The Deer Run Trail

by David R Lewis

  “Yont just ain’t gonna set around an’ let things slide on by, ya know,” I said.

  “No, he isn’t,” Elmo said.

  “He’s rough,” I said. “He offered me two thousand dollars to leave town.”

  “Two thousand dollars!” Elmo kindly yelled.

  “An’ when I turned him down, he made it purty clear that since that didn’t work, he was gonna find another way to git shed of me. He’s even hired a couple a gunhands to come here.”

  “Still,” Elmo said,”‘if the town presents a united front…”

  “This town has had years to present a united front an’ it ain’t never happened yet,” I said. “Why the hell should it happen now?”

  Elmo smiled. “You,” he said. “You ain’t a lot more than just a kid, but you have come in here an’ shown more concern about this place than the folks that live here have in years. Yont has pushed this whole town around, but he ain’t been able to push you. That there is an example, Ruben. And it has made some of these folks a little ashamed of themselves. Most people find it a lot easier to stick up for themselves if they have somebody who’ll stick up for ‘em. That is not only who you can be, son. In your heart, that is who you are.”

  “Sounds to me like yer the one who oughta be givin’ a speech,” I said.

  Elmo chuckled. “These people don’t need nobody throwin’ a speech at ‘em. They need somebody to talk to ‘em and answer their questions and give a damn about ‘em. That’s you, Ruben. From the top a that big ol’ hat of yours to the bottom of those dirty boots, that’s you.”

  “Terrible nice a you to say that, Elmo,” I said.

  “You leave this to me, Ruben,” he said. “We’ll get it done.”

  I gotta admit, I walked outa his store thinkin’ that we just might.

  The next mornin’ I finished putting that pipe through my roof, an’ tarred it up real good so they wouldn’t be no leaks. I was just climbin’ down the ladder when Miss Harmony come walkin’ up. Her arms was loaded.

  “Good morning, Ruben,” she said, squintin’ in the sun an’ looking all purty an’ such.

  “Miss Harmony,” I said. “Ain’t it good to see you this mornin’.”

  “I brought you a couple of house warming gifts,” she said, an’ put her burdens down on the porch.

  “Well, what have you got there?” I asked her, walkin’ over to take a peek.

  “My father made you a boot scraper,” she said, an’ held it up for me to take.

  It was a good’un. Solid iron with two scrapin’ edges about three inches apart an’ a heavy wire brush built into each side fer gittin’ the mud offa the sides of the soles. It had four long legs on it, filed down into points, so a fella could push ‘em down into the ground an’ it’d stay put when he was draggin’ his boots through it.

  “This is just right,” I said. “I doan believe I even seen one built this nice. You thank yer daddy for me. I’m right pleased.”

  She held up a worn ol’ heavy wool saddle blanket. “This is for in front of your door to finish the job,” she said. Then she lifted up about a six quart copper pot, all shined up, with a white enamel inside. Under the top, too.

  “And this,” she said, “will sit on your stove for beans or stew. It was my mother’s.”

  “Oh, Miss Harmony, that there is fine, just fine. Look at it shine. I don’t know what to say to ya. This is so purty an’ bein’ yer mother’s an’ all, I don’t think a ever got anything as wishful as this is. Would you put it on the stove for me?”

  “Of course I will, Ruben,” she said, her voice kindly quiet.

  I pushed open the door for her, an’ she went inside.

  I just stood there by the door an’ watched her as she walked over to the stove an’ set that pot on it. It was sorta like I was froze up standin’ there. All of a sudden, I felt tears in my eyes. Miss Harmony see’d ‘em an’ come over to me an’ put her hand on my arm.

  “Why, Ruben,” she said. “What’s the matter?”

  “Miss Harmony,” I said, my throat all lumpy-like, “I ain’t got nothin’ that was my momma’s, not hardly even a memory. To have somethin’ that purty settin’ in my place that come from you an’ your momma, well, it just means a awful lot to me, I guess.”

  Miss Harmony put her arms around my waist then, an’ leaned into me. We stood there for a spell, kindly swayin’ back an’ forth a little bit. Purty soon she pulled back an’ wiped a tear from under my left eye an’ smiled up at me. I smiled back an’ she give a little laugh, then stepped away an’ commenced to inspectin’ my place.

  After a few minutes of lookin’ around an’ givin’ me her approval, Miss Harmony went to the door an’ stepped out onto the porch. I just couldn’t give up on her, yet.

  “Miss Harmony,” I said. “It’s comin’ on noon. Would you be able to git a bite to eat with me down at the Sweetwater?”

  “Since there’s no stew in that pot yet, I guess I would,” she said.

  I lifted my gunbelt off the porch rail an’ strapped it on.

  “You carrying two guns now, Ruben?” she asked.

  “The way things is, I believe it’s prudent,” I said.

  “I’ve seen your poster,” she said. “I believe it is prudent, too.”

  She took my arm as we walked down to the Sweetwater. We took a table near the center of the room. We both had the catfish with greens an’ cornbread. We was about halfway done when this fella come in. He was heavy-set, wearin’ a faded ol’ blue kerchief an’ a faded ol’ pink shirt that had started out as red. He carried a short-barelled Colt with a round cut grip in a cross draw an’ a Bowie on the other hip. His hat was ratty an’ rolled up in the front, an’ he didn’t hardly have no neck at all. He looked like he was sunburnt. His eyes was small an’ wide set, an’ his nose was broad an’ turned up so you could see right up it if ya had the will to look. He didn’t have no hair I could see, even above his eyes, an’ his upper lip was so short, his top teeth showed. They was yella. Lookin at him, you could kindly tell what he smelt like. If ya had yer eyes closed an’ smelt of him, I bet a fella could figger out what he might look like.

  He took a little two person table just inside the door, an’ looked around the room, grinnin’. When his eyes come on Miss Harmony an’ me, he stopped lookin’ an’ stared. Miss Harmony an’ me went on eatin’ an’ talkin’ but he never broke his gaze until Miss Margie come up to his table. She didn’t stay long.

  “Do you know that man?” Miss Harmony asked me.

  “No,” I said, “but I know who he is. His name’s Pig Wiggins. He’s a killer. Arberry Yont brung him an’ a fella named Arkansas Bill Cole to town. Cole is a pistolero. They’re here to deal with me, I speck.”

  “We can go,” Miss Harmony said.

  “If you want to, we will,” I said. “But we’re not done with our dinners yet.”

  Miss Harmony smiled. “We can stay a little longer, I guess,” she said.

  Pig stared at us some more, then Miss Margie brung him some coffee. I didn’t see real clear what happened then, but when she turned to walk away he leaned forward an’ she squeaked an’ jumped off from him. He laughed. I didn’t like the sound of it.

  I whispered to Miss Harmony to set still, then I raised my voice an’ looked out the door.

  “There goes Arliss,” I said. “I gotta ketch him. I’ll be right back.”

  I jumped up an’ hurried toward the door. Pig watched me comin’, but when I ignored him an’ didn’t change course none, he shifted his eyes back to Miss Harmony. I was at a trot when I turned on him.

  I hit the front edge a his table with my hip an’ all my weight behind it. The rear edge slammed back into his belly just below his ribcage. Hot coffee flew, an’ some of it splashed on me, but it didn’t make no difference. Most a the air in his lungs squirted out when the edge of that table drove into him like it done an’ he couldn’t git his breath. I kept my weight agin’ him an’ he started gaspin’ like, tryin’ to breathe but not havin�
� any luck. When his face started changin’ color, I pulled away from the table, took his Colt, grabbed him by the kerchief, an’ drug him outside. He was some heavy an’ staggerin’, still tryin’ to breathe. When we got through the door, I let him drop. He laid there on the boardwalk, gaspin’ like a carp. I knelt down beside him an’ slapped his face. Them little blue eyes a his found me.

  “We don’t treat women in this town like that, Pig,” I said. “I see you in here agin’, I’ll shoot ya. You can git your Colt at the Sheriff’s office when you can walk. If you decide you wanna come at me, that’ll be just fine.”

  He curled on his side then, holdin’ his belly. I left him there an’ walked around the corner an’ down the way a piece. Arberry Yont was settin’ at a desk when I walked in his office. He looked up an’ seemed a little surprised.

  “Your new dog shit in the Sweetwater,” I said. “He does it agin’, I’ll kill him.”

  I tossed that Colt on top a the desk, turned around, an’ walked out.

  Miss Harmony was still at the table when I got back to the Sweetwater. Piggy had took hisself off somewhere’s. I set an’ looked at her.

  “Miss Harmony,” I said.

  “Mister Beeler,” she said.

  We smiled at each other for a minute. “Would you be kind enough to walk me back to the livery now, Ruben?” she said.

  “That would be my pleasure,” I tolt her.

  When we got there, Homer was settin’ on a bucket, smokin’. I let him know I’d met Pig Wiggins. When I finished the story, he stood up.

  “I believe I’ll walk back down to Arliss’ place with ya,” he said.

  “That’d be right nice,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

  He brimmed his hat at Miss Harmony. “M’am,” he said, an’ started off.

  I grinned at her an’ hurried to ketch up.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I moved outa Miz Clary’s place that evenin’ an’ Marion moved in. When I tolt him about what happened with Pig Wiggins, Marion just shook his head.

  “Ol’ Ruben,” he said. “Went right straight at him, did ya?”

  “Yessir,” I said. “I couldn’t think a no other way to do it.”

  “I ain’t sayin’ you was wrong, son. Doin’ whatcha done was probably the only way you could a got through it without bein’ gunshot. Damn, boy, yer a pistol, you are.”

  I figgerd that was a compliment, so I didn’t say nothin’.

  “This gonna be the first night at yer new place for ya, is it?” he asked.

  “Yessir. It ain’t much of a house or nothin’ but it’s good enough for me.”

  Marion’s eyes sharpened up some. “Well, it ain’t no damn bug-filled soddy set out in the middle of the prairie someplace, drippin’ mud from the ceiling on the dirt floor, now is it?” he said.

  “Nossir,” I said, “I reckon it ain’t.”

  “Ya damn right it ain’t,” he said. “Ruben, a feller like you, at yer age, with his own house, money in the bank, a trade, an’ settin’ hisself up to be the sheriff of a town a over a thousand people, just ain’t terrible common! Give yerself some credit, boy. Lotsa other folks does. Now, git outa here. This ain’t yer room no more.”

  I carried the last a what I had over to the shack an’ put stuff away an’ such. It was gittin’ close to dark. I had just hung that brass lamp by the door an’ lit it when there come a knock. It kindly surprised me.

  “Hello?” I said.

  My door swung open an’ in come Arliss, Homer, an’ Marion. Arliss was carryin’ a bottle, an’ Homer an’ Marion was each carryin’ a chair from up at the shop.

  “Light another lamp, Rube,” Arliss said. “This here is a house warmin’.”

  He reached in his coat pocket an’ come up with five shot glasses. He set ‘em on my table an’ filled each one. I was some curious.

  “How come they’s five glasses an’ just four of us?”

  Right that minute, there come another knock.

  “C’mon in,” Homer yelled.

  Through the door come Clarence Banks, complete with a badge, a blue vest, an’ a smile.

  I was some foggy the next mornin’. I tolt ya before that I’m careful with drink, the one time I got drunk bein’ so distressin’ an’ all. I didn’t actual git drunk, but I could shore see it from where I wound up. I used the convenience an’ walked up to the shop. Arliss had a Winchester ’73 strung out all over the bench, peerin’ at it.

  “Durn fool lost count a how many shells he was puttin’ in it, an’ forced one too many. I got it apart without blowin’ it up or nothin’, but, Lord, it was worrisome there for a spell.” He broke away from the rifle then an’ looked at me.

  “Talk about the walkin’ dead,” he said. “Rube, you ain’t lookin’ right comfortable.”

  “My head hurts some,” I said.

  “I speck it does,” Arliss said, tryin’ to hold on to a grin. “I can feel it throbbin’ clean over here. Are ya fixin’ to die, ya reckon?”

  Right then it felt like somebody shot a arrow inta my left ear. I jerked from it an’ closed my eyes for a second. “No, Arliss,” I said, “I ain’t gonna die.”

  Arliss give up an’ full grinned at me. “I didn’t figure you’d take the easy way out,” he said. “Just a minute.”

  He walked off inta the back. His boots stompin’ across the floor didn’t do me much good. When he come back, he was carryin’ a little brown bottle. He held it out to me.

  “Take a swallow a this,” he said, “then drink all the water you can stand an’ go back to bed. “You’ll feel some better when ya wake up.”

  I took the bottle an’ smelt of it. “What is it?” I asked him.

  “Laudanum,” he said. “Some I got left from when I was shot. One swallow.”

  I took it. It didn’t taste terrible good, but no worse than the inside a my mouth to begin with. Then I went to the bucket an’ drunk two full dippers a water.

  “Take to your cot, boy,” Arliss said.

  I went back to my place an’ stretched out.

  I hadn’t laid there very long when the sun come through the east winda an’ the room shined over all gold like. That stained glass got to glowin’, all green and yella, an’ I couldn’t hardly stand how purty it was. They was colors in that place I had never noticed afore. The copper pot was kindly lit up from the inside or somethin’, settin’ there on that black stove. I went to sleep lookin’ at it.

  When I woke up, I was terrible thirsty, but my head was considerable better. I drank a dipper, put on my hat an’ boots, strapped on my gunbelt, an’ started up to Arliss’ shop. I hadn’t took two steps out the door when my stomach kindly flipped an’ it come to me how hungry I was. I passed Arliss place an’ went straight to the Sweetwater. I had just started on my sausage, kraut, an’ mashed potaters when Marion walked in. The second he come through the door, the whole place seemed to draw breath. That’s the way it was with Marion. He was right noticeable, special with that marshal’s badge on his vest. He seen me, come over, an’ set.

  “You breathin’ are ya, Ruben?” he asked.

  “Barely,” I said, shovelin’ in some more kraut.

  “That’s all right,” he said. “Don’t hurt for a man to git silly once in a while.”

  Margie come over, but he just asked for coffee an’ pie. It come on me then that I’d only seen him actual eat a big meal a couple a times since I knowed him. I didn’t say nothin’ about it. I just kept eatin’.

  When I finished up, Margie asked did I want some peach cobbler with cream. I said yes an’ she went off to git it. Marion took a sip a his coffee an’ looked at me.

  “Saturday, Ruben,” he said.

  “What?” I said.

  “Saturday evenin’ around five, there’s a big meetin’ over at the new schoolhouse. They’re gonna want to hear from ya.”

  “Who is?”

  “The town,” he said.

  “The whole town?” I asked.

  “A passel a fol,ks
I expect,” he said.

  Margie showed up an’ put that cobbler down. I warn’t so sure I wanted it.

  “You mean to tell me,” I said, “that Saturday a bunch a folks is comin’ to the schoolhouse to listen to me talk about bein’ sheriff?”

  Marion smiled. “That there is the jist of it,” he said.

  “Oh my,” I said, an’ kindly stiffened up, just starin’ at the top a that table.

  Marion shook his head an’ reached over an’ took my cobbler. He didn’t say nothin’ ‘til he’d et both it an’ his pie.

  “It ain’t gonna be so bad, Ruben,” he said.

  “I don’t know if I can talk to a crowd like that,” I said.

  “That’s why ya don’t talk to the whole durn crowd, boy. Ya just talk to one person.”

  “What?”

  “When you git up there, you locate one person on the left, one person on the right, an’ one person in the middle. Those are the folks you talk to. Ya talk to one a little bit, then another one for a little bit, then the last one for a little bit. Then ya do it again. The crowd thinks yer talkin’ to everbody, but ya ain’t. Yer just talkin’ to three people, one at a time. Takes all the pressure off. Then when it comes time for questions, you talk to that one person that asked ya somethin’. That way, it don’t make no difference if there’s a hundred people or a thousand people. You ain’t talkin’ to but one person at any given time. See?”

  “That kindly make some sense,” I said, lookin’ around the table.

  Marion chuckled. “I bet Margie would bring ya another piece a cobbler if ya asked her,” he said.

  I was just finishin’ my cobbler when the door opened an’ I felt Marion stiffen up a little. Walkin’ in the place come a fella near as tall as he was. He wore a black flat-brim hat with the front a the brim rolled down a little, a white shirt an’ a buckskin vest. He was packin’ two colts with black handles in a double crossdraw rig. His eyes was dark and slitted, he had a long thin nose, near no lips, a scar across this throat, an’ he was terrible thin. He seen Marion an’ brimmed his hat. Marion brimmed his an’ toed a chair back. The feller smiled somethin’ that warn’t really a smile an’ walked over. When he spoke, his voice warn’t much more than a whisper.