The Deer Run Trail

by David R Lewis

  “When the smoke clears, his coach gun an’ Colt are empty, an’ five fellers are down, three of ‘em dead an’ the other two bad wounded. He takes their guns an’ such, an’ grabs the lead line on the remuda. ‘That’ll learn ‘em,’ he says, an’ rides off into the dark with their horses. I hung around until both them other fellers died an’ set out after him. I caught up around dawn. He never spoke a word to me about it. Still ain’t. He’s a bad sonofabitch, Rube, an’ a helluva feller to have on yer side.”

  I couldn’t think a one thing to say.

  “If he intends on straightenin’ things out in that town, Rube, I’ll be real surprise if he don’t git it done. If he wants me to come along, I prob’ly will. It ain’t like I’m no smarter than I ever was. I speck he’d take on a grizzly with a willow switch if he figgerd it was the thing to do. He don’t think much a most folks, but he thinks some of you, boy. I can tell. When Marion Daniels thinks high of ya, you doan wanna waste it.”

  I spent the night in the jail, got my money outa the bank the next mornin’, an’ agreed with Homer that, sooner or later, Marion would let us know what was goin’ on. I rode out then, an’ it come to rain a little. I got in my slicker an’ kept on. The rain stopped in the middle a the afternoon, an’ I made camp a hour or so before dusk. I was kindly nervous, like. Findin’ it hard to settle. I warmed up a can a beans over the fire, an’ made coffee. I was just fixin’ to eat when Willie let out a nicker. I eased back on my saddle an’ put that little shotgun down beside my leg, when come a shout outa the dark.

  “Hello the fire!” it said.

  “Hello yourself!” I yelled back.

  “Smelt yer coffee,” come another shout. “They’s two of us. Could yew spare a cup or two?”

  “Wouldn’t deny no man a cup of coffee if I had extra,” I said. “C’mon in. Slow.”

  They did, one of ‘em on a little scrub of a horse, the other’n on a mule. In my head, I wondered what Marion would do.

  “Bring yer cups,” I said.

  They come walkin’ in on the other side of the fire. They warn’t no cowhands nor hayshakers. They moved some like coyotes, kindly slinky, an’ was dressed in dirty castoff clothes.

  “Evenin’,” one of ‘em said. “Thank ye kindly fer the coffee. Yew all by yerself out chere?”

  “I ain’t never needed no comp’ny but my own,” I tolt him.

  He kindly grinned at me then, an’ I couldn’t see no teeth.

  “Git your coffee an’ take a set right there where yer standin’,” I said. “I’d appreciate it if’n you boys would keep close together.”

  “Close together?” he said. “How come yew want us close together?”

  I lifted that little stub shotgun up where they could see it. “’Cause I hate to waste shells,” I said. “Either one a you gits froggy, I don’t wanna have to use mor’n one barrel to hit the both of ya.”

  He looked back an’ forth between my eyes an’ the muzzle a that shotgun a time or two afore he replied to me.

  “We’ll be goin’,” he said, an’ then backed off an mounted up. In a minute, from out in the dark, somebody called me a sonofabitch. I trailed ‘em on foot for a ways, but they kept on goin’.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Maybe it was the fact that it still felt like it was gonna rain. Maybe it was my run-in with them two fellers. Maybe it was not knowin’ what Marion had on his mind. Maybe it was that Willie seemed a mite nervous. Maybe it wasn’t none a them things, but I didn’t rest well that night. I was up some afore dawn. I had enough coals left to warm up half a cup of coffee a little. I et two stale biscuits an’ finished that coffee, then saddled up, strung that shotgun on my belt for a change, an’ went on. By the time the sun was full up, I had gone a ways past the south side of Chamois an’ swung back north a little to pick up the road. Willie was still some full of hisself, fussin’ at the bit an’ tossin’ his head, wastin’ energy in a unaccustomed manner.

  By the middle a the afternoon I was gittin’ purty close to Deer Run when I met a fella an’ a young girl, by the sight of her his daughter, headin’ east. I sidled off the path to give their buckboard wagon room to pass easy. He tipped his ol’ hat an’ gimme a thank you. His girl, who looked about twelve or so, smiled at me shy-like, an’ they went on their way. Willie turned like he wanted to follow along, but I checked him back an’ off we went. We rode on another mile or two an’, all of a sudden like, I knowed somethin’ was just plumb wrong. I turned Willie around an’ he liked to jumped out from under me, tryin’ to git on down the way. I give him his head, an’ that little horse laid his ears back an’ flat run. I’d never turned him loose afore an’ he surprised me some, belly down an’ a goin’ for all he was worth.

  We was eatin’ up the ground when I heard a pistol shot purty close. Another one came right after. I showed the buckskin the bit an’ he slid to a stop. I swung down an’ dropped the reins, hittin’ the ground at a lope, followin’ on toward where them shots come from on foot. Warn’t but a minute an’ I heard laughin’ an’ a female’s cries an screams. Then I heard a fella yell something like “she’s a hellcat ain’t she Chet! Grab onto her. Git her!”

  I pulled the Schofield, busted through some brush, an’ come out behind a wagon. That ol’ boy that’d tipped his hat at me was layin’ on the ground beside it bleedin’, while another fella, about forty feet away was wrestlin’ with the girl that had been ridin’ on that buckboard. Another fella was out there between me an’ them two, laughin’ an’ yellin’ at ‘em. So I wouldn’t risk hurtin’ the girl, I shot him first. The one that was grabbin’ on the girl let her loose when he heard my gun go off an’ turned toward me, tryin’ to git some kinda hogleg outa his belt. I took aim quick an’ shot him in the belly. He went over backwards landin’ flat an’ commenced to scream. I turned to the first feller, thumbin’ my hammer back as he was pullin’ his gun, an’ shot him agin, the bullet takin’ him up kindly high on the left side of his chest. He give up on shuckin’ his piece an’ fell back.

  That girl was layin’ in the dirt, cryin’. I left her there an’ crossed to the feller I’d gut shot. He was wailin’ somthin’ awful. I pulled his old Colt out his belt, conked him on the head with it to shut him up, an’ tossed the gun back toward the wagon. I hustled over to the other one. He’d been hit in the hip an’ again up there on his chest. He was lookin’ at me an tryin’ to say somthin’, but he passed out instead. I went to the fella they’d shot. He was bleedin’ some from a wound between his right shoulder an’ his neck, but not too much. I knelt beside him an’ slapped his face a little. His eyes popped open an’ he started to struggle. I kindly held him down an’ spoke to him.

  “Settle down, Mister,” I said. “You ain’t in no danger. I shot them fellers that hurt ya. I’m gonna go check on the girl now. I believe she’s all right. You just lay still.” He looked up at me an’ relaxed some. I left him then an’ went over to where she was layin’.

  She was curled up on her side, her dress purty much tore apart, cryin’ in the dirt. I leaned down over her, but I didn’t touch her.

  “Now then, Missy,” I said in a low an’ quiet voice, “yer all right. Them fellers cain’t hurt you no more. Yer daddy, I believe it is, has been shot, but he ain’t hurt too bad. Yer safe now, an’ so is he. Just lay still for a minute an’ I’ll git somethin’ to cover you up.”

  Willie had come on up to see what was what, like I knowed he would. I pulled my slicker offa my saddle an’ hustled back to where she was an’ put it over her, then kindly lifted her up a mite an’ wrapped it around her some for modesty an’ such. When I done that, she clutched at me an’ hung on. I stood up with her, snapped the slicker closed up at her neck, an’ walked her over to where her daddy laid. He was full awake an’ strugglin’ to set up. She fell to her knees beside him an hung onto his good arm. He looked at me an’ spoke up.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  I smiled at him. “Yer right welcome, sir,” I said. “Them’s a pair a wrong fe
llas.”

  He laid back down then an’ settled.

  During the next few minutes I poured water over his wound, front an’ back because the round had gone clean in an’ out. His collarbone was twisted up some an’ his shoulder sat low. I figgerd the bullet broke that collarbone on the way through. I tore up my green shirt an’ made a pad of it so the girl had somethin’ to hold up agin them holes. I eased him up into the back of their wagon an’ stretched him out, an’ she clumb up there with him.

  “What’s yer name, girl,” I asked her.

  “Martha Ponder,” she said.

  “Martha, my name is Ruben,” I said. “Did them fellers hurt you serious anywhere?”

  “Nossir,” she said. “They woulda if’n you didn’t come along. You moved off the road for us today, didn’t ya?”

  “Yes, I did,” I said.

  She started to cry some then. “You just settle in up there an’ hold that cloth up agin’ yer daddy’s wounds,” I said. “I’ll take care of them bad fellers an’ git you an’ yer wagon back into Deer Run. Don’t you worry none. We’ll git yer daddy fixed up. He’ll git through this fine. So will you, sweetheart. Rest easy now.”

  Them boys was ridin’ a broke down little horse an’ a ragged ol’ mule. When I seen that, I was sure they was the two that come beggin’ coffee from me the night afore. It took some effort, but I hoisted both of ‘em across their mounts, face down, an’ tied ‘em there. They was both alive when I lifted ‘em on an’ one of ‘em complained some about it. I didn’t cry for ‘em none. I tied that horse an’ the mule to the back of the buckboard, then hitched Willie’s reins up around the saddle horn. I knowed he’d follow along. I clumb up on the wagon an’ slapped reins on the team. They tried to go, but couldn’t. That mule was balked, his legs set against the ground, refusin’ to move. I wasn’t in no mood for a stubborn damn mule. I got down, walked back to him, an’ pulled on the reins. Nossir, he said, I ain’t a goin’. I lifted that shotgun up an’ thumped him with the barrels, right smart an’ between his eyes. I got back up on the buckboard an’ slapped reins agin. Off we went, purty as you please, that mule comin’ along like a family dog.

  It took over a hour to git to town. By the time we got down the main street, around the corner a block or two from the Houston House, an’ down to the doctor’s office, we had quite a herd a folks taggin’ along. Two bluevests were in the pack. One of ‘em was Clarence Banks.

  “What’s goin’ on here, Mister Beeler?” he said.

  “Them two fellers on the mule an’ the horse shot this feller in the wagon an’ was fixin’ to use his daughter, Martha,” I said. “I stopped ‘em. They was both alive when I tied ‘em on. I don’t know what shape they’re in now.”

  A voice from the crowd spoke up. “They’re dead,” it said.

  “You shoot these men, Mister Beeler?” Clarence asked.

  “Yes, I did, Clarence, an’ I wish you’d call me Ruben,” I said. “After all we been through together, you oughta use my first name.”

  I stood up in the buckboard an’ looked at the crowd. “A couple a you fellers ketch aholt a this man in the wagon an’ git him toted into the doctor’s office. Be nice if one a you ladies was to help his daughter out. She’s been knocked around some an’ could use a woman’s touch an’ comfort.”

  The crowd kindly surged forward then an’ got to it. I jumped down an’ walked out into the street to where Willie was standin’ an’ collected him. Clarence followed along.

  “Mister Beeler…uh, Ruben,” he said, “the Sheriff is gonna want to see you about this.”

  “Clarence,” I said, “you tell Arberry if he wants to talk about anything, I’ll either be at the gunsmith’s place or in the Sweetwater. I’ve had a hard day. If’n Arberry wants to talk he can, by God, come to me. You can also tell the Doc that I’ll stand good for this fella’s bill, an’ the lady at the dress shop that I’ll pay for the girl to git a couple a new dresses. As for the undertaker, he’s on his own with these two pieces a shit.”

  I clumb up on Willie then, an’ rode down to Arliss’ place. He was standin’ out front watchin’ me come.

  “Welcome back,” he said. “What’s all the fuss about?”

  “Not much,” I said. “I just saved a fella from dyin’, his daughter from bein’ raped an’ kilt, an’ shot two fellas to death this afternoon. You buy supper an’ I’ll tell you the whole heroic story.”

  “You wanna go back to the Crystal?” he asked.

  “Aw, hell,” I said.

  “You go clean up a little,” Arliss said. “I’ll take your horse down to the livery for ya an’ meet you at the Sweetwater.”

  I thanked him an’ walked to Miz Clary’s.

  Didn’t take me long to wash my face an’ change shirts. I left the shotgun behind but kept the Schofield an’ walked on down to the Sweetwater. There was several folks inside when I got there, an’ a few nodded at me when I come in. I nodded back an’ took a seat back from the window a ways. I hadden more than set, when here come Margie, big ol’ grin on her face, near skippin’ in my direction.

  “Ruben!” she said, like she hadn’t seen me in a year, “folks in here sayin’ yer a hero!”

  “Me an’ Bill Cody is about the best there is, I guess,” I said.

  “Don’t be like that,” she said. “They claim you saved a family from a bunch a outlaws!”

  “I cain’t help what folks say,” I said. “Wasn’t much to it, at least not near as much as there will be a couple a days from now, the way people talk.”

  Arliss showed up then, an’ set.

  Margie smiled at him. “Arliss,” she said, “I guess you know yer settin’ with a hero.”

  “Shore I do,” Arliss said. “He’s a rare one, no doubt about that. A privilege just to be in the same room with the boy. I wanna be just like him when I grow up.”

  Margie appeared to be some confused. “We got some good roast beef tonight,” she said, lookin’ for familiar ground. “It comes with taters an’ carrots.”

  “That’ll do for both of us,” Arliss said. “Me an’ the hero here thank ya.”

  She skittered away an’ I looked at Arliss.

  “You havin’ fun?” I asked.

  “I’m havin’ a great time,” he said. “How ‘bout you?”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Goddammit, Arliss,” I said.

  “You ain’t fixin’ to draw down on me are ya?” he said.

  I purty much fell in the well then. It took a minute for me to settle down.

  About the time I got a grip, High Sheriff Arberry Yont showed up an’ strutted over to the table.

  “Ruben!” he said, “are you doin’ all right?”

  “Arberry!” I said, “I am. Thanks for askin’.”

  “I hear you had a helluva day, son.”

  “Yessir,” I said. “I did. And I’m plumb tired to be honest with ya.”

  “Are you fit enough to tell me what happened?” he asked.

  I give him a short version. When I finished, he kindly puffed up.

  “That goes along with what that poor little girl told me,” he said. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary to have a formal hearing on charges against you or anything like that.”

  When he said what he said, my ruff come up an’ I got some mouthy. “Ya damn right there won’t,” I said. “Everthing that happened was in the county. You ain’t got no authority out there. You’re the city law, Sheriff, an’ that’s where it ends.”

  Arberry flinched a little when I come at him like that. “Now hold on,” he said. “Yer settin’ in my town. My town, my rules. You need to remember that, son.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me, Sheriff,” I said. “I’ve had a hard day. But you need to understand somethin’. I know who my daddy was, an’ you ain’t him. An’ unless you can show me a deed, this town don’t belong to you no more than it does to anybody else.”

  “I will excuse you this time, Mister Beeler,” he said, “but this time on
ly. And you need to understand that.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff,” I said. “I always appreciate a good threat. I’m in Deer Run an’ I will play by the rules an’ not give you no trouble, ‘cause that’s what I want to do. But as long as both of us is bein’ so understandin’, understand that the Duncan gang over by Gasconade didn’t scare me much when we took them down. Damn near nothin’ else does neither, sir.”

  That stopped Yont for a minute, then he opened his mouth agin.

  “You got sand, Ruben, I shore do give you that. I’m always lookin’ for good men with sand. Would you ever consider being a city deputy?”

  “That’s a right kind offer,” I said, knowin’ I should just shut up, “but I never liked wearin’ a vest. Green is more my color anyway.”

  “Suit yourself, son,” he said, an’ thumped out.

  Arliss looked at me. “I don’t believe you made a new friend here tonight,” he said.

  “I doan speck I did neither,” I said.

  “Ruben, what the hell is the matter with you?”

  “I’m hungry,” I said.

  “That’s a relief,” Arliss said. “For a minute there, I thought you might just be stupid.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It took me a while to settle down that night, but when I did, I slept hard. I plumb missed daybreak the next mornin’. When I come down from my room, Miz Clary was in the kitchen. She got my attention when I walked by.

  “Mister Beeler,” she said to me, “you c’mon in here now and set yerself.”

  I hadn’t mentioned I was gonna want no breakfast or nothin’. It was a house rule you had to give her advance notice on meals. I set down at that little table she kept in the kitchen, an’ she put a cup a coffee in front a me along with a little pitcher a pale yella cream an’ a sugar bowl.

  “Thank ya, M’am,” I said. “This here’s right nice.”