The Deer Run Trail

by David R Lewis

  “Mister Beeler,” he said, “I believe you owe the city some money.”

  My ruff come up some then, but I kept a grip on it. “Do I?” I said.

  “You got twelve dollars for work over at the Baptist church.”

  “Nossir,” I said, “I did not.”

  He squared hisself away a little bit. “Yessir, you did,” he said. “They paid you today. Twelve dollars.”

  “They paid me today, right enough, but that didn’t pay me no twelve dollars,” I tolt him.

  He shifted his stance some, straightened up his shoulders, an’ give me stern eyes. “Goddammit,” he said, “I just talked to the preacher.”

  I grinned at him. “Well,” I said, “I hope you didn’t talk to him like that.”

  His eyes softened a little an’ he glanced away from me an’ back, quick like. “Twelve dollars, Mister Beeler,” he said.

  “Nossir,” I said, “they paid me eight dollars. Four dollars was for the wood an’ some hinges an’ latch, screws, nails, an’ the finish oil.”

  He relaxed a little. “Eight dollars then,” he said. “You owe the city fifteen percent. That’s uh…”

  “A dollar twenty,” I said, reachin’ in my pocket. “I want a receipt.”

  He looked at me like I had bird shit on my hat. “What?” he said.

  “I want a receipt.”

  “A receipt?”

  “Yessir,” I said. “I don’t want another one a you fellas stoppin’ me on down the way askin’ for another jingle in the sheriff’s pocket.”

  “That won’t happen,” he said, some irritated.

  I could feel my face gittin’ a little warm. “I’ll tell ya what won’t happen,” I said. “You gittin’ a dime offa me without no receipt. You ain’t gittin’ yours unless I git mine. I ain’t refusin’ to pay, I just ain’t gonna without no receipt. Now, if you wanna slap leather against a unarmed man over a lousy dollar an’ twenty cents, go ahead on. I’m just as dumb as you are.”

  He glared at me for a minute, then kindly sagged. “Oh, hell,” he said. “I ain’t got no paper or nothin’. C’mon.”

  We stepped into the drygoods store an’ borrowed a piece a paper an’ a pencil from the fella there. I wrote out a receipt, date an’ all, printed my name at the bottom an’ signed under it.

  “What’s your name?” I asked him.

  “Clarence Banks,” he said.

  I printed his name at the bottom an’ he scrawled somethin’ underneath it. I got the fella at the counter to sign as a witness, got change, handed the deputy his money, put the receipt in my pocket, an’ him an’ me walked outa the store. Out on the boardwalk, he looked at me.

  “Pleasure doin’ business with you, Deputy,” I said.

  “Yer a feisty fool, ain’tcha,” he said.

  I smiled. “Feisty yes,” I said. “Fool, no. Neither are you, Clarence. You shouldn’t be runnin’ errands for that puffed up sonofabitch while he lines his pockets. I think yer better’n that.”

  “Can’t help what you think, Mister Beeler,” he said, an’ walked on his way.

  Arliss was settin’ at a table by the winda when I walked in the Sweetwater. I took a seat.

  “What was all that about?” he asked me.

  “I was gittin’ assessed fifteen percent a some money I made fixin’ up a church pulpit. I wouldn’t pay without no receipt.”

  Arliss smiled. “How’d the deputy do with that?” he asked.

  “We’re both still above ground,” I said.

  “Your sheriff told me today that I was supposed to hold back fifteen percent a any money I paid out to anybody for labor, and give to him.”

  “Yessir,” I said. “That’s the rule. He talk to you about a business tax, yet?”

  “No.”

  “He’ll git to it,” I said. “I don’t know how it works, but near as I can figger, ever business pays money on the first a the month. I guess Yont sets the rates. No way he could keep a accurate total on what a saloon or a whore or somethin’ like that makes to take a percentage. He charges the livery smith a dollar a day.”

  “Clarke?” Arliss asked.

  “Yessir,” I said. “He said he knowed ya. Recognized Willie when I went there. Said he’d put shoes on him once.”

  Margie showed up then, all smiles an’ wiggles.

  “Hello, Ruben,” she said. “Ain’t seen you in a spell. You all right today?”

  “I’m right well, Miss Margie,” I said. “This here is Arliss Hyatt. He’s a gunsmith come to town. Openin’ up a little place just down the street.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mister Hyatt,” Margie said, that dimple showin’. “We got chicken an’ dumplings with green beans today or hamhocks and pintos with frybread. Thirty cents for the chicken, two bits for the hamhocks. We got some fresh eggs, too. They’re five cents each.”

  Arliss had hisself three eggs an’ some frybread. I et the chicken. Them dumplins’ stuck on my teeth a little, but they was good. After he et his eggs, Arliss spoke up.

  “Marion has been telegraphin’ the capitol some,” he said.

  “Jeff City?” I asked.

  Arliss shook his head. “Washington,” he said.

  “The capitol a the whole durn country?” I said.

  “That’s the one, Rube. He’s been talkin’ to Charlie Devens.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “He’s the attorney general.”

  I just looked at him, an’ Arlis shook his head.

  “That’s the head lawyer for the entire United States,” he said.

  “Go along,” I said. “Really?”

  “Yessir,” Arliss said. “Been talkin’ to him about what’s goin’ on out here. Now the federal guvmint ain’t got nothin’ to do with enforcin’ no laws here in Missouri. States Rights purty much got that sowed up. Unless sombody’s doin’ some kind of dirt that stretches across state lines, the fed boys, unless they’re asked to step in, purty much stays outa things. Charlie Devens is, more or less, Marion’s boss. Marion talked him into gittin’ in touch with John Phelps.”

  “Who’s that,” I asked.

  “John Smith Phelps is our governor.”

  “You mean over in Jeff City?”

  “That’s what I mean,” Arliss said. “Marion is over there right now, meetin’ with some people. Among ‘em is Henry Brockmeyer and a man name a Elijah Norton. Brockmeyer is the lieutenant governor of the state, and Norton is, I believe, a member of the state supreme court.”

  “Them’s some high up fellas,” I said.

  “Yes, they are, Rube,” Arliss said. He was grinnin’ at me.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked him.

  “Bet you never thought you’d be huntin’ with the big dogs, did ya, boy?”

  I didn’t know what to say, but Margie saved me. She showed up, all bright and shiny, poured Arliss an’ me some more coffee an’ took our plates away. When she moved past me, she kindly rubbed my shoulder with her elbow. Plumb strange, it was. That spot where she bumped me spread warm out into my chest a ways an’ plum down my arm to the wrist. It didn’t last long, but it was pleasant in a queer sorta way. She come back in just a minute with the check.

  “It was nice to meet you, Mister Hyatt,” she said. “Now, don’t you be no stranger around here.”

  “I speck you’ll see more a me,” Arliss said.

  Margie patted me on the shoulder, an’ a bunch a warm lit up agin’. “About nine this evenin’ Ruben,” she said, “would be fine with me. I got a shawl in case it gits cool.”

  My throat was a little tight, but I spoke up anyway. “Miss Margie,” I said, “I’ll be by then.”

  She kindly bounced away, an’ Arliss chuckled.

  I didn’t look at him. I didn’t feel like it.

  Back in his little place, Arliss looked around. “I need a counter under these front windas,” he said, “with some shelves under it. An’ another one along the wall over here.”

  “You mean it?” I asked.
<
br />   “I do,” he said. “What’ll you charge me?”

  “I cain’t charge you, Arliss,” I said. “Yer my friend.”

  “You got to charge me, boy,” he said, “or it won’t look right.”

  “You ain’t actual settin’ up no store are ya?”

  “I am,” he said. “It was Marion’s idea for me to come over here and let me git myself took advantage of by the sheriff, but the more I studied on it, the more sense it made. I can work here and sleep in one a them two rooms in the back. I got a nice big shed for storage if I need it, an’ a outhouse, too. I can still go on the road some if I want to, but I can sell my place over toward Jeff City for more money than this place cost. I can park my wagon out by the shed an’ rent a little pasture for my mules. The way this country is fillin’ up, I can make a livin’ and never have to git mor’n thirty miles from home. How much you gonna charge me?”

  “Three dollars a day an’ materials, I reckon,” I said.

  “Fair enough” he said. “I’ll need some rifle an’ pistol racks, the front and back doors built up some, a good inside bar for the rear one, and a heavy lock on the front. I’ll get the smith to make some bars for the windows and you can put ‘em up. When can you start?”

  “Tomorrow mornin’,” I said.

  Arliss grinned at me. “We’ll see,” he said. “Depends on how much strength you got left after that walk tonight.”

  I et at Miz Clary’s place that evening. She served sliced ham an’ roasted potatoes an’ polk salad. After supper, I filled the water pitcher in my room an kindly had a stand-up bath with some hard lye soap that I don’t think ever would have wore out. I got out some clean socks an’ used a dirty one to rub on my boots some. I lathered up, stropped my razor, an’ shaved the best I could, only cuttin’ myself once, up high close to my ear. I put a little alum on it an’ it clotted right up. I got into my brand new pair of saddle pants an’ my new green shirt, then used that damp washrag to clean a lot a dust offa my hat. I pushed my hair back some an’ realized that I hadn’t been to no barber since I come to Deer Run. I tied a bright red kerchief around my neck I got for a dime at Skelton’s Drygoods on the walk back to the roomin’ house, slapped on some Bay Rum I got when I got the kerchief, put a peppermint in my mouth, strapped on my Schofield, set on my hat, an’ looked in the mirror over the washstand. A lot of the silver had wore off that mirror over the years, but I guessed I was passable. If I could git off someplace for a month or two by myself, I might try to grow a mustache. I tilted my hat a little to the left, an’ set out for The Sweetwater.

  Margie was settin’ at a table inside the front door when I got there, the lamplight makin’ her look as purty as a picture. I stepped in an’ she stood up.

  “Evenin’, Miss Margie,” I said. “Ain’t you lookin’ nice.”

  She dimpled an’ give a kinda curtsey or somethin’. “I declare, Ruben,” she said, “you look right handsome yourself.”

  I didn’t know what to say, but she took over, openin’ her shawl an’ holdin’ it out to me. I took it by the corners, outa reflex I guess. She turned her back to me an’ sorta snuggled up agin’ it so I had to kindly drop it over her shoulders.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, an’ stood up to the door.

  I opened it for her an’ she stepped out onto the boardwalk an’ waited for me. I got up beside her an’ she strung her arm through my elbow an’ started off. Next thing I knowed, we was on our walk.

  We strolled on a ways, her a chirpin’ like a sparrow. Her bein’ up so close agin’ me like she was, my ears wasn’t workin’ too good an’ I missed a lot of what she was sayin’, I guess, but it was nice. I had to change my stride some, her takin’ short steps like she done, but I got used to it. When we passed by Holman’s Ladies Store, she got a little excited.

  “I saw the prettiest blue dress in there the other day,” she said. “It was a lovely shade of royal blue with white lace trim on a high collar and around the bottom of the hem and sleeves. It had a full skirt and a real snug bodice with a million covered buttons. You think I’d look pretty in a dress like that, Ruben?”

  “I think you’d look purty in anything you cared to put on, Miss Margie,” I said.

  She kindly hugged my arm or somethin’ an’ laughed.

  “Don’t you just say the sweetest things?” she said, an’ started off chirpin’ agin’.

  We’d walked like that for a half a hour or more, I guess, when she said I needed to walk her on to her momma’s house. She tolt me which way to go, an’ that’s where we headed, but our route was gonna take us right by the Red Bird Saloon. I woulda crossed the street with her, but the Houston House was over there an’ I’d heer’d it was a tough place. I looked over that way an’ noticed a couple a whores standin’ out front, so we kept on goin’ the way we had been.

  We was just comin’ up on the Red Bird when two fellers come out the front, kindly hangin’ on one another an’ laughin’. They was cow hands or hayshakers by the look of ‘em, an’ drunk. I’d been knowed to take a drink now an’ then, but I’d only been drunk once an’ I couldn’t see the use of it. I steered Margie to one side so them boys could git past us, but one of ‘em noticed us an’ stopped, blockin’ our way.

  “I know you,” he said. “I got some beans an’ cornbread from you the other day. Yer that gal what works in that rest’ernt, ain’tcha?”

  “Yes, she is, sir,” I said. “Nice of you to remember. Excuse us please.”

  He focused on me in a off balance kind of way. “Cain’t she talk?” he said.

  “She can,” I told him.

  “Then why doan you let her?” he said, swellin’ up some.

  “I’m sure she’ll be glad to talk to you when you’re sober in the restaurant tomorrow,” I said, “but not when you’re drunk on the street tonight. Please give way.”

  “Please give way, my ass,” he said. “Who the fuck do you…”

  I shook loose from Margie, come up with my Schofield, an’ slapped him in the left ear with it at the end of a fair swing. It knocked him plum from the boardwalk an’ bounced him off a hitchin’ rail an’ down between two horses. I knowed his friend would be comin’, so, quick like, I swung around an’ leveled the pistol while I thumbed back the hammer. That feller durn near run right into the muzzle. It was about two inches from his forehead when he stopped. His eyes crossed some, lookin’ at it.

  “Nossir,” I said. “Not tonight. You collect your friend an’ git to wherever you was goin’. When he wakes up, you tell him it ain’t nice to use bad language around good women. If he has a problem with that, I am at his call.”

  That fella swallowed real heavy an’ backed away. I took Margie’s arm an’ we walked on. We hadn’t gone ten steps afore a bluevest showed up. It was Clarence.

  “Everthing all right, Mister Beeler?” he asked.

  Margie,” I said, “this here is Clarence Banks. He’s a good fella, I think. Clarence, this is my friend, Margie.”

  “Clarence,” Margie said, givin’ him a little bob.

  Clarence brimmed his hat. “You’ve served me a time or two in the Sweetwater, M’am,” he said. “Nice to make your acquaintance. Sorry about the disturbance.”

  “It’s done,” I said.

  “I seen it buildin’ up from across the street,” Clarence said, “but it come up too quick for me to git here. Don’t seem like ya needed much help.”

  “Nice to know you noticed, Deputy,” I said. “Have a good evening.”

  “Yessir,” Clarence said, “you two enjoy yer walk.”

  We went on a way, then took a side street a couple a blocks. Margie never said a word the whole time, just kept hangin’ on my arm. Purty soon she steered me to a little clapboard house an’ up onto the porch. She eased open the door an’ stood there, smilin’ at me.

  “You’re my hero, Ruben,” she said. “A hero always gets to kiss the fair maid.”

  She held her face up then, an’ closed her eyes. I didn’t know what else t
o do, so I leaned forward an’ give her a little peck on the lips.

  She giggled an’ opened her eyes. “Aw, Rube,” she said, an grabbed me by the back of the neck an’ just flat pulled me in.

  I swear, she opened her mouth some an’ touched my lips with her tongue! It kindly startled me. ‘Bout the time I was gittin’ used to it, she giggled agin, backed into her house, an’ shut the door.

  I got off the porch an’ out to the street all right, but then I just stood there, sorta locked up. I’m surprised somebody didn’t come along an’ tie a horse to me.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Arliss had moved some of his truck inside the shop by the time I got there the next mornin’. I come in the door an’ he studied on me some, cockin’ his head an’ lookin’ me over.

  “What?” I said to him. I was a little peeved at his close inspection.

  “I don’t see no claw marks,” he said. “Guess the stroll with Margie went off all right.”

  “Neither one of us fell down,” I said.

  Arliss nodded. “Looked to me like somebody did,” he said. “I stopped by the Red Bird for a drink last night before I turned in. When I left, there was one feller tryin’ to pick another feller up offa the ground under the hitch rail. The feller under the rail had a purty bloody head. Down the way a little, I seen you and that waitress jawin’ with a deputy.”

  “Shithead got foul mouthed while botherin’ Miss Margie,” I said. “I won’t put up with that.”

  Arliss’ eyes twinkled. “That little gal express her gratitude, did she?”

  “Yer life so dull you gotta try to live mine?” I asked him.

  “Years ago,” Arliss said, “I run across a little chestnut filly that I had to have. Paid good money on a good price for her an’ brought her home. Turned her out in a little pasture behind the house and just stood and watched her for a spell. She moved good, kicked up her heels now and then, shined in the sun and was shore pretty to look at. I was proud of her. Next mornin’ I brought her up and hitched her to a little high-wheeled gig I had at the time. I got up in the seat, took the reins, and popped a whip at her. Off we went, her struttin’, me grinnin’. We was a sight to see. After a mile or so, she lost her pace, a mile after that she couldn’t hardly pull her own weight. I couldn’t believe it. Little thing was shore pretty, but she wasn’t worth a durn in harness. Took a loss just to git shed of her.”