“Ain’t very sympathetic, you findin’ humor in my distress,” he said. “When I was a younger man after the war, I spent a year or so in Abilene. There was a feller down there that had got shot in the top of his skull at Gettysburg. The ball didn’t go straight in or nothin’, but skimmed along the top and cut a furrow about three inches long. This ol’ boy would be settin’ real quiet like, just like anybody, and then, for no reason, he’d jump up and sorta hop for a spell, then fall down and shake a while. Purty soon, he’d git up and just go on like nothin’ happened. He claimed he didn’t have no memory of hoppin’ and shakin’, but he sure done it. Right queersome to see somethin’ like that.”
“I speck it was,” I said, gittin’ a grip on my grin. “You’re doin’ some better though, ain’t ya?”
“Truly I am. Just settin’ around like I been these days gives me too much time to think, I suppose. I might try settin’ a horse tomorrow. See if I git all wobbly and fall off. I damn shore cain’t squat out here for the rest a my life.”
“Homer Poteet says you are a gunsmith,” I said.
“Yessir, I am,” he said. “I spent four or five years at the Remington Plant out there in New York learnin’ some a my trade. Then when the war come, I couldn’t leave somethin’ like that alone. I didn’t get in no battles or nothin’ but worked behind the lines repairin’ rifles and such. After the war, like I tolt ya, I went out west for a spell and started makin’ my livin’ doin’ repair work on guns for folks. I was fair good at it, and most people would rather take a broke gun to somebody than ship it off to some place. Time went on, and I took to loadin’ cartridges for sale to folks, then to dry goods stores and such. I even engrave a gun now an’ then for somebody with a high opinion of themselves and more money than brains. Now I got me sort of a route I follow. I squat a few days in one spot, work on guns folks has left or bring to me, an’ load up some fresh ammunition for sale. I git my supplies shipped in to Jeff City or Saint Joe. Got that wagon set up like a rollin’ shop to do my work in. I ain’t got no ties or nothin’, so I can be gone as long as I care to. I got a little place outside Jeff City a ways. In deep winter, that’s where I hang my hat.”
“Don’t sound like a bad life to me,” I said.
“It’s the one I got,” Arliss said. “I don’t mind it much. What do you do, Rube?”
I told him an’ he thought on it for a bit.
“You do inlay work, do ya?” he said.
“Yessir, I do. It can git terrible tedious though.”
“You ever do any wire inlay?” he asked me.
“No,” I told him. “Now that I think about it though, it wouldn’t be as hard as wood border inlay I suppose. Fella would have to just cut out a groove then lay in the wire.”
“I git a call for that type thing now and agin,” Arliss said. “Maybe I could git you some business. Folks with a little money like to show off. Maybe git ten or twelve dollars for just a day or two of work.”
“Go on,” I said. “That much?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.”
“What’s your cut?” I asked him.
“Ten percent. You got tools?”
“Yessir,” I said. “They’re in my pack I left here.”
“Reckon you could make gunstocks and the like?”
“Never tried to,” I said, “but I reckon I could with some practice. I can lay a good finish on walnut an’ maple, I know that.”
“We git through this mess we’re in now,” Arliss said, “and you git yourself settled somewhere along my route, I can bring you work. Maybe not enough to support you all by itself, but enough to put away for a rainy day if ya git another job. Extra twenty dollars a month make a pretty good poke after a few years. Gitcha a little wife an’ some young’uns.”
I musta blushed or somethin’, ‘cause Arliss looked at me an’ began to chuckle quite a bit. It was good to hear him laugh.
The next morning I saddled the buckskin an’ helped Arliss ease up onto him. I walked along side him an’ that horse with my hand aholt of his belt for a spell, but he kept his seat real good. It wore him down a mite an’ I believe he was glad to git off. We done the same thing again in the afternoon an’ I let go of him for a spell. He rode off a ways an’ back agin. When he got down, he stayed on his feet an’ went for a walk around camp for maybe a half hour or so before he flopped down by the fire, tuckered out quite a bit.
“Rube,” he said, “I believe I’m doin’ better than I thought I was. Settin’ on that horse done me some good. Maybe we oughta take out in the morning for Gasconade. Might take us a couple a days to git there, but it beats stayin’ here. I got this place about wore out. What do ya think?”
I tolt him I thought we should.
The next mornin’, that’s what we done.
Arliss was right. It took us near a day and a half to git to Gasconade. We rode into town late morning, me on the black rented mare an’ him on the buckskin. Marion an’ Homer was settin’ in front of Homer’s office when we rode up. They both grinned an’ stood up, Homer comin’ out to help Arliss off his horse if he needed it. He did.
Once Arliss got set down an’ collected, I left my packhorse for Homer to board an’ struck off back to Chamois leadin’ the black mare. It was durn near dark when I got there. The buckskin was some tired an’ so was I when we got to the livery. The smith come outside to meet me.
“Evenin’ Marshal,” he said to me, takin’ the mare’s reins. “Good to see you. That mare do right by you?”
“She done fine,” I said, takin’ notice of his shift in attitude.
“Good,” he said. “Yessir, that’s fine. I heered about what you an’ them other boys done over past Gasconade. Good to have you back, Marshal. Shore is. You an’ your horse look a little tuckered.”
“We been on the trail a spell,” I said.
“There’s a pallet in the shed out back,” he said. “You’re welcome to it. I’ll brush your buckskin out and grain him. No charge for either of ya. Night’s good rest would serve ya well.”
I thanked him an’ walked down to the store. That little bell over the door rung when I went in an’ the fella there come hustlin’ over.
“Welcome back, Marshal,” he said. “Yer just in time. I was fixin’ to close up. What can I do for ya?”
“I need a can a peaches,” I said. “I appreciate it if you could open ‘em for me an’ give me the loan of a spoon.”
“Sure thing,” he said, an’ durn near trotted off. He had them peaches open with a spoon stuck down in the can in next to no time.
“Peaches is on the house,” he said. “You can git that spoon back anytime, no hurry.”
I tolt him I was much obliged an’ he welcomed me back like the other fella done.
“I heard about the gunfight,” he said. “You boys done the world a real service. Mighty proud to know you, Marshal. Yessir. Glad to see you back in town.”
I got outa there afore he tried to kiss me or somethin’ an’ drifted back to the livery. I located the shed an’ spread my roll out on a old saggy cot, et them peaches, an’ stretched out. Mornin’ showed up pretty quick.
That fella at the livery was good to his word an’ wouldn’t take a dime for puttin’ up me or the horse. Even had the buckskin saddled an’ ready to go by the time I was set to travel. I stopped by the store to give that spoon back an’ lit a shuck as soon as I could git away from the fella there afore he could throw me a parade or somesuch.
On the ride back to Gasconade I thought some about how good them peaches was, so when I hit town I stopped by the general store, got another can, an’ borrowed another spoon. Then I rode on over to Homer’s office. The three of ‘em was perched out front. I handed Arliss that can of peaches.
“Right thoughtful of ya, Rube,” he said.
“You paid for ‘em,” I said. “I still got a pile a yer money.”
“You keep that money,” Arliss said. “You been worth a damn site more than that to me.”
“Y
ou got more money than that,” Marion said.
“What?” I asked him.
“I been on the telegraph. There was rewards out on two a them Duncan boys from Lawrence, Kansas, and on that Mex outa Taos. It’ll take a while, but you got nine hunnerd dollars comin’ your way, Ruben.”
“Nine hunnerd dollars! Me?”
“Yessir,” Marion said. “Me and Homer is lawmen. We can’t accept no rewards. You can, bein’ a civilian an’ all.”
“But I was a deputy marshal,” I said. “I still got the badge here on my belt!”
“Funny thing about that,” Marion said. “I give you the badge, but I never swore you in. You wasn’t legal, boy. That means you git the money.”
They was all grinnin’ at me like ‘possums settin’ on a rail fence. “Don’t that kick the hog in the creek,” I said.
Homer spoke up. “Looks like you’re buyin’ dinner tonight, Rube,” he said. “I doan know what these other fellers want, but a big ol’ beefsteak an’ some Kentucky whiskey would be just fine fer me.”
Marion was grinnin’ from ear to ear. “And don’t tell us nothin’ about that money not bein’ here yet. You already confessed to havin’ a pile a money,” he said.
CHAPTER SIX
Arliss went to the doctor the next day to git his head an’ neck looked at. The doc seemed purty satisfied at the way things was healin’ up an’ took a little snip of ragged skin off his ear. He asked the doc about him getting off balance now and then. Turned out that Arliss was usin’ too much a that laudanum. He cut back on it, an’ his dizzy spells settled right down. Marion was takin’ a drink of water when he heard about the laudanum an’ some of that water come out his nose.
Arliss loaned me a Colt an’ took my Schofield an’ Yellaboy for a couple days. When I got ‘em back, the Schofield’s hammer action was as slick as butter an’ the trigger responded to just a slight touch. The loadin’ gate on the rifle took rounds like they’d been dipped in grease an’ the lever throwed as smooth as the belly on a catfish. He also give the Yellaboy a new front sight that was a post inside a short tube-like arrangement, an’ a new rear peep sight. Made it easy as pie to pick up a target an’ hold on it. I thanked him for all the work an’ he smiled at me.
“I got somethin’ else for ya too, Rube,” he said.
He fussed around in his wagon for a minute and come out with a knife an’ scabbard with snaps to fit around my gun belt. It was a old-fashioned coffin-handled knife, but bigger with a ten inch blade in hammered Damascus steel an’ a wide brass guard kindly like a Bowie.
“Arliss,” I said, “that there is a helluva knife. I ain’t never seen another one like it.”
“There’s a smith over by Saint Joe makes some pretty fair blades,” he said. “He built this’un for me four or five year ago and I have yet to carry it. It’s just been layin’ around gittin’ in my way. I’d like to git shed of it. Yours if ya want it.”
“I want it,” I told him, “but let me give you somethin’ for it.”
“That ain’t gonna happen,” he said.
“Well,” I said, “I hate to just take somethin’ for nothin’.”
Arliss smiled at me. “Git over that,” he said, “’cause I got one more thing for ya.”
He reached in a box under the seat of his wagon and come out with the durndest gun I’d ever seen. It started out as a LeFever coach gun I reckon, in twelve gauge, but he’d cut it down, stock and barrels, so the whole thing waren’t more than a little over a foot long. I thumbed the release an’ it broke open quick under its own weight, just as smooth as you please. Them extractors popped up with a sharp snap that wouda tossed a couple a empty shells two feet. I closed it up with almost no effort an’ cocked both hammers. They come back like they was on ball-bearings. I thumbed the right one an’ touched the trigger for it, an’ it broke away as crisp as crackin’ a piece of glass. I released the other one an’ looked at Arliss. He was grinnin’ at me.
“Arliss,” I said, “this here is just fine, it is.”
He handed me a holster for that little monster that was set up to snap over a gunbelt. It was heavy mulehide by the look an’ feel of it an’ had two rows a four shell holders on it, one low an’ one high. Countin’ the two that would be in the gun, there would be ten shells ready to go when it was put on. A fella wouldn’t wear it to go to no dance, but I could shore see how it could be some handy on the trail or somewhere as a saddle gun. Under thirty feet, that thing would turn a bull or drop a cougar.
“It’s yours, boy,” Arliss said. He was grinnin’ like he’d just got new teeth.
“You won’t take nothin’ for it?” I asked him.
“I ain’t got nothin’ in it,” he said. “Feller brought that to me a couple a year ago when it had a full stock and eighteen inch barrels. He’ got it plugged up and touched it off anyways. Blew the end of the right barrel open. Ruint it. I messed with it some now an’ then, just for fun, an’ it come out like this. Ain’t got no use for it. Durn thing keeps gettin’ in my road. I was just gonna throw it out anyway.”
“You ain’t much of a liar,” I tolt him.
“Some folks would say that was to my credit,” he said.
A week or two later I was still hangin’ around Gasconade with Homer an’ sleepin’ in a empty cell. Arliss had been gone for a few days an’ Marion had come an’ gone once or twice. Folks had mostly stopped treatin’ me like I was something special. A couple a ol’ boys got a little pushy with me once, but I joked ‘em outa it an’ we wound up settin’ an’ jawin’ for a spell. My feet was gittin’ feathers to tell the truth. I warn’t doin’ nothin’. Time got to movin’ kindly slow. Me an’ Homer was settin’ out in front of the jailhouse one hot afternoon, to git away from a drunk that was cryin’ in the first cell, when Marion come ridin’ up on that ugly big blue roan a his.
“By God, boys,” he said, stepping down, “I wish the two a you wasn’t so busy. Looks to me like yer plumb used up! You oughta git some rest afore ya give out.”
“Me an’ Rube here decide we need some criticism,” Homer said, “we’ll go see a preacher, Gawdammit. Yer hair always been that gray, ya ol’ fart?”
Marion smiled and eased hisself down into a chair beside me. “Hey, Ruben,” he said. “You all right?”
“Yessir, I am,” I said. “Where you been?”
“Last couple a days, over in Jeff City. You ever been there?”
“Been by it,” I tolt him, “but I ain’t never actually gone into the city.”
“There’s a town, just off the river west a there a little piece, I took a interest in. Place called Deer Run. Heer’d of it?”
“Nossir, I ain’t,” I said.
“I reckon, the way Jeff City is growin’, won’t be too many years more before most a them towns around it will be et up. Lots a folks stoppin’ over that way. Bein’ the state capitol and all, hucksters an’ blowflies an’ liars an’ lobbyists is just natural drawn to the politics an’ the politicians. Deer Run is some bigger than a lot of the other towns around there. Caters to folks comin’ in offa the river an’ such. Three or four saloons, whores, boardin’ houses an’ the like. Growin’ purty fast. Lotsa buildin’ goin’ on. Place a opportunity for a feller with your skills.”
“You tryin’ to run me off, Marshal?” I asked him.
“Nossir,” Marion said, “I’d like to hire ya.”
“What?”
“This time I’ll even swear ya in, but you won’t be wearin’ no badge on yer gunbelt.”
“What?” I said again.
“He wants you to be a ringer,” Homer said.
“A ringer?”
“A agent a the marshal service to go hang around that town, what was it?”
“Deer Run,” Marion said.
“He wants you to hang around Deer Run for some sneaky purpose that he can’t git away with,” Homer said. “Ain’t that right, Marshal Daniels?”
“That’d be it,” Marion said. “Folks over that way know me.”
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“What,” I said, “like a spy?”
“More or less,” Marion said. “There’s work for ya over that way. Give ya a reason to be there. Just poke around a little, see what you can see. Be curious. Doan git yer hoof stuck in no trap or nothin’ like that. I just need some eyes and ears on the place. There’s the city sheriff over there named Arberry Yont. Come out this way from Saint Louis a few years ago. Got himself more deputies that he oughta need. Been a bank robbery now and then in some of the places around Deer Run. Complaints that a couple of folks have just disappeared out that way in the past. I need you to keep yer ear to the ground. You’ll be a deputy marshal, full commission. Sixty dollars a month plus a five dollar stock allowance and payback on unusual expenses. If ya stay in a roomin’ house, keep a record of what you pay out. You won’t answer to nobody but me. I’ll figger a way to git in touch with ya now an’ then. Mebbe meet ya out at Arliss’ place. He’s got a shack over that way. You in, Ruben?”
I cogitated on it for a minute. “Reckon I am,” I said.
“Good,” Marion said. “Now I can tell ya that I got yer voucher for the reward money. I wanted to git yer yes before I told ya about that fortune. Didn’t want you runnin’ off to Denver or someplace to spend it all on whores and whiskey.”
I felt my ears git warm, an’ Homer chuckled.
“That duck cain’t float,” he said.
I spent the next couple a days gittin’ ready to go. I got out all my tools an’ cleaned ‘em up an’ oiled everthing. I checked out my riggin’ for both horses an’ made sure it was all up to snuff. An’ I did git my voucher an’ go to the bank first thing in the mornin’ on the second day. I left most of the money right there, but I did spend a little of it. I went down to the dry goods store an’ bought me two pairs of canvas saddle pants, three new shirts, one green, one red, an’ one in a kindly stripey brown, a new saddle blanket with a little extra paddin’ on the withers, an’ a ten X beaver hat in a tan color with a tall crown an’ a wide brim. My boots was okay an’ I never was partial to wearin’ a vest. When I got back to the office, Homer an’ Marion was settin’ there, Marion pickin’ his teeth with a pointy piece of whittled stick. They both grinned at my hat.
The Deer Run Trail Page 4