The Deer Run Trail

by David R Lewis

  “Lemme see that thing,” Homer said to me, an’ I took it off an’ passed it over.

  He walked out into the street with it, dropped it in the dirt, then kicked it around an’ stomped on it a couple times. I was so got, I couldn’t even say nothin’ to him. He picked it up, dropped it in a water trough, an’ pushed it under for a minute. He drug it out, all nasty an’ drippin’, beat it on the hitch rail some with water flyin’ everwhere, then come over an’ pulled it down on my head. He fussed with it a little, kindly puttin’ a shape to it I reckon, then backed up an’ looked at me. He poked on it some more, an’ then nodded.

  “Leave it there ‘til it dries, Rube,” he said, “an’ doan mess with it none. It’ll fit good when it dries out an’ ya won’t look like no goddamn dude!”

  I thanked him, but I ain’t real sure I meant it.

  That hat dried up purty much by dusk an’ I set it on the floor upside down when I went to bed. The next mornin’ when I put it on, it grabbed onto to my head like it had been born there. I left it on while I shaved, watched it in the mirror, an’ wondered how I might look if I could grow a mustache like Marion had.

  By the middle of the morning, I was ready to go. I said so long to Marshal Daniels an’ Sheriff Poteet an’ headed out, but I did make one stop. I went to the store an’ got myself a can a peaches. Hangin’ around with Arliss had got me kindly used to ‘em I guess.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I took my time gittin’ over to Deer Run, spendin’ the night at a livery in a little ol’ place an’ not gettin’ where I was goin’ until late mornin’ on the second day. It was a purty good-sized town. The main street was four or five blocks long an’ had several saloons, a dry goods store, some boardin’ houses, one real hotel, an’ two or three restaurants. I rode through an’ down some side streets for a while an’ counted three church houses, a hardware store, a feed store, a doctor’s office, an’ even a store with nothin’ but women’s clothes. Now an’ then I noticed some fella or other eyeballin’ me close, an’ every one a them boys was well heeled an’ wore a blue vest with a silver star on it. Seemed to me like there was plenty of them fellas to go around.

  After a while, I stopped at a livery an’ this girl come out to see me. I was kindly took aback. She wore a red an’ white calico dress, had braided brown hair with some red in it, an’ was knockin’ dust off her hands.

  “Hello,” she said. “May I help you?”

  I brimmed my hat at her, bein’ polite an’ all. “Is a stable hand or the smith here, M’am?” I asked her.

  She looked square at me. Her eyes was brown. “Until my father returns, I am the stable hand,” she said. “I’m not helpless.”

  “No M’am,” I said. “I never thought you was helpless. Just unusual.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched, but she kept aholt of it. “Do you need to board a horse?” she asked me.

  “Yes, I do, M’am,” I said. “Two. My ridin’ horse an’ my pack animal. I’m new to town an’ lookin’ for work.”

  “Two bits a day for pasture board, four bits for a stall,” she said. “We feed grain to go with the grass. There’s a spring, so the water is good and fresh. You can leave your saddle and such on a rack in the barn.”

  “Pasture would be fine, M’am” I said to her, “as long as they don’t git bullied. I don’t want neither one of ‘em kicked around.”

  “We watch them if they’re fresh,” she said.

  “That’ll be fine. I may need my horse quite a bit for a while. If it’s all right with you, I can just collect him an’ turn him out as I need to. No point in troublin’ you folks with my comin’ in an’ goin’ out.”

  “That would be acceptable,” she said.

  I dug in my pocket an’ come up with a twenty dollar gold piece that I handed to her. “Let me know when that wears out,” I said. “I’d like to leave my truck here until I find a place to stay if I could.”

  “We can put it in the small shed until you need to get it out,” she said.

  “Thank you,” I said. “Maybe you could tell me of a reasonable an’ clean place where I might git a room. I hope to be here for a spell.”

  “Just off the main street in the second block to the south is a boarding house with a sign out front that reads Clary’s. Room or room and board. She’s a widow woman, and she keeps a nice house.”

  “Thank you M’am, I said. “If you don’t care, I’ll unload my packhorse an’ loose him, then ride on down to Miz Clary’s place.”

  She showed me where to put my truck, an’ I turned my packhorse out.

  “You’re looking for work?” she asked.

  “Yes, M’am,” I said. “I’m a carpenter. A finish carpenter.”

  “You shouldn’t have much trouble,” she said. “There’s always some kind of building going on in Deer Run.”

  I stepped up on the buckskin an’ my brain caught up to me. “M’am,” I said to her, “please excuse me. My manners is awful rusty. My name is Beeler. Ruben Beeler.”

  She smiled then. “I’m Harmony Clarke, Ruben Beeler,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Yes, M’am,” I said, “it’s nice to meet you, too.

  “It’s Miss, Mister Beeler. Miss,” she said. “Not M’am.”

  “Yes, M’am, Miss Harmony,” I said. “Thank you, again.” I reined away afore I messed up anything else, an’ she spoke up one more time.

  “I admire that hat you have there, Mister Beeler,” she said.

  I made my getaway.

  Miz Clary was a nice lady, large of frame with hair that was turnin’ gray an’ a voice of some volume. She give me a back corner room that was small with a cot an’ windows on two walls for twenty-five cents a day an’ a extra twenty cents a meal if I wanted to eat an’ tolt her ahead of time. I left my stuff there, kept the Schofield on, an’ rode down the block a ways to a restaurant. When I went inside, I noticed one a them fellers in a blue vest watchin’ me from across the street. I set in the back of the place an’ ordered a pounded pork steak with boiled potaters an’ peas from a waitress that looked a little tired.

  I had just finished a purty good meal when a feller walked in, looked around, an’ headed in my direction. He was about my height but some broader, wearin black boots an’ pants, with a black flat-brimmed hat, a gray oprey coat, an’ one a them blue vests with a big silver star pinned to it that looked like it had brass or gold trim. His gray hair come down around his ears a mite, an’ he was carryin’ a Colt with a long barrel an’ pearl handles in a crossdraw holster. He was left-handed.

  He walked up to the table an’ smiled down at me.

  “Howdy,” he said.

  “Back atcha, Sheriff,” I said, an’ toed a chair out a little. “Take a set if ya want to.”

  “Thank you,” he said, holdin’ onto that smile, an’ backed the chair out some more to give hisself plenty of room afore he took to it.

  “I been expectin’ somebody to come by,” I said. “Your boys been lookin’ me over purty good.”

  “I like to know when strangers come to town,” he said.

  “Don’t blame ya,” I said. “Name’s Ruben Beeler.”

  “I’m Arberry Yont,” he said,” the high sheriff here in Deer Run.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. He didn’t offer a hand an’ I didn’t ask for one.

  “What brings you to my town, Mister Beeler,” he asked.

  I smiled. “Ruben or Rube will do fine,” I said. “I’m lookin’ for work. I’m a finish carpenter.”

  “Is that right?” he said. “I was talkin’ to the mayor the other day, and he was sayin’ how he might like some work done on his office. We got carpenters here, but finish work is a little short.”

  “Maybe I just come to his rescue,” I said.

  Yont let hisself chuckle at my humor. “Where you stayin’, Rube,” he asked.

  “Over at Clary’s place.”

  “Wonderful woman,” he said, getting’ to his feet. “Salt of the
earth. Next time I see the mayor, I’ll tell him about you.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. I appreciate that.”

  “Welcome to Deer Run,” he said, an’ walked off like he owned the place. I doan know. Mebbe he did.

  I had a piece of apple pie that was a little sour for my taste an’ a cup of coffee, then went for a stroll. Down at the end of the street I heard hammers an’ headed down that way. A gang was puttin’ sidin’ on a fair sized buildin’ that looked to me to be oak that warn’t as dry as it should be. That oak would bend an’ twist quite a bit as it aged. I walked up to a feller that pointed me out the foreman. I went over to him an’ told him what I did.

  “This is gonna be a school,” he said. “We’re gonna need everthing trimmed out, windows hung and set, a cloak room finished out, doors hung, finished trim for a couple a big slateboards and the like. Can you do all that?”

  “I’ll need one man to help me,” I said. “I got my own tools. Can you git good dry one inch stock outa spruce or pine?”

  “How much you need?” he asked.

  I grinned at him. “Lemme look around,” I said.

  “Anytime,” he said. “Be needin’ you in four or five days. How much you gotta have?”

  “Three-fifty for a ten to twelve hour day for me, plus whatever my helper’ll git.”

  “That’s purty steep,” he said.

  “Git whatcha pay for,” I said.

  He studied on things a minute. “Al right,” he said. “We’ll see what you can do.”

  I went back to the boarding house an’ picked up my long tape measure, a pencil, an’ my tablet. As I was leaving, Miz Clary was coming in.

  “Mister Beeler,” she thundered, “in and out are you?”

  “Yes M’am,” I said. “I found a job of work at the new schoolhouse.”

  “Isn’t that nice,” she said.

  “Met your sheriff, too,” I said.

  Her face screwed up some an’ she snorted at me.

  In a hurry an’ figurin’ that summed it up, I went on back to the buildin’ site.

  I was in the middle of my measurin’ when the foreman walked up.

  “By the way,” he said, “name’s Charlie.”

  “Rube, Charlie,” I said an’ stuck out my hand. We shook an’ he asked if I’d made any progress.

  “I’ll have my numbers for ya tomorrow,” I said. “What do you figure on coverin’ up the inside walls with?”

  “Ain’t thought that far ahead yet,” he said. “Needed to git the thing framed first. They’re wantin’ to git this built.”

  “Can you git rough cut cedar that’s purty dry?”

  “I reckon so,” he said. “How come cedar?”

  “We run stringers then board an’ batten over ‘em, paint the cedar with some tongue oil or somethin’ like it, maybe linseed, that cedar’ll stay nice an’ purty, smell good, an’ keep the bugs an’ mice out. No bugs to bother the kids, no mice to bring in snakes. You probably git a few snakes around here, doncha?”

  “Damn site mor’n we need,” he said.

  “There ya go,” I said. “Cedar’ll make a good underlayment for the floor, too. Won’t rot.”

  “By God,” Charlie said, “that there is a good idea.”

  “I don’t know if you planned anything along the line of cabinets or not,” I said, “but a counter along the west wall under them windas with a bunch a drawers under it would give the kids someplace to put stuff. Keep the place a lot neater an’ give ‘em a long workspace, too.”

  He looked at the wall and thought. “You can do that?” he said.

  “Sure. Common pine one-by in two an’ six inch widths an’ a little eight inch if you can git it, all finished on one side. Two-by for the top. Be nice for a school an’ all.”

  Charlie brightened up. “You figger up what we need, and I’ll take it to the board for ya. Do my best.”

  “Need some lightweight wagon wheels, too,” I said.

  “Wagon wheels? What for?”

  “Make oil lamp chandeliers out of ‘em,” “I said. “Hook ‘em with rope an’ a pulley. Let ‘em down to light ‘em, then string ‘em back up. Little extra light in here when the days get dark an’ short in the winter. Won’t have to let out so early an’ there won’t be any lamps settin’ around to git knocked over.”

  “You git me them figgers a your’n tomorrow,” Charlie said. “Good thinkin’, Rube.”

  I finished my measurin’ in a little while an’ walked back out to the buckskin. There was a blue vest waitin’ by the rail.

  “Afternoon, Mister Beeler,” he said.

  “Deputy,” I said.

  “Got yourself a job here, have ya?” he asked me.

  “Looks like it,” I said. “I’ll start in a few days.”

  “Now ain’t that nice,” he said. “You’ll wanna join the union.”

  “What union?”

  “The Deer Run workers union,” he said.

  “How much that gonna cost me?” I asked him.

  “Be fifteen percent of yer wages. We collect it afore you git paid.”

  “An’ just what does that fifteen percent git me?”

  “Right to work in Deer Run,” he said.

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “So if I want to work, I have to pay, that it?”

  “Purty much is, yeah.”

  “And my union benefits that are costing me fifteen cents out of ever dollar consist of what, exactly?”

  “Tolt ya,” he said. “Right to work.”

  “What if I refuse?”

  “Wooden be good,” he said.

  I smiled at him. “Nice setup,” I said. “How many deputies in town?”

  “Quite a few, Mister Beeler,” he said. “Welcome to Deer Run.”

  I watched him walk away an’ realized I was grittin’ my teeth.

  I got back to the livery late afternoon an’ had just loosened Willie’s cinch when a feller walked in.

  “You’d be Mister Beeler, I guess,” he said. He was about forty with big shoulders an’ rough hands. He was mostly bald with quick brown eyes an’ a kind face. His voice was a little scratchy. Forge air ain’t the best breathin’.

  I smiled at him over the saddle. “I’d be Ruben,” I said. “You’d be Mister Clarke.”

  “I’d be Verlon,” he said. “That buck a yours is a good looking horse.”

  “Not so loud,” I said. “He’ll hear ya.”

  Verlon laughed an’ I pulled off the saddle an’ blanket an’ put ‘em on a rack. He and I shook hands. He was gentle on purpose. He opened the short gate to the pasture for me. I slipped the bucksin’s headstall an’ slapped his butt. He went through the door about thirty feet an’ dropped to roll an’ fart.

  “How long you had the gelding?” Verlon asked.

  “Not long,” I said. “Feller name of Arliss Hyatt used to have him.”

  “Thought I recognized him,” Verlon said. “I put shoes on him once. ‘Bout a year ago.”

  “You got a good memory,” I said.

  “You got a good horse,” he said.

  “I didn’t know Arliss done business here in Deer Run,” I said.

  “He don’t hardly.”

  “Guess he don’t care much for the arrangement,” I said. He didn’t say nothin’ so I tried agin’. “How ‘bout you, Verlon? You happy with the arrangement?” I asked.

  “Not so much,” he said.

  “I just found out I gotta pay a worker’s union tax. What they git you for?”

  “Small business tax,” he said. “Dollar a day. They collect at the first of the month for the month before.”

  “What if you don’t pay?”

  “Water gits bad, barn gits afire, horses take sick maybe. Somethin’, that’s for sure.”

  “How long has that been goin’ on?”

  “Started a few years ago, some after Yont showed up an’ got the sheriff job.”

  “Anybody stand up agin’ him?” I asked.

  “Three or four over the years. Th
ey’re not here anymore.”

  “Where’d they go?” I asked him.

  He shrugged.

  “He git everbody?” I asked.

  “Boardin’ houses, saloons, restaurants, stores, purty much everthing.”

  I smiled at him. “Sometimes even the tall hog don’t make it to the trough,” I said.

  He looked at me for a minute. “My daughter said you was a little different,” he said.

  “So’s Miss Harmony,” I said. “She seems like a fine girl, Verlon, but she makes me kindly nervous.”

  His laugh had some power to it. He looked at me with crinkled eyes. “Hell, boy,” he said, “I know’d her when she only weighed about four pounds. She made me nervous even then.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Charlie went in harness with my ideas an’ pulled ‘em through. In less than a week the schoolhouse was covered on the outside, the roofing was goin’ on, an’ four big ol’ wagons worth a cedar an’ pine was stacked outside. I went to work. I gotta admit the reason for me bein’ in Deer Run suffered for it. I got a leanin’ to git caught up in workin’ some, an’ for the next couple a weeks I was on site twelve to fourteen hours a day, doin’ what I like to do an’ tryin’ to get that schoolhouse ready for the kids. Charlie watched me some for a day or two, then just kindly backed away an’ let me take over the inside while some other boys split shakes an’ got the place roofed up nice an’ tight. I didn’t have one helper, I had as many as I needed an’ things moved on purty quick.

  One night in about the third week, I was workin’ by lamplight fittin’ the last two by ten into the top of them cabinets down the west wall. I got it in near midnight. They wasn’t finished a course. Scapin’ an’ smoothin’ took full daylight so a fella could git a good eye on things. When I finished settin’ that board, I stretched a bit ‘cause it was bent over work, hoisted my small bag a tools up by the shoulder strap, an’ headed out to Miz Clary’s place. I wasn’t worried about losin’ too much sleep. The next day was Sunday. I’d work on the Sabbath too, but nobody else would. I could go back as late in the morning as I cared to.

  Since I’d been in town for a while, I purty much knowed my way around. I was walkin’ down a alley, takin’ a shortcut back to the roomin’ house when I heard a argument. There was a little ol’ house near the end a the alley where a couple a whores from one a the saloons did some business. I’d seen fellas comin’ in an’ out of there now an’ then. I eased back into some deep shadow an’ listened.