta whiney.
“Simms,” Marion replied. “This here is my new deputy, Ruben Beeler. Marshal Beeler, this is Chamois city marshal, Winfield Simms.”
I shook hands with him. He had short an’ stubby fingers. “Marshal,” I said.
“Marshal,” he said.
I had to stop myself from wiping my hand on my pants.
“Duncan boys back in this neck of the woods?” Marion asked.
“The Duncan boys?” Simms said. “Last I heard they was way out in the territories.”
“Got information they dry-gulched a fella, took his horse and wagon and mules, and left him for dead over west of town the other day,” Marion said. “You ain’t run across ‘em, huh?”
“News to me, Marshal,” Simms said. “I’ll sure keep a eye open for ‘em. They’s a tough bunch, no doubt about that.”
“I’ll git outa your way and let you do your job,” Marion said. “You know this neck of the woods a damn site better than I do. We’ll hole up at the boardin’ house a day or two in case you run across anything. I appreciate your help.”
“Glad to do anythin’ I can,” Simms said, smiling and puffing up a little. “Nice to meet you, Deputy,” he said, holding his hand out to me. I took it, nodded, an’ followed Marion outside.
“You know where the livery is,” he said. “You take the horses on down there while I get us a room.”
“We gonna stay at the boarding house?” I asked.
“While we watch Winfield’s office,” he said. “Old man Duncan run this country when he was alive. I speck Simms will lead us to where them boys are.”
I grinned at him. “That’s pretty sneaky,” I said.
Marion nodded. “Sneaky is just one a the reasons why I ain’t dead,” he said.
I took the horses down to the livery stable, paid the nervous fella four bits to feed an’ board ‘em an’ asked him to check the sorrel’s left rear for a shoe I thought might be a little loose. He did an’ figured that if I was goin’ far, my horse needed shoein’. I give him two dollars an’ let him do it as I had never been much of a horseshoer.
The room we got was small an’ only had one winda. The two cots was pushed up agin’ one another to git enough room to walk around the edge an’ it was terrible close an’ hot in there. Outside the winda was a stretch of roof that was near flat. I clumb out the winda an’ set in the shade while Marion walked around town for a while. Right at dark, three things happened. He come back, a breeze showed up, an’ it started to rain. I clumb back in the room, took off everthing but my hat an under drawers, an’ went back out through the winda to set on the roof while the rain fell. Marion laughed at me some, but pretty soon there he was, nekked as a fresh hatched pigeon wearin’ a hat, settin’ next to me an’ grinnin’ into the dark.
It rained for near a hour, nice an’ easy with no storm about it. We set out some after it quit to drip most a the water off us, then got dressed. After the rain, it got so thick in the room we went downstairs an’ set on the porch in a couple a rockin’ chairs.
“You find out anything?” I asked the marshal.
“Naw,” he said, “but I really didn’t need to. I just went through the motions so Winfield wouldn’t git my scent. He’ll take out a little before dawn, I reckon. This rain’ll make him pretty easy to track. We’ll tag along a couple a hours later an’ see what we can see.”
“You done this kinda thing afore, ain’t ya?” I asked him.
“Time or two,” he said, then tilted his hat down low an’ eased back in his chair.
Warn’t long afore he started snorin’.
Breakfast at the boardin’ house was fatback, beans, an’ biscuits. It warn’t much, but I did manage to git a glass of sweetmilk. We went down to the office an’, sure enough, Winfield Simms was nowhere to be found.
“Duncan place is northeast of Gasconade a half day or so,” the marshal said. “We should pick up his tracks pretty easy. You git the horses and meet me at the store. I want to git us some chuck in case we have to be gone an extra day or two.”
A half hour later we was horseback. Two hours after that we picked up Simms’ trail in the light mud. Lookin’ at his prints, I figured his horse was off some in the right front. Marion agreed. Simms didn’t seem to notice or just didn’t care.
Early afternoon Gasconade come in sight, but Simms’ tracks veered a little to the north an’ kept on. His horse was limping worse, now an’ then dragging his hoof a little or crossfirin’ with the left front.
“He’s slowed down some,” Marion said. “Let’s go into town.”
I put the sorrel into a lope an’ follerd along.
The sheriff’s office was a low stone building set back around a corner from the main street. As we got down, a fella a little bigger than me walked outside. He was wearin’ a long barreled Colt high up on his right hip, a gray shirt with little brown spots on it, a black hat with a low brim, a sleeve garter on his left arm, an’ a badge pinned to the right strap of his suspenders. He spit tobacco juice on the ground by the hitch rail an’ grinned.
“You a
in’t dead yet?” he asked.
“’Bout to ask you the same thing, Homer,” Marion replied, steppin’ up and shakin’ hands.
“Who’s this?” the fella said, lookin’ at me.
“This here is my deputy marshal,” Marion said. “Ruben Beeler, meet Homer Poteet. He’s what passes for city law in these parts. You git what you pay for, and Gasconade is short on funds.”
The fella advanced on me with his hand out.
“Nice to meet you, Ruben,” he said. “Sorry you got to ride with is this ol’ buzzard. Maybe things’ll git better for ya.”
I took his hand. “I’m full of hope an’ hanging on,” I said.
“Truth told,” Homer said, “you could do a little worse. I reckon you got sand, son, or this old stump woulda run off an’ left ya. You boys ain’t here for no social call, are ya?”
“Duncan brothers,” Marion said. “Seen ‘em?”
“Never have,” Homer said. “They was gone from these parts when I left marshalin’ an’ come here. Bad bunch by reputation.”
“They’re back to claim the family fortune. Figure they shot a ol’ boy an’ run off with his wagon, mules, an’ possibles over on the other side a Chamois two or three days ago,” Marion said.
“Kill him?”
“Nope,” Marion said, “but not from trying. We went by Chamois long enough to tip Winfield Simms off. Trailed him thisaway. He veered north outside of town.”
“Simms ain’t worth dogshit on a hot iron,” Homer said. “Duncan bunch’ll know yer comin’.”
“Yep,” Marion said. “You still got that Sharps a yours?”
“Still do.”
“Thought you might like to come along.”
“I ain’t got no authority,” Homer said. “I’m just a lowly town law. Not like you fancy federal fuckers.”
The Deer Run Trail Page 2