The Deer Run Trail

by David R Lewis

  “Yer a little late for breakfast, Mister Beeler,” she said, “but I saved back a couple a biscuits that’ll still be good. There’s some bacon fried that I can heat in the skillet for ya. How do ya like your eggs?”

  “Well, M’am, I didn’t give you no notice on breakfast or nothin’,” I said.

  “That don’t make no difference this mornin’,” she said. “Fried sunny side up all right with you?”

  “Yes, M’am. That there would be just right,” I said.

  “A man that does what you done for that father an’ his poor child yesterday deserves a good meal after a long night’s sleep. You saved them folks from them heathens. That was God’s work, Mister Beeler, God’s work. And you done it. The least I can do in the face a all that is feed you a good solid breakfast. Truth be spoken, I’m a little drawn to you. My boy Archie woulda been about your age if he’d have lived.”

  She turned her back on me then, an’ got to shakin’ her head some while she fussed over the stove. It come to me that she was cryin’ a mite, an’ my chest got kindly heavy at the thought of it. Them eggs was poppin’ in the skillet when I spoke up.

  “Miz Clary,” I said, “I don’t have no memory of my momma. Even though I never really knowed her, sometimes I have felt like I kindly miss her. I would be right pleased if you would call me Ruben, M’am.”

  It was another minute or two ‘til she set that plate a biscuits, bacon, an’ eggs in front of me. She put it down an’ stepped behind me toward the door.

  “You eat up now,” she said, “an’ clean your plate. I’m real proud of ya, Ruben.”

  She left then, an’ I could hear her goin’ toward the back a the house. I cleaned my plate, but I wondered how a fella could feel so full an’ so empty at the same time.

  After I et, I struck off down to Arliss’ place. It was only two or three blocks, but on that walk several fellas spoke to me an’ tipped their hats. One ol’ boy come up an’ had to shake hands with me. Not only that, but a couple a real ladies nodded to me. One even throwed a “God bless you” my way. When I passed by the drygoods store, the fella there come outside and stopped me.

  “Mister Beeler,” he said, “the town is grateful to you for what you did for that man and his daughter. It took courage. You are a valuable and valued member of the community. I would like to shake your hand.”

  I shook with him an’ thanked him for his words.

  “Son,” he said, “anything you might need from my store today is twenty, no, make that thirty percent off.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “I’ll take you up on that offer. I had to cut up that green shirt I bought from you folks so that girl could hold the cloth on her daddy’s bullet holes.”

  “I recall the shirt and your size,” he said. “I’ll pull one out for you. You like pale yellow?”

  “Yessir,” I said. “Just fine.”

  “I’ll get you one in that color too, no charge. You can pick them up later in the day.”

  “That’s awful nice of you,” I said.

  “You deserve it,” he said, an’ went back in the store.

  Arliss was at his bench, takin’ the grips offa Colt when I went in his place.

  “Sleep in, did ya?” he asked.

  “I did,” I said. “Then Miz Clary gimme a breakfast of bacon an’ eggs, an’ biscuits. Said I put her in mind of her son. He died for some reason.”

  Arliss smiled as he took out a little spring with some tweezers.

  “Several times when I was walkin’ over here folks paid some attention to me,” I said. “The man at the drygoods store gimme a shirt to replace the one I had to cut up, an’ another one, too.”

  “That make you feel good?” Arliss asked me.

  I tolt him that it did, an’ then agin, it didn’t.

  His smile come back an’ he nodded some. “Appreciation can be nice,” he said. “Recognition can get a little worrisome. It’ll pass, Rube. You ain’t the kind a feller that covets fame.”

  I wasn’t too sure what he meant, but it was good to know that he had a handle on things. I hung around for a while, watchin’ him pick at that Colt, then figgerd I’d go to the bank with my money when this lady come in. She said her name, but I disremember what it was. She brung me a apple pie. To the best a my memory, I’d never even see’d her afore, but she still brung that pie. She said she’d come back in a couple a days to git the pan, an’ left.

  It set me sideways a little bit that she done that, but Arliss just said somethin’ about folks appreciatin’ what I done. Then he took his Barlow knife an’ cut hisself out a few bites an’ carried the rest a that pie in the back. I went on to the bank an’ opened up me a account. Them folks there went on about what I done an’all some. I got out as quick as I could. When I got back to Arliss’ shop, I had four big ol’ cinnamon rolls waitin’ on me, an’ a tall white cake. Arliss allowed as how, if things kept up the way they was, we could open a sweet shop an’ git rich.

  I asked to borrow his wagon to go git some cedar planks an’ he agreed. Just as I was fixin’ to head for the livery, damn if Arberry Yont didn’t walk in the place.

  He nodded at Arliss an’ spoke to me. “Mister Beeler,” he said, “could you spare me a moment of your time?”

  “Yessir,” I said. “A course I can, Sheriff. What can I do for ya?”

  “Mister Beeler,” he said, “I don’t care for the way you and me left things last evening. You had a day that would have knocked the stuffin’ outa almost anybody. And I came at ya like a bull instead a takin’ into account everthing that you’d been through. The plain truth is, you did this world a service, and I didn’t give that the respect it deserved. Instead, you and me both, I believe, said some things we probably should not have said and behaved in a manner that we regret. At least I do. I came to exchange apologies with you if you can see your way clear to do that.”

  “Sheriff,” I said, “I shot two men yesterday an’ I am afraid I took some a my bad feelin’s about that out on you. I shouldn’t a done that. As far as I am concerned, if we had a hatchet, I’d help ya bury the durn thing.”

  Yont actually smiled an’ stuck out his hand. I shook with him.

  “They was one thing that I said to you last evening that I will not take back,” he said. “I told you I thought that you had sand, Mister Beeler. My mind ain’t changed on that one bit.”

  “Much obliged,” I said. “Comin’ from you, I consider that to be quite a compliment.”

  He looked at the baked goods on the counter. “Don’t you boys founder on that cake and get cast in your stall,” he said, an’ went out the door.

  I looked at Arliss. “Butthole,” he said.

  “Wonder what made him do that?” I asked.

  “You’re popular right now, boy,” Arliss said. “Word has no doubt got around how he come at you in the Sweetwater, an’ how you didn’t back down. Made him look bad. He’s tryin’ to fix that. If you an’ him can git along, he’ll look better.”

  “Still, it kindly surprised me for him to come in here an’ say what he said.”

  Arliss grinned. “You and him gonna be goin’ on long walks in the evenin’ now?” he asked me.

  “Aw hell, Arliss!”

  “He ain’t got no use for ya, Rube,” he said. “He’d just as soon backshoot ya as look at ya. He just don’t want public opinion turnin’ against him. He’s a little scared of ya, boy. And he don’t like that one little bit. If ya was to disappear, it would suit him just fine.”

  I looked out the winda an’ seen a lady comin’ at us from across the way, carryin’ a covered dish.

  “Disappear is right,” I said, an’ headed for the rear of the place. “I’ll see ya later, Arliss,” I tolt him, an’ ducked out the back door.

  When I got to the livery, Miss Harmony had Willie cross-tied an’ was brushin’ him out.

  “I had a feeling you’d be here this morning,” she said. “Willie will be done in just a minute. I already picked his feet. He’s got som
e kind of bug bite on his withers, but it doesn’t seem to vex him.”

  “Thank you, Miss Harmony,” I said, “but you shore didn’t have to do that.”

  She give him a quick brush on the pastern an’ looked at me. “You’re right,” she said. “Maybe I should have just brought you some fried chicken or fudge.”

  I grinned at that. “Lord, no,” I said. “I already got a pie, a cake, an’ some sweetrolls.”

  “There will be more,” she said. “Maybe even a couple of invitations to dinner. That’s how ladies show their appreciation, you know. You’re young, you’re not bad looking, you’re single, and you’re a hero. You’re fair game now, Mister Beeler.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I tossed the blanket up on Willie’s back. Miss Harmony stepped back an’ watched. I had the cinch tight an’ was givin’ him the bit before she said anything else.

  “Doing what you did to help those people,” she said, “was a brave and selfless thing, Ruben. You may be the man I hope you are.” She showed me her back an’ left.

  I stood there, fixin’ to think about what she said, but Willie tossed his head an’ started nosin’ me for a piece a carrot. Just as well, I reckon. Sometimes, thinkin’ just gits the water muddy.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I made myself scarce until late in the day. When I left Willie at the livery, warn’t nobody around. On the way back to Arliss’ shop, I stopped by the Doc’s office. He had gone somewhere, but the fella that got shot an’ his little girl was there. He was propped up on a cot in a back room an’ she was settin’ with him.

  “Why hello, Martha,” I said to her. “That shore is a purty new dress yer wearin’.”

  “Thank you,” she said, just ketchin’ my eye for a second, then lookin’ mostly at her daddy. “The man at the drygoods place give it to me. They’s another one, too.”

  “Warn’t that nice of him?”

  “Yessir,” she said. “He give me a shirt for daddy, too, ‘cause his other one got ruint.”

  “An’ you, Mister Ponder,” I said. “Yer doin’ some better, I speck.”

  “I truly am, sir,” he said. “Me an’ Martha owe you a real debt of gratitude. I don’t believe either one of us woulda made it if you wasn’t there.”

  “That debt’ll be paid in full when you git well an’ you an’ Martha strike off to where you was goin’,” I said. “You eatin’ good an’ everthing?”

  “The folks from over in the café send us meals. Won’t accept no payment.”

  “I expect that lettin’ somebody do for ya when you really need it is payment enough for ‘em,” I said. “It don’t take much to feed a good heart. Yer team an’ buckboard in good hands, are they?”

  “Somebody has ‘em at the edge of town. The doc set that up.”

  “Good,” I said. “Is there anythin’ I can do for ya?”

  “You have done more for us than anybody could ever expect,” he said. “Martha and me both thank you.”

  “I’ll stop by tomorrow an’ check on ya,” I said. “You git yer rest. Martha, you get yer rest too.”

  “That lady from the roomin’ house said she’d come over this evenin’ and collect me,” the girl said. “She’s gonna feed me an’ has a pallet for me tonight.”

  “Miz Clary is a fine woman,” I said. “She’ll be good to ya.”

  I left then. When I got outside I had to stop a minute an’ kindly ketch my breath.

  The next mornin’ I took Arliss’ wagon an’ picked up a load a rough cut cedar boards for the inside a that shed. On the way back, I stopped by the hardware place to git few pounds a nails. The ol’ boy that had the place was a little fella with carrot hair name a Jeter. He was a jerky kinda guy, an’ he talked real sudden. I had trouble not grinnin’ at him all the time. The way his words chased each other around, listenin’ to him could wear a fella out right quick.

  “Mister Beeler,” he said when I walked in, “folks is makin’ a fuss over you right now, ain’t they? I bet they shore is, ain’t they, Mister Beeler? Ain’t folks makin’ a fuss over you?”

  “Some, Mister Jeter,” I said.

  “And why wouldn’t they, why wouldn’t they after you done what you done. Why wouldn’t they? Sure they would, they surely would you doin’ what you done and all. What can I do for you this mornin’, Mister Beeler? Is there anything can I do?”

  “I need about five pounds of finish nails, five pounds a number six commons, an’ some winda glass if you got any.”

  “You are fixin’ to build somethin’, aintcha?” he said. “Whatcha fixin’ to build, Mister Beeler? Is they somethin’ you’re fixin’ to build?”

  “The fella that’s openin’ that gunsmith place has offered to let me live in that shed he’s got, if I care to. I thought I might finish the inside in cedar.”

  “Cedar would work real good for that,” Jeter said. “That’d be fine with some cedar. Cedar would just be real good. You gonna put some windows in it are ya? You’ll need some windows for light and ventilation. Windows would be real good too, yessir. Good to have windows in a place.”

  “It is,” I said. “That there is my intention.”

  “Well then, Mister Beeler,” he said. “I got somethin’ you might be interested in. You might be interested in somethin’ I got. They’re right outside in the back. If you care to come out back, they’re right outside.”

  I followed him out the back of the store to a little storage building. He key’d the lock an’ opened the door.

  “They’re leanin’ up against the back wall there,” he said. “They are right there in the back leanin’ up against that wall. You look ‘em over an’ let me know. You just let me know after you look ‘em over.”

  He darted back into the store an’ left me there, feelin’ like I needed to set myself down for a minute. In the back a that shed was three double-hung windas, complete with pulleys an’ weights to keep the bottom sash where you put it. They was in purty good shape, too. The bottom panes was clear an’ not too wavy lookin’. The top panes had about a six-inch strip a stained glass along the upper edge in little cut an’ fitted squares of green an’ yella, an’ brown, all leaded together like they was in a church or somethin’. I was tickled. It would save me hours a labor to have them windas, an’ light comin’ through that colored glass would be right handsome.

  I carried ‘em outside, wiped some a the cobwebs an’ dust offa ‘em, an’ looked ‘em over. I believe the frames was made outa maple. Put a little soap on them slides, re-hang the weights on fresh rope, clean up them brass latches, an’ a fella would have windas to be proud of. I went back inside to face Mister Jeter agin’.

  “Did you look ‘em over? Look ‘em over, did you?” he said.

  “They ain’t bad,” I said. “How much you gotta have for ‘em?”

  “I don’t know how much they’re worth. Don’t know if they’re worth much,” he said. “They was here when I took over the place, right out there in that shed. Yessir. They was right out there in the shed when I took this place over. Make me a offer, Mister Beeler. I’d like a offer if you’d care to make one. Could you make one?”

  Lord. I couldn’t build nothin’ like that if I wanted to. I tossed him a offer so low, it drug in the dirt.

  “Two dollars each,” I said.

  His eyebrows durn near flew up into his hair. “Two dollars!” he said. “I don’t know about two dollars. Two dollars don’t seem like hardly enough. That just ain’t hardly enough, is it? Two dollars? Two dollars is awful low, awful low. Would you go four? Would you care to give four apiece for them windows?”

  “I could go three,” I tolt him.

  “Three?” he said. Three. Three’s better than two. Yessir, no doubt about that. Three is better than two. Would you go ten dollars for all three of ‘em? Whatdaya think? Ten dollars for all three of them windows? Could you go ten? Could so see your way to do that? Go ten?”

  “Ten it is,” I said.

  “Then we got us a deal, Mister Beeler
,” he said. “Yessir, a deal is what we got. Ten dollars for all three of them windows, all three of them windows for ten dollars. Ten dollars it is, yessir. Ten dollars.”

  I got my nails an’ laid them windas in the wagon on top a that cedar, paid Mister Jeter, an’ headed back to Arliss’ place. I kindly felt like I needed a nap.

  By afternoon two days later I had three walls covered in that shed. I like workin’ with cedar. It’s light in weight, saws good, an’ smells nice. It also throws splinters somethin’ fierce. Most times I didn’t wear no gloves when I did rough work ‘cause they slowed me down, but not as much as pullin’ splinters outa my hands. It was hot, an’ I was sweatin’ some. Time was passin’ unnoticed like it usually done when I was workin’ on somethin’. I was deep into what I was doin’ when a voice come at me.

  “Hey there, pistolero,” it said.

  I turned around and there stood about six an a half feet of Marion Daniels, a smile lurkin’ under that mustache a his.

  “Howdy, Marshal,” I said, pullin’ off a glove and acceptin’ his hand. “Good to see ya. You all right?”

  “I’m still able to kick a clod outa my way,” he said. “From what Arliss has been tellin’ me, you ain’t doin’ too bad, neither.”

  “I’m able to be up an’ take nourishment,” I said, grinnin’ at him.

  “I left my shotgun with Arliss to give me a excuse for comin’ by,” he said. “I cain’t talk with you much here. I’m camped out where I was before. I speck to see you an’ Arliss out there tonight after dark.”

  “We’ll be there,” I said.

  “Ya done good, Ruben,” he said, an’ walked away toward the front a Arliss’ shop.

  I give him a minute to git gone, then I went in through the back.

  “Tonight after dark, huh?” Arliss said.

  “I know the place,” I tolt him.

  “I gotta git me a ridin’ horse,” he said. ‘Willie might get overly concerned with the two of us on him. They got anything for sale over at the livery, you think?”

  “I doan know,” I said to him.

  “Maybe I’ll hike over there,” he said. “I imagine they’ve gone through what I give ‘em to board my mules. You wanna come with me?”