The Deer Run Trail

by David R Lewis

  “Mornin’ Sheriff,” I said. “Take a seat. I’ll stand breakfast for ya if’n yer hungry.”

  He set an’ looked at me for a minute, then kindly shook his head. “Ruben,” he said, “I don’t know what I am gonna do with you. I swear I don’t. You are becomin’ a thorn in my side, son, an’ I can’t have it. I have lost two deputies because of you.”

  “Could be three,” I said. “Maybe I knifed that one fella.”

  “I know better’n that,” Arberry said. “You ain’t the kind to sneak up an’ stick a butcher knife in anybody. There’s just those two.”

  “Sheriff Yont,” I said, “You ain’t lost two deputies ‘cause a me. You lost them boys because a you. You didn’t havta send nobody sneakin’ around behind me. After the first time, I tolt ya I wouldn’t stand for it, an’ ya done it again anyway.”

  The waitress showed up with a cup a coffee for him. He took a sip, made a face, an’ looked at me again.

  “Ruben,” he said, “I think you are a helluva young man, an’ that is the truth of it. I’d take you on as a deputy in a heartbeat if you’d do it an’ take orders from me. And now I hear that yer thinkin’ about runnin’ for sheriff. I need two more years in this town. Two more years. In two more years I’ll be gone from this place an’ in Jeff City. These folks can have this shithole back an’ be welcome to it. I won’t have no more use for it, period. But as it stands right now, I’ve already invested six years of my time in Deer Run. I cannot, an’ I will not, give it up. Can you understand that?”

  “Yessir I can, Arberry,” I tolt him. “I surely can. But yer suckin’ this town dry. That ain’t right.”

  Yont shook his head an’ sighed. “Then what are we gonna do about this, Ruben? What can we do?”

  “That’s purty much up to you, I guess, Sheriff,” I said. “But while yer makin’ up your mind about what to do, there is somethin’ that you need to know. You ain’t dealin’ with just me. I ain’t alone in this, not by a damn site.”

  His smile was kindly sad. “I got one more thing to try, then,” he said. “I’m gonna reach under my coat, Mister Beeler. Don’t git nervous.”

  He fumbled around for a minute an’ lifted a buckskin bag with a drawstring top onto the table. It was heavy.

  “In that poke are one hundred twenty dollar gold pieces,” he said. “That works out to be two thousand dollars. Two thousand dollars is a lot of money. It’s yours, Ruben, if you’ll just let this whole thing go and leave town.”

  Yont was right. Two thousand dollars was more money than most folks ever saw in one spot. I eased the top a that poke open an’ looked inside. Mercy. I reached in, took one a them gold pieces out, an’ caught the tired-lookin’ waitress’ eye. I tossed the coin toward her an’ she caught it.

  “That’s for my breakfast an’ whatever the Sheriff wants,” I said. “You can keep the change.”

  I turned back to Yont. He was starin’ at me, level like.

  I smiled at him. “Sorry, Sheriff,” I said. “All that money is just too expensive.”

  I turned the bag over an’ let them coins splatter out onto the table an’ floor.

  “Thanks anyway,” I said, an’ walked out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Arliss’ eyebrows were up. “A hundred twenty-dollar gold pieces?” he said.

  “Yessir,” I said. “Two thousand dollars.”

  “And yer still here?”

  “I am,” I said.

  He grinned at me. “Yer cylinder is short a round or two, boy,” he said. “There wouldn’t a been nothin’ left a me but a puff a dust and the sound of hoofbeats!”

  I laughed at him some.

  “You know what this means, doncha?” Arliss said. “It means this mess don’t have nowhere to go except trouble.”

  “I know it,” I said. “Did it ever?”

  “I reckon not. What are you fixin’ to do?” he asked me.

  “I think,” I said, “that I’m gonna go set my stovepipe an’ git that bottom collar put in.”

  “Oh, hell yes! That’ll make everthing better,” he said, an’ went back to fussin’ with that Remington.

 

  I went out to the shed an’ run a plumb bob from the stove to the ceiling an’ cut a hole. Then I run that bob from the stove to the roof an’ marked another hole. I put the pieces a pipe together, rememberin’ to slide each piece into the one below it so I wouldn’t have no creosote drippin’ down the outside of the pipe. I got the bottom collar fit in an’ everthin’ ready to do the roof when it stopped rainin’. I was standin’ on the porch, watchin’ water run off the front eaves an’ into my rain barrels, when Marion Daniels walked outa the back of Arliss’ shop an’ over to me.

  “Howdy, Marshal,” I said, steppin’ back to give him some room.

  Marion shook my hand. “I just heer’d that you turned down two thousand dollars to git outa town,” he said, shakin’ water offa his hat.

  “Seemed like the thing to do,” I said.

  “Well, doan let it gitcha down, Ruben,” he said. “Everbody makes mistakes. Homer know about yer meetin’ with the sheriff this mornin’?”

  “I ain’t tolt him yet,” I said.

  “I’m goin’ down to the livery,” Marion said. “Why don’t you follow along and we’ll jaw a while.”

  I put on that frock coat an’ went over to Miz Clary’s an’ got my little shotgun. I hung it on my gunbelt to the left side an’ tilted the holster for a crossdraw. The coat hid it some. Then I went back out into the rain an’ started off for the livery. After I walked a ways, I noticed my left boot seemed to be leakin’ a little.

  By the time I got there, the rain had picked up agin an’ it was really comin’ down. Marion and Homer was just inside the barn door. I hustled over an’ splashed in there with ‘em.

  “Toad strangler,” Homer said.

  Marion eyeballed me. “Where’s your slicker?” he asked.

  “Last I see’d it,” I said, “it was layin’ out next to a little spring pond west a here a ways. I forgot to git it when I trussed that deputy up.”

  “When you what?” Marion said.

  “Miss Harmony an’ me went for a ride Sunday an’ stopped by a little spring to eat. This deputy was hidin’ an’ watchin’ us, so I caught him up, tied him on his horse, an’ delivered him to the sheriff.”

  Marion grinned at me. “The hell ya did,” he said.

  “Yessir,” I said. “Miss Harmony helped.”

  “I bet that flew over like a brass owl.”

  “Deputy Clarence Banks said Yont run the feller off,” I said.

  “Arliss told me about your run-in with Yont this mornin’,” Marion said. “I told Homer here while you was walkin’ over.”

  “You turned down two thousand dollars just to stay here an’ git shot full a holes?” Homer asked.

  “Yes, I did,” I said. “I like the company.”

  “Tetched in the head,” Homer said.

  “Crazier than a puppy with two peckers,” Marion agreed.

  We watched it rain for a while, then Homer spit tobacco juice out in the wet an’spoke up. “You tell Marion about Arkansas Bill Cole?” he said.

  Marion took notice. “Bill Cole is around?” he asked.

  “That’s what our deputy tolt me,” I said.

  “Sheriff brung him in, I guess.”

  ”Yessir,” I said. “That’s what Clarence said.”

  “Ain’t that fine,” Marion said. “If Arkansas Bill Cole is here, Piggy Wiggins ain’t far away. Probably camped outside town somewhere.”

  “Who’d you say?” I asked.

  “Piggy Wiggins. Runs with Cole regular. Your height, mebbe a little shorter. Goes about two-fifty. Got a red face, little blue eyes, a wide short nose that’s kinda turned up so you look right up in it, an’ he ain’t got no hair. None. Not even eyebrows. Ain’t never won no beauty contest that I know of. Pig is tough though. Nasty bastard. Bill Cole usta have some honor, but I speck the last ten years has w
ore most of it off him. I ain’t seen him in five or six. If that sheriff has got them boys around, he’s right serious. Pig Wiggins is a danger. Mean by nature. No doubt about that. Arkansas Bill Cole is a shootist. A fine one. Helluva pistoleer. Mebbe the best they is. Not a lot a doubt about that, neither.”

  “I wonder if it’s too late to take that two thousand dollars,” I said.

  “Yer smarter than you look,” Homer said.

  Marion studied them clouds an’ spoke up. “This here rain is fixin’ to ease up some,” he said. “Let’s go to the Sweetwater an’ git somethin’ to eat. Ain’t no reason we can’t be seen together now.”

  Sure enough, in just a little bit things settled down some, an’ we struck off. Marion stopped in Arliss’ place on the way, an’ leanin’ up agin’ the front window was a sign in black on yella about fifteen by twenty inches.

  RUBEN BEELER

  For Deer Run

  SHERIFF

  Low law Taxes

  Honest Enforcement

  vote for

  BEELER

  “Would you look at that?” I said.

  “I had it printed up over in Jeff City,” Marion said. “Gotcha fifty of ‘em in cardboard like that an’ three hundred black an’ white notebook size on plain paper. You can set them big’uns in store windows an’ such, and pass them little ones out to folks.” I was kindly embarrassed. “That makes me feel queersome like,” I said. “I ain’t never seen my name all out in the open like that afore.”

  “Git used to it,” Marion said. “You owe me two dollars for them signs an’ two bits for the wax paper bag they was carried in. I’ll settle for a meal.”

  Arliss grinned at me. “Now that you are somebody,” he said, “I’m gonna be right proud to be seen with ya. My friend Ruben. Got a nice ring to it.”

  “Too deep in here for me,” Homer said, an’ walked out.

  The rest of us trailed him down to the Sweetwater.

  Arliss brung one a them big signs with him an’ headed back toward the kitchen with it while the rest of us set. Purty soon he come walkin’ back, stuck that sign up in the front winda, an’ come over an’ joined us.

  “It’s official now,” he said.

  Margie come wigglin’ over. “Good mornin’ gents,” she said. “We got chicken an’ dumplins or fresh catfish an’ broasted potatoes today. Both come with creamed peas an’ rolls an’ butter.”

  We all went for the catfish. While we et, we watched several folks walk by an’ notice the sign. Couple of ‘em got to jawin’ at each other about it an’ grinning. Mayor Eustice Forbes come by, seen it, an’ studied on it some. Then he headed out, steppin’ like he had business. Purty soon one a them bluevests walked up, looked at it, an’ come inside. He picked that sign up an’ started to walk out with it.

  “Hold on there for a minute, deputy,” Marion said, an stood up.

  The bluevest stopped and looked at him. Marion walked over to where he stood.

  “What are you fixin’ to do with that poster?” he asked.

  The deputy swelled up a mite. “Well, I’m gonna take it with me if you don’t mind.”

  Marion smiled. “There’s the burr, son,” he said. “I do mind. That don’t belong to you. Why don’t you put it back in the winda where you got it.”

  That deputy squared up on him some. “Just who in the hell are you?” he asked.

  “I’m United States Marshal Marion Daniels, deputy,” Marion said, an’ stuck out his hand.

  The bluevest took it an’ Marion held on to him. “Now then,” he said, puttin’ on some pressure, “there’s gonna be signs like that showin’ up all over town. Me an’ the Marshal Service would consider it a real favor if you’d take it upon yourself to be your duty to watch out for ‘em. I don’t expect any of ‘em to be moved or damaged, son. Since it is now your responsibility to make sure nothin’ like that happens, if anything does, I am afraid that I’ll have to look you up, real personal like, an’ discuss it with you.”

  The bluevest was kindly pale an’ chewin’ on his lip.

  “I appreciate you takin’ a interest in all this, boy, I shore do, an’ I know yer gonna do a real good job.”

  Marion let go of him then, an’ the deputy sagged a little. He collected hisself, put the sign back in the winda, an’ walked out, wigglin’ the fingers of his right hand. Marion set back down an’ smiled.

  “Nice young fella,” he said.

  We was on our second or third cups a coffee an’ the rain had purty much give up when Elmo McCoy of the drygoods store come walkin’ by. He spied that sign an’ stared at it for a minute then looked in the winda an’ seen me. In he come an’ up to the table.

  “Gentlemen” he said, “Elmo McCoy. Ruben, runnin’ for sheriff, are you?”

  “Reckon I am,” I said.

  “Well that’s a breath of air,” Elmo said. “Got any more a those posters?”

  I grinned at him. “You fixin’ to dress up yer outhouse are ya, Elmo?” I said.

  “Maybe after you win,” he said. “Can I get one for my window? Two would be better.”

  “In just a few minutes,” I said. “I got some handouts, too.”

  “Wonderful,” Elmo said. “I’ll git my wife to pass ‘em out at the church meetin’ Wednesday night. You got enough, she can git her friend Effie to pass some out over among the Methodist heathens. Shame we can’t all be Baptists. Got to have some folks that are willing to go to hell though, I guess.”

  That struck Arliss some, an’ he laughed.

  “I take it that you’d be a Baptist then, are ya Arliss?” Elmo asked.

  Arliss shook his head. “I don’t subscribe to no particular superstition,” he said.

  “Don’t let my wife hear ya say nothin’ like that,” Elmo said. “She’d shoot Jesus at ya out of a shotgun if she could get him in the breech.”

  Homer snorted then an’ Marion chuckled.

  “I hate to wear out good company, boys,” Elmo said. “I’ll be gettin’ on. By the way, Rube, that coat an’ vest you couldn’t return? New policy. Bring ‘em by when you can. I’ll trade ‘em out for you.”

  “Thanks, Elmo,” I said.

  He looked out the winda. “Appears like it quit rainin’,” he said. “Lord, I hope my wife is wrong. She told me this mornin’ that she wished it wouldn’t rain no more. If she’s right, it’s gonna be one damn long dry spell.”

  He left us then, grinnin’ at him.

  “He’ll be a help,” Homer said.

  We walked back to Arliss’ shop, but Marion passed it by an’ headed for the back. “I wanna take a peek at yer place,” he said.

  We scraped as much mud as we could offa our boots on the edge of the porch, an’ went inside. Marion looked around.

  “This here is right nice, Ruben,” he said. “You done some fine work in here. Gotcha some furniture, a woodstove, an’ would you look at that? Stained glass on your windas an’ a white ceiling. A fella couldn’t want much more than this, I reckon.”

  “Thank ya, Marion,” I said.

  “They got any open rooms over where yer stayin’,” he asked.

  “Miz Clary is gonna have at least one I reckon. I’m movin’ out.”

  “I’ll take that one then. How ‘bout you, Homer? You had enough a sleepin’ in a barn?”

  “I’ll stay where I am, I guess,” Homer said. “If things go to hell, wouldn’t do for two of us to be too close together of a night. If they was to surprise one of us, they might git ahead a both of us.”

  We all stood there for a minute, then Marion went back out on the porch.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  A little later that afternoon, I took that bag a signs an’ handouts down to the drygoods store. Elmo McCoy met me inside the door.

  “Helluva thing you’re doin’, Ruben,” he said. “This town has labored under Arberry Yont’s fist for too damn long. Good for ya.”

  “I brung all the signs an’ papers I got, Elmo,” I said.

&nbs
p; “Why don’t you just leave all that stuff here,” he said. “I’ll get a poster in every window along Main Street, over at the barbershop, down at the mill, the feed store, over in the yards, every place I can ‘til they run out. I’ll get those little flyers to the places that can pass ‘em out to customers, and churches and the like. Get your name and the good news all over town. When you wanna give your first talk?”

  “My first talk?” I asked him.

  “Yessir,” he said. “You got to do that. The election ain’t for over two months yet. You are gonna have to speak three or four times between now and then. Keep your face an’ words in front of the people. Walk around town sayin’ hello to folks and such. It’s called politickin’, Ruben. Yont’ll be out there doin’ it.”

  “You mean I got to git up in front of a bunch a people an’ talk to ‘em about why I should be sheriff?”

  “That is exactly what I mean,” Elmo said.

  “Lord,” I said, “I never even thought about nothin’ like that, standin’ up in front of a crowd an’ givin’ ‘em a speech or somethin’.”

  “You got a campaign manager?” Elmo asked me.

  “A what?”

  “Somebody to set up speeches and talk you up and go to businesses on your behalf and let you know what’s goin’ on in the community and make sure you are where you need to be.”

  “Nossir,” I said, “I ain’t got nothing like that.”

  “Well, you do now,” Elmo said. “Me.”

  “You?”

  “You bet, Ruben. I know that things like this have never crossed your mind, and why should they have? You are not a politician. That’s part of your appeal. You’re young, you’re tough, you helped those folks that got waylayed by those bad fellas you shot, you have stood up to Yont, you’re workin’ on that little place a yours right here in town, you’re likeable, and you’re nice to people. We top that off with you talkin’ from your heart instead of making speeches, with you dealing with people for the benefit of the town instead of yourself and what you can git out of it, and Yont is done for.”