The Deer Run Trail

by David R Lewis

  “How high you want that cabinet under them windas?” I asked.

  Arliss smiled. “Whatever you think is best, Rube,” he said. “Anything you decide on will just get me grinnin’ like a ‘possum.”

  “I’m goin’ down to the yards an’ see what’s come in by boat,” I said, an’ walked out.

  I was about halfway to the livery when I seen Verlon Clarke comin’ at me drivin’ a wagon.

  “Mornin’ there, Rubin,” he said, reinin’ his team to a stop.

  “Good mornin’ back atcha, sir,” I said. “’Nother hot one a comin’ I speck.”

  “That’s why I’m gittin’ feed this early in the day. Harmony is down at the livery if you need anything.”

  “When you have time,” I said, “Arliss Hyatt is in town. Puttin’ in a little place down near the drygoods store on the main street. Said he wanted some bars forged for the windas.”

  “Arliss got him a place?”

  “Yessir,” I said.

  “Never thought that’d happen. I’ll go by an’ see him.” He clucked to the team. “Thank ya, Rube.”

  I nodded to him an’ walked on.

  I went on down to the livery an’ caught up Willie. I give him another chunk a stole carrot when I led him into the stable an’ tied him to a post while I brushed him down. I was pickin’ his feet an’ he was fussin’ at me about it a little when Verlon’s daughter walked in carryin’ a pitchfork. She was wearing a long blue skirt with a ragged hem, a man-cut shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a old straw hat, a pair a gloves, an’ her hair was loose an’ tied behind her head. It hung plumb to her waist.

  “Good morning, Ruben,” she said. “That gelding of yours needs more exercise than he’s getting. His hocks look a little thick to me.”

  I took notice an’ felt of him. “I believe you’re right, Miss Harmony,” I said. “He’s a little warm. It’s my fault. I been workin’ too much. Ain’t had time to git on him enough.”

  “If you like,” she said, “I could take him out a little now and then. No charge.”

  “That’s right nice of ya to offer,” I told her, “but I don’t know if he’d take a side saddle. Some horses don’t like ‘em much.”

  “I have no love for side saddles,” she said. “I’d have to use yours. I straddle a horse when I ride.”

  I felt my face git hot. “That’d be fine, Miss Harmony,” I said. “Right nice of ya to offer.”

  She leaned her pitchfork on a stall, took off her gloves, an’ hung her hat on a peg.

  “That buckskin broken to harness?” she asked.

  “I doan rightly know,” I said.

  “If he is,” she said, “our little carriage rents cheap. Maybe you could give him some exercise on your nightly excursions and save a little wear on Miss Margie’s shoe leather. Have a nice day, Mister Beeler.”

  She left then, an’ didn’t dally about it. I throwed a blanket an’ saddle on my horse an’ got the hell outa there as fast as I could. I was halfway to the lumberyard before it come to me that I’d disremembered my spurs.

  I unloaded the wood from Arliss’ wagon about noon, then I had to sharpen my rough saw so my day got slowed down some, but by dusk I had planks cut for the top a them two cabinets an’ ones to lay over the inside a the doors. Arliss had been gone with the team for a spell. I was puttin’ my tools away when he come in, carryin’ a box or two outa his wagon an’ a brand new broom. He looked at the boards.

  “Oak ain’t it?” he said to me.

  “Yessir. Stouter for them doors an’ better for the tops. Pine would dent too easy. I’ll use it for the shelves an’ such. It’s all purty dry. Shouldn’t warp much.”

  “You like stayin at that roomin’ house, Rube?” he asked.

  “It ain’t so bad,” I said. “Got a room an’ a cot. Ain’t much privacy an’ the food ain’t real plentiful, but it doan cost too much, I reckon.”

  “Why don’t you live here?”

  “Here?” I said, kindly surprised at the notion.

  “I been out in that shed, boy. It’s right stout. Gotta good floor, level an’ such. I got these two back rooms here in this building. I can stay in one and store in the other, plus still have space to reload and such. Hell, I’m used to doin’ a lot of what I do in that wagon. As far as I’m concerned, this here is right spacious!”

  “I never even looked at that shed,” I said.

  “Roof is good I believe,” he said. “Didn’t see no water spots on the floor. There’s a couple a mud dobber nests and such and some mouse turds, but it’s been empty for near a year. It looks to me to be about twelve by eighteen or so. It might be right cozy if them walls was covered on the inside an’ it had a couple a winders and a flu for a stove. You know a good carpenter?”

  Him askin’ about a carpenter struck me kindly peculiar an’ I grinned at him.

  “Rent free,” Arliss said. “We git along purty good. I’d even throw in outhouse rights.”

  “Lemme think bout it,” I said.

  Arliss looked a little offended. “You do that,” he said.

  I wiped my saw down with oil, an’ spoke up. “If the offer still stands,” I said, “I’m in.”

  Aliss snorted at me. “Took ya long enough to make up your mind,” he said.

  I went after Arliss’ job as hard as I could, workin’ ever day as long as I had light to see by. In less than a week, them cabinets was in, the doors was all built up, an’ there was shelves on the back wall. Arliss had this ol’ box with some deer antlers in it. I loaned him Willie an’ he took off for a two or three days to ride part of his route an’ let folks know where he was an’ what he was gonna be doin’. While he was gone, I cut some lengths a pine in kindly curly shapes, beveled the edges, an’ scraped ‘em out real smooth. Then I set pieces of them antlers in ‘em so they stuck out, oiled ‘em a little, wiped that off real good, an’ rubbed the wood with beeswax. When Arliss come back he had six long gun racks on the walls. He was kindly got when he seen ‘em.

  “Good Lord, Rube,” he said, “would you look at that? Them racks shine, boy. They surely do.”

  “On the house,” I said.

  On Saturday I went to the hardware store an’ come up with a big ol’ lock set for the front door. When I got back, Verlon Clarke was there with them bars for the windas an’ some extra heavy hinges for the doors. I got them doors hung an’ the lock in afore I quit, doin’ some a the work by lamplight. Sunday mornin’ I hung bars on five windas, settin’ ‘em in with big ol’ lag screws, an’ Arliss’ place was sewed up tight. He walked around, kindly proud-like, lookin’ it all over, then took me to the Sweetwater to buy me dinner. We hadn’t been set for a minute when Miss Margie sashayed up.

  “Mister Arliss,” she said, “nice to see you.”

  “You, too, Miss Margie,” Arliss said.

  She turned to me, lookin’ pretty an’ kindly stern. “An’ you, Ruben Beeler,” she said, “you haven’t been in here in days. You ain’t tryin’ to avoid me, are you?”

  “Truly I ain’t, Miss Margie,” I said. “I been workin’ real hard to git Arliss’ place fixed up. It’s his fault. He kept me locked in.”

  “Well, you’re loose now,” she said. “I have tomorrow off, Ruben, if that means anything to you.”

  “It does, Miss Margie. I’d be right proud to call on you late mornin’. Maybe we could go for another walk, say over to the Crystal Restaurant for dinner, then take a stroll around town for a spell to see what we can see.” The Crystal was at the other end a town an’ some toney. I’d never et there, but I’d heered folks said it was real nice.

  Margie brightened up quite a bit. “That would be just fine, Ruben,” she said. “Around noon?”

  “Around noon it is,” I said.

  “Sunday an’ all,” Margie said, lookin’ right prim and cute, “we got fried chicken with mashed potatoes an’ sweetcorn. That all right with the two of you handsome gents?”

  “That’ll be fine,” Arliss said, an’ she flounced awa
y.

  I spent the rest of the day sweepin’ up at Arliss’ place, then stompin’ around in that shed studyin’ on what I’d need to fix it up. Arliss was wrong on the size. It was closer to sixteen by twenty feet. He was right on the condition, though. It was in purty good shape. I was gonna need wood an’ nails an’ that kinda thing, but I was also gonna need a cot n’ bedclothes, an’ a couple a coal oil lamps, an’ a stove n’ pipe, an’ some winda glass an’ a bunch a stuff I never really considered before. It was gonna take more money than I had with me. I was gonna have to go on a little trip soon.

  Monday morning around eight I went to the Deer Run Drygoods store an’ bought me a gray colored town coat in some kinda linen material, an’ some bootblack. Even though I didn’t care for ‘em, I let the feller there talk me into a vest to go with that coat, a black one with thin little gray stripes runnin’ up an’ down the front of it. He asked me what color shirt I had for it, then sold me a white one with a stiff collar that stuck up my neck about a inch all the way around. From there I went to Holman’s Ladies Store and bought a lace handkerchief with little purple flowers stitched into it. The lady there folded it up real nice for me an’ put it in a little flat box lined with some tissue paper.

  I went to Clary’s, worked on my boots, shaved my face, fought with that chunk a lye soap agin, put on my new clothes, an’ headed out on my walk to Margie’s place. I hadden gone a block afore that coat an’ vest had me sweatin’ like a robber. I went back to Clary’s, took ‘em off, put on my red shirt, an’ struck off agin.

  Margie come out a her house afore I got all the way up on the porch. She was wearin’ a yella dress trimmed in white an’ looked as pretty as she could, which was considerable. We said hello an’ I give her that box with the hanky in it. She opened it up an’ squealed a little, then kissed me on the cheek, sayin’ how pretty it was, how much she liked nice things, an’ how good it made her feel that I thought a buyin’ her somethin’. She kept on chirpin’ about this an’ that while she tucked it up her sleeve an’ left the box on her porch swing. She kept talkin’ all the time it took us to walk the six or seven blocks to the Crystal restaurant.

  We went in that place an’ this fella come up an’ led us to a table, holdin’ the chair out for Margie so she could take a seat. Quick as a wink he showed back up with big ol’ cardboard menus for us with everthing they had to eat writ fancy on ‘em. No sooner had he left than this waitress, name a Pauline, arrived with water in fancy glasses, a basket of rolls, an’ a square chunk a butter on a little silver plate.

  Our table was covered up with a white cloth about as thick as buckskin, with big ol’ floppy napkins on it an’ two or three forks an’ spoons on each side a this shiny white plate. There was a crystal chandelier hangin’ down from the ceiling, an’ the chairs we was in kindly wrapped around a feller so I had a little trouble gittin’ comfortable with my belt knife.

  Margie ordered pheasant, but for the life a me I never could figger out why anybody would prefer to eat a pheasant when chicken, which was raised to eat, tasted so much better. I had a beefsteak. They had three or four kinds. The one I took was called a Kansas City Strip, an’ I gotta say that it was as good a piece a meat as I ever tasted. We had some wine, too, mostly ‘cause the feller said we should, but it tasted kindly sour to me an’ I had no likin’ for it. After the meal, they brung us some poofy little pillow things made outa pie crust. When I stuck a fork in it, it kindly split open an’ the inside was a type of thick creamy stuff with berries in it. It was terrible good. I coulda et two a them things if I’d had another one. After about a hour an’ a half we finished up an’ that feller brought the check. Eight dollars. Eight dollars! I coulda et every meal at Clary’s place for a week an’ a half for that much. I paid for it anyway an’ left a dollar on the table, but I couldn’t see no good reason to spend three days hard work on one meal, no matter how good the beefsteak was.

  We walked around town for a couple a hours, Margie window shoppin’ an’ sayin’ how much she’d like to have this an’ that, an’ how flattered she was I’d got her that hanky. Truth be told, I got kindly tired a her chirpin’ all the time like she done, wantin’ this necklace or that hat pin or whatever. Ever now an’ then she’d squeeze my arm an’ git up on her tippy toes to give my cheek a little kiss, especially if she was talkin’ about somethin’ she’d like to have. After a while, I walked her home, declined the pleasure of settin’ in the porch swing with her, an’ went on my way. To be honest, I was some glad to git shed of her. I wondered if the Deer Run Drygoods would take back that shirt an’ coat an’ vest. Turned out, they wouldn’t.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next mornin’ I went over to the livery, said good mornin’ to Verlon Clarke, didn’t see a bit of his daughter, an’ collected Willie. I took him back to Arliss’ place, tied on my slicker, bedroll, an’ saddle bags, borrowed a three gallon water bag, hung my Yellaboy in the scabbard, tied that little shotgun Arliss give me to the horn, put on the Schofield, hung my knife on the other side a my gun belt, an’ swung up.

  “When ya gonna be back, ya reckon?” Arliss asked me.

  “Quick as I can without ruinin’ this poor ol’ horse,” I said.

  He grinned at me. “Never did ask ya how your fancy meal went with that little gal,” he said.

  “Eight dollars an’ she wouldn’t shut up beggin’ for foofarah,” I tolt him.

  A laugh blowed outa him then, an’ he had to bend over a little afore it got the best of him. I waited.

  “By God, Rube,” he said, “you are a caution, you are. You learn anything?”

  “Some,” I said, feelin’ a little put off.

  “Then it was damn sure worth the eight dollars. You take as long as you need on the trip. I’ll keep a eye on your tools an’ such.”

  “Thank ya, Arliss,” I said, an’ turned Willie away.

  On the way outa town, I stopped by the Sweetwater Café an’ bought myself half a dozen biscuits left over from breakfast an’ some frybread. From there I went to the general store an’ picked up two cans a peaches, a slab a salt bacon, a little bag a coffee, an’ three or four cans of pinto beans. Goin’ out the door, I almost run into Miss Harmony as she was comin’ in.

  “Hello, Ruben,” she said, glancin’ at my load. “What’s all this? Are they finally running you out of town?”

  It took me funny an’ I laughed a little while she smiled. “You ain’t that lucky, Miss Harmony,” I said. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

  “I can stand it,” she said, an’ went on inside.

  It took me nearly two days a easy goin’ to git to Gasconade. I hit the main street late afternoon. I dropped Willie off at the livery, lifted that shotgun offa the saddle, took the Yellaboy out of the scabbard, put up with the feller there sayin’ how good it was to see me, an’ walked over to the sheriff’s office. Nobody was around, so I put the guns inside on the floor, set down in one a them chairs out front, propped my feet up on the rail, an’ waited.

  A little later, Homer Poteet come walking down the way, pickin’ his teeth. He stepped up on the porch, set down, eyeballed the street for a minute, an’ finally spoke up.

  “Rube,” he said.

  “Homer,” I said.

  He took a pouch an’ papers outa his shirt pocket an’ twisted one up. He offered the pouch to me, but I shook my head. He struck a match with his fingernail an’ lit up.

  “How ya been,” he said.

  “Fine,” I said. “You?”

  “Passable. What brings ya back thisaway?”

  “I need to git my money outa the bank,” I tolt him.

  “You spent that left over fortune already?” he asked me.

  “That there wouldn’t be a whole lot a yer business, would it?” I said.

  Homer let that one drift for a minute afore he spoke up.

  “Good to see ya, boy,” he said. “What in the hell is goin’ on in yer life?”

  Over the next few minutes, I tolt him a lot of it.<
br />
  “That explains some things,” Homer said. “A day or two ago, I got a telegraph from Marion askin’ if I’d care to be a Marshal agin for a while. I ain’t answered it yet. Marion, as you know, has a way a gittin’ people in dangerous situations.”

  “That’s true,” I said.

  “He is, however,” Homer said, “a good feller to be in dangerous situations with. What’s he fixin’ to do, ya ‘spose?”

  “Arliss tolt me he was in Jeff City talking to the governor or somebody an’ one a them court justices.”

  “Izzat right.”

  “Yessir,” I said. “Seems like he’d been exchangin’ telegraphs with the lawyer for the whole country, out in Washington.”

  “The attorney general?” Homer asked.

  “He’s the one,” I said.

  “That’s ol’ Marion,” Homer said, shakin’ his head. “He gits the damn bit in his teeth he’d tear through hell in a handcar ‘til he found some cold water. You remember how he took off down that slope on foot while we was tanglin’ with that Duncan bunch. I swear, when he gits like that, the ol’ bastard is bulletproof. Scares the hell outa me. Ten or twelve year ago, when I was young, he an’ me was out in the territory. We come on this little place that’d been burnt out. Near as we could tell, one feller an’ his wife an’ daughter had been kilt. Wife and daughter had been stripped nekked. Lord knows what had been done to ‘em before they got burnt up.

  “We tracked five riders for three days afore we come up on ‘em in a night camp. We’re layin’ up on a hill a hunnerd yards away, watchin’ the camp, tryin’ to figger out how we was gonna handle things, when ol’ Marion pipes up. ‘Goddam dirty bastards,’ he says, ‘fuck this shit,’ an’ jumps on his horse. Afore I can even stand up, he’s tears off an’ rides direct into the middle of ‘em, guns a blazin’. Right outa a damn dime novel!