The Deer Run Trail

by David R Lewis

  “Marion,” he said, when he got to us. He walked like his feet was sore. “Long time, no see.”

  “Been a while, Bill,” Marion said. “Set.”

  He eased into the chair like he was delicate or somethin’, an’ nodded at me.

  “Bill,” Marion said, “This here is Ruben Beeler. He is a friend a mine. Ruben this is Arkansas Bill Cole. He an’ I has knowed each other for a spell.”

  “Reckon yer the boy that took a pig to market yesterday,” Cole said.

  “Warn’t much,” I said. “Didn’t have nothin’ better to do at the time.”

  Cole glanced at Marion. “Thinks he’s tough, don’t he?” he said.

  “He is,” Marion said.

  Cole looked back at me. “Are ya?” he asked.

  “Ask yer pig,” I said.

  “Kinda tired a that pig,” Cole said. “Done me a favor if ya kilt him.”

  “There’s always next time,” I said.

  “There always is, boy,” Cole said. “Or the time after that.”

  “How ya been, Bill?” Marion asked.

  “I ain’t got no dirt over me yet,” Cole said. “Still marshalin’ are ya?”

  “Never could find a honest job,” Marion said. “I heard you was in town.”

  “Surprise ya?” Cole asked.

  Marion smiled. “Not much. You always was too damn fond of a dollar.”

  “Ever now an’ then,” Cole said, gittin’ to this feet, “a feller has got to spend one or two of ‘em. Buy hisself a new pair a britches.”

  “I reckon so,” Marion said.

  “Like this young fella here,” Cole went on, noddin’ at me. “He’s gittin’ a little too big for the one’s he’s wearin’.”

  We watched him walk out through the door an’ I felt myself sag some.

  “He scare ya, Ruben?” Marion asked.

  “A little,” I said.

  Marion smiled an’ nodded his head. “Me too, boy,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I stopped by Arliss’ shop on the way back to my place. He was at his bench fussin’ at a Sharps. I tolt him about meetin’ Arkansas Bill Cole.

  “Cole won’t come at you, boy,” he said.

  “He won’t?”

  “Not right off. He’ll take a run at Marion first. He sees Marion as his biggest threat.”

  “I reckon he does,” I said. “Marion can handle him though, can’t he?”

  “I ain’t never seen him in motion,” Arliss said, “but he’s got a helluva reputation. He’s a shootist, Rube. A damn good’un. Could go either way I speck.”

  Hearin’ that kinda news set me back some. I changed the subject.

  “That Homer’s gun?” I asked.

  “Durn near,” Arlis said. “It’s a forty-five seventy cartridge conversion. His is a forty-five ninety. And this’uns barrel’s four inches shorter. Had a cartridge rip open in it sometime or other, and the breech got scarred some. Hard to git a empty out of it now an’ then. I’ve had the thing for near a year. Got it on trade for a Henry. I’ll sell it some day an’ make a profit. Elmo’s lookin’ for ya.”

  “He is?” I asked.

  “Yessir. He was by here a little while ago. Wants to see ya.”

  “Oh hell,” I said. “All right. I’ll go up that way.”

  Arliss smiled at me. “Ain’t lookin’ forward to talkin’ in front of a crowd much, are ya?” he asked.

  “Truth be told, I ain’t, Arliss,” I said.

  “Kinda like wadin’ a crick, Rube,” Arliss said. “A feller hates to do it, but once ya git in there and git started across, it ain’t so bad.”

  “I got it to do, I reckon,” I said.

  “Never know, boy,” Arlis said. “Ya might even like it.”

  Elmo McCoy was arrangin’ some dishes when I got to his drygoods store. He stopped all that an’ come over to me when I stepped in.

  “Ruben,” he said, “guess you heard about the meetin’ on Saturday.”

  “Yessir, I did. It come up purty quick like, didn’t it?”

  “That was Mavis’ doin’,” he said. “My wife, Mavis. She took some a them handouts to church last night, an’ folks just jumped on ‘em. Same thing happened to her friend, Effie Gossard, over in that Methodist bunch. Them two hen’s got to cacklin’ at each other and made the rounds after those church meetin’s and this mornin’ and set it up. Folks is real interested in you and what you have to say. Everybody is tired a Arberry Yont. I’ve passed out fifty or more of those flyers myself. You’ve been good for business. Quite a few folks that don’t usually drop in much have noticed the posters in the windows and come inside. Most of ‘em bought somethin’ while they were here.”

  ‘Bout that time, two ladies that were lookin’ around noticed me an’ nodded in my direction.

  I nodded back an’ said, “good afternoon, ladies.” One of ‘em come over to me.

  “Mister Beeler,” she said, “me and my Dan are looking forward to hear what you have to say at the meeting Saturday.”

  The other one spoke up from where she was lookin’ at some bolts a cloth, that she an’ Cecil would be there, too. I thanked both of ‘em an’ me an’ Elmo drifted toward the counter.

  “I gotcha set up at the barbershop for Saturday morning,” Elmo said.

  That took me by surprise. “Beg pardon?” I said.

  “You get in the barber shop around ten on Saturday. He’ll cut your hair and give you a shave. Then his bathtub is reserved for you at eleven.”

  “A bathtub?” I said.

  “Yessir. He’s got two in the back.”

  “I been in a washtub,” I said, “but I ain’t never been in no bathtub.”

  “You’ll love it,” Elmo said. “Set up so you can lay back and soak for a spell, with all the hot water you want. When you get out of it, there’s a shower so you can rinse off. Your clothes will be there wainting for you.”

  “My clothes?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “I gotcha a dark gray shirt with a thin light gray stripe and a white padre collar, and gray saddle pants with black panels in the seat and down the inside of your legs. Your suspenders are black.”

  “I don’t wear suspenders,” I said.

  “You will for the talk,” Elmo said. “Make ya look a little older. And I want you back here early afternoon so we can discuss the meeting.” He walked over to a rack a hats an’ picked one out. It was dark gray with a low, kindly flat, pinched crown, an’ a flat brim rolled down some at the front an’ the back. He handed it to me. “Here,” he said, “try this on.”

  “I got a hat,” I said.

  Elmo glanced up at my headgear. “You ain’t runnin’ for cowboy,” he said. “You’re runnin’ for sheriff. Try it on.”

  I warn’t happy about it, but I put it on. It didn’t fit as good as mine, but when I went over to the lookin’ glass an’ studied on it, I was some surprised. It looked kindly good.

  “See there,” Elmo said, “makes you look a little more mature. You get to be in office, you can wear whatever you want, but you’ll have that hat on when you go up to talk. Then you’ll take it off, set it on the desk, an’ run your fingers through your hair. We don’t want you to look like you’re hidin’ under anything. That’ll give the men a honest impression of you, and the ladies will like seein’ you act so open an all. Can’t ignore the women, Ruben. Their husbands mostly do what they’re told.”

  “All this for just one talk?” I asked.

  “More than that,” Elmo said. “We are turnin’ young Rube, the carpenter, into youthful Ruben, the sheriff. I know what I’m doin’, son.”

  “I speck you do,” I said, “but ain’t I gonna look terrible fancy?”

  Homer smiled at that. “You don’t need no cutaway coat or no brocade vest with a watch chain, two pearl-handled six-guns, and a gold tooth. You do need to look a little more like you mean business. I’ll set you up with another couple of shirts and a extra pair a pants after the meetin’ on Sa
turday.”

  “How much is all this gonna cost me?” I asked.

  “You bring back that coat, vest and shirt you never used and we’ll call it square. With the extra traffic I’ve had in here, I’m coming out ahead.”

  Them ladies come up with some stuff, an’ I moved outa the way. The one that spoke to me first put some change on the counter an’ turned toward the door. Then she looked at me an’ spoke up agin.

  “If you don’t mind me sayin’ so, Mister Beeler,” she said, “that’s a good hat for you. Right handsome. It brings out the gray in your eyes.”

  I was kindly surprised an’ I felt my ears git warm. “I don’t mind at all, M’am,” I said. “Kind of you to say so. Thank you.”

  She flashed her eyes at me an’ smiled. “Brings out the red in your ears, too,” she said. “We’ll see you Saturday.”

  I watched her leave an’ turned back to Elmo. He was grinnin’.

  “I rest my case,” he said.

  I was kindly restless on Friday. I fussed around my place a while then went down to the yards an’ got me two more a them captain’s chairs an’ a not too big armoire for hangin’ things in. That afternoon I walked over to the livery. Verlon was at the forge an’ Homer was pumpin’ the bellows for him.

  “Dammit, Rube,” Homer said, “don’t you be tellin’ nobody you seen me doin’ honest work. It’ll ruin my reputation!”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” I tolt him.

  Verlon spoke up. “You all set for Saturday night?” he asked.

  “Tell the truth,” I said, “I’m scairt to death.”

  “Can’t help with that,” Verlon said. “Anything else I can do for ya?”

  “Nossir. I’ thought I’d ketch Willie up an’ go for a ride. Maybe see if that slicker a mine is anywhere near where I left it.”

  Verlon nodded at Homer, an’ Homer turned to me. “Believe I’ll tag along with ya,” he said. “Nice day an’ that gray a mine ain’t been under saddle for a while. If he doan git rode regular he gits a mite peevish.”

  My slicker warn’t nowhere to be found near that little pool. We rode the draw down an’ come on it, tangled up in them river birches where that fella was spyin’ on Miss Harmony an’ me. That big rain we had musta washed it down that way. I shook it out an’ it didn’t seem no worse for wear.

  “Hear you met Arkansas Bill Cole,” Homer said.

  “He come in the Sweetwater when me an Marion was in there,” I said.

  “He scare ya as much as the meetin’ comin’ up?”

  “Damn near,” I said.

  “My money’s on you, Rube,” he said. “When things scare ya, just take ‘em on one at a time. You ain’t in this alone.”

  “That mean yer gonna talk to the crowd with me?” I asked.

  “Yer damn shore alone in that if yer countin’ on me,” he said.

  “Maybe not, Homer,” I said. “I’d like it if you, an’ Marion, an’ Clarence was to come by Arliss’ place about a hour before the meetin’. I got a idea that might ease them folks minds a little bit. I know most a them has been in Yont’s harness for so long they’re afraid of the whip. I’d like to help with that.”

  “I’ll see to it,” he said.

  I tied that slicker behind the cantle, an’ we headed back. The whole ride, Homer never stopped lookin’ around, searchin’ the hills for sign.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I didn’t stop an’ see Arliss or nothin’ on the way back. I just went to my place an’ stewed. I fussed around, set out on the porch a while, an’ worried. It was gittin’ late when I figgered I should be hungry, even though I warn’t, so I walked up to the Sweetwater to git a bite. Once I got out on the street, I come to notice two bluevests sorta movin’ along with me on the other side. I done my best to ignore ‘em.

  The Sweetwater was mor’n half full. I set an’ asked for the pintos an’ pork. While I set there an’ made myself eat, folks kept lookin’ at me some. Several nodded at me an’ smiled. Two or three of ‘em even walked over to my table to tell me they’d be at the meetin’. It was right strange. I warn’t usta much attention an’ it vexed me some but, to tell the truth, it was sorta pleasant like, too.

  When I left an’ went back outside I knowed I was bein’ watched. I could feel it on me. I looked up an’ down the street, but I couldn’t spot no bluevests or nothin’. Then I come to look into a little alley across the way, an’ there, on the edge of the dark, I seen Homer leanin’ up agin a water barrel holdin’ his big ol’ Sharps. He brimmed his hat at me an’ I went on. I gotta admit it made me feel some better.

  I didn’t sleep no good that night, wakin’ up a bunch a times, waitin’ for mornin’ like a fella does when he’s too restless to rest. A little after ten in the mornin’ I showed up at Culver’s Barbershop an’ Bath House. The barber there was about twice my age an’ bald. He wore a white apron an’ sleeve garters, an’ grinned real big when I come in.

  “Mister Beeler,” he said, “I been expectin’ ya. Take yer hat off an’ git in the chair, sir, an’ we’ll git ya cut back some.”

  “Thank ya, Mister Culver,” I said, hangin’ my hat on a rack.

  “I ain’t Culver,” he said. “Culver has been dead for years. My name’s Davis. Lionel Davis. I took the place over after he passed. I just ain’t never bothered to git a new sign.”

  I got in the chair an’ he put that sheet thing over me an’ got everthin’ adjusted to his likin’, then went to work. The whole durn time he cut on my hair, he never shut up. I ain’t terrible sure he even slowed down enough to take a breath. He talked about the weather, he talked about his wife an’ her church doin’s, he talked about the cost a feed, he talked about me, he talked about the way people was talkin’ about me. He never quieted hisself for a heartbeat. He did slow down a little when he was usin’ that razor on my throat, an’ I was purty glad a that.

  My hair had got some long. When I saw myself in the glass at the end a things, it sorta looked to me like my head had shrunk.

  “There ya are, Mister Beeler,” he said. “We gotcha slicked up now. Took enough offa ya to weave a small blanket, yessir. Now if ya wanna grab yer hat an’ come on in the back with me, we’ll git that trail dust knocked offa ya, too. Elmo McCoy was in a little while ago an’ dropped off some duds for ya. You don’t owe me a thing. It’s all been took care of.”

  I set in that high-back copper tub in water to my chin for near a hour. When that water come to git cool, I’d just pull up on a little plug down by my knee an’ let some out, then pull this chain hangin’ there, an’ hot water would run out a pipe comin’ through the wall an’ right into that tub. They was cakes a soap back there too, on a little shelf in easy reach. That soap was some softer than lye, an’ smelt like flowers or somethin’. When you’d use it, it would lather right up an’ foam. Then they was these brushes with long handles for easy gittin’ to spots that woulda otherwise been some hard to reach. I set in there ‘til I was fair wrinkled up, then pulled the plug an’ let that water run out. The more water that left, the heavier I got. By the time that tub was empty, I felt like I weighed as much as Willie.

  I got out a the tub an’ went in this little stall-like arrangement with a swingin’ door. They was a faucet kinda thing comin’ outa the wall about head high that had a round front on it punched full a tiny holes. I pulled on a chain hangin’ there, an’ cold water shot out an’ hit me right in the face. I jumped from the chill of it, but it got warm then an’ I rinsed off from head to toe. I don’t believe I ever got so clean afore in my whole life.

  I dried myself off on a couple a big towels an’ run a comb through what was left of my hair. I got dressed, used a damp towel to wipe my boots down some, an’ strapped on my gunbelt. They was a long bag hangin’ on a wall hook that had my new clothes in it, an’ that hat hangin’ beside it. I grabbed that bag an’ that hat, an’ headed out the back door. I hustled down alleys an’ such until I got back to my place. I knowed that Elmo wanted me to put them cloth
es on after I got my bath, but I just wasn’t ready for that yet.

  Back home, I stripped down an’ washed up a little after havin’ them dirty clothes on an’ all, then I got dressed in the ones that Elmo give me. Them pants was built like the ones I had, with that extra layer where a fella come into contact with the saddle, but where the pants was gray, that extra layer where it come across my butt an’ down the inside a my legs was black. To tell the truth, I thought it was some stylish. My other saddle pants was made outa canvas, but these new ones was softer brushed cotton or somethin’. They was right gentle feelin’ an’ had some comfort to ‘em, an’ they had a seven button fly. I’d never heard a such a thing.

  I got into ‘em an’ tightened up that little belt in the back to where they snugged up nice. Then I put on that new shirt, tucked it in, buttoned it all the way up to that stiff white collar, got into them durn suspenders an’ adjusted them to where they didn’t vex me too much, an’ put on that hat. From what I could see in the glass on my washstand, I didn’t look too bad. I didn’t look exactly like me, but then I did, too. I put what I needed in my pockets, strapped on the Schofield, took a deep breath, an’ walked up to see Arliss.

  When Arliss seen me comin’ up through the back, his eyebrows went up an’ he grinned.

  “Rube!” he said, “by God, boy, don’t you look purtiful! I got to admit, you look some older and a little set on somethin’. I think Elmo done ya proud.”

  “It all feels kindly funny,” I said.

  “Don’t make no difference,” Arliss said. “It takes a team a while to get used to new harness. You’ll adjust quick. Where ya off to?”

  “I gotta go see Elmo,” I said. “He wants to talk to me about tonight. I’ll be back by four so I can git with you, an’ Homer, an’ Marion, an’ Clarence.”

  “We’ll be here, Rube,” he said.

  I started to leave then, an’ Arliss spoke up.