The Deer Run Trail

by David R Lewis

  “Nice of ya,” Marion said.

  “Ol’ Arliss has been plumb good to me. Least I could do.”

  “How’s the sherrifin’ business goin’ for ya?” Marion asked me.

  “Them two fellas that Homer sent over has worked out real good as deputies. Town’s mostly quiet these days. Got a fair council an’ Elmo McCoy’s the mayor now. How’s the Marshalin’ trade doin’? I notice ya got a new scar.”

  Marion touched his cheek. “There was nine of ‘em, Ruben,” he said. “But I got all of ‘em with five shots.”

  “It took ya five?” I said. “You must be slowin’ down some. Ol’ age ya reckon?”

  Marion grinned at me. “Last fall,” he said, “I was over in Gasconade tryin’ to keep Homer on the straight an’ narrow. I was standin’ out by the rail in front of the Sheriffs Office next to that jug headed roan a mine when a horsefly or somethin’ got up on his ear. He tossed his head my direction an’ the shank a his bit smacked the hell outa me. Knocked me on my ass. The doc had to put seven or eight stitches in the damn thing. Said it give me a concussion. I doan know about that, but I had a helluva headache for a couple days.”

  “Homer alright?” I asked.

  “He was then,” Marion said, “but I doan know about now. I swung through Gasconade on the way here, but he was off chasin’ somebody somewheres. Horse thief, I believe it was.”

  We set there for a spell, quiet-like, while I waited for him to git to the point. Marion doan git in a hurry much, unless it’s called for, then he gits around right smart. Putry soon, he spoke up agin’.

  “You reckon them deputies a your’n could take care a this town with you gone for a while, Ruben?” he asked me.

  “I reckon,” I said.

  “An’ Miss Harmony,” he went on. “You s’pose she’d be alright if you left for a spell?”

  “That baby ain’t supposed to be here afore November,” I said. “She’s with her daddy, Verlon. Harmony’s tough, Marion. Whatcha need?”

  “Quite a spell ago,” he said, “even afore the war most likely, come a feller up by the Missouri north a Saint Joe in Atchison County name a Clovis Waxler. Set hisself up a ferry business gittin’ folks across the river. Rumor has it he had two boys an’ some of his wife’s kin hangin’ around a few years later. Now an’ then, a couple a folks an’ their wagon would disappear, or some little pole boat wouldn’t show up down river when it was supposed to.

  “Eight or ten year ago it was believed that two a his nephews, last name a Siebert, held up a bank over by East Saint Louis. The Pinkertons got after ‘em but lost ‘em in the Missouri Breaks. After a year or two, they give up. That whole mess was supposed to be hangin’ around up near where that ferry usta be, out in the sticks runnin’ between Atchison and Nodaway Counties. Month or two ago, his sons, Jack an’ Jim, is believed to be the two men that got with a couple a whores in the Blue Island saloon on the north side a Saint Joe, kilt one of ‘em with a knife, an’ cut the other one’s ear or nose off, an’ sliced her up here an’ there.

  “Some County Sheriff formed a posse an’ took off after ‘em. Like most possies, once a couple a them fellers got shot an’ the sheriff was kilt, they lost heart an’ give up the chase when the bunch run for Nebraska or Iowa. When shit like that happens, the mess falls to fools like me. You done good when you come with me an’ Homer when we went after that Duncan bunch. You’ve done yerself proud here. I could use ya, Ruben. I hate to wade into this mess all by myself. A course, you’d be a deputy marshal agin’.”

  “When do we leave?” I asked him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  After we et, Marion went by the shop to visit with Arliss a spell, while I walked down to the livery. Verlon waived at me from the forge. Harmony was in the kitchen poundin’ on a pile a dough to make bread. She set the dough aside under some cheesecloth, wiped her forehead with her apron, an’ come over an’ give me a kiss. I thumbed some flour offa the end of her nose an’ grinned at her.

  “Been snowin’ in here?” I asked.

  “One of us has to work a little bit,” she said, throwin’ a grin back at me. “What brings you home in the middle of the day?”

  “Marion’s in town,” I said.

  “Oh! Well ask him over for supper. We haven’t seen him since we got married.”

  “I will if ya want me to,” I said.

  “Why wouldn’t I want you to,” she asked. I followed her to the outside stove where she checked the fire an’ oven.

  “Well,” I said, “he wants to borrow me for a while.”

  “What for?”

  “He’s got some business to take care of over north a Saint Joe a ways,” I said, “an’ he wants me to ride along. He figgers that two of us would be some better than one a him.”

  “The two of you would be better than four or five of most men,” Harmony said. “If he needs your help, of course you have to go. You wouldn’t feel right if you didn’t.”

  “I don’t want ya gittin’ worried about me an’ all,” I said.

  “Ruben Beeler, my worries are my worries,” she said. “There is nothing you can do about them, and precious little that I can. You don’t need to worry about me worrying about you. Marion needs you. You go ahead along with him. Hank and Emory can take care of things here.”

  “You don’t mind it if I go?” I said.

  “Yes, I do,” she said, “but not as much as you’d mind it if you didn’t. Understand?”

  “I reckon I do,” I said.

  She smiled at me. “Then I reckon,” she said, “that I don’t want to pound that dough out again. Get out of my way. Ask Marion over for supper. Arliss too, if he wants to come along.”

  On my way to Arliss’ shop I run across Hank Buford an’ told him I’d be leavin’ for a while in a day or two an’ that if he needed help to git aholt a Arliss or Verlon Clarke to fill in. He said he would an’ he’d make sure to tell Emory in case I missed him. I went on then, an’ found Marion in the shop talkin’ to Arliss.

  “Marion tells me you an’ him is takin’ to the trail, Rube,” Arliss said.

  “Whenever Marion wants to go,” I said.

  “I’m restin’ up for a day or so, Ruben,” Marion said. “Take a day to git what truck you need in shape and some chuck for us. You still got that packhorse?”

  “Still do,” I said.

  “Good,” Marion said. “I’d just as soon stay on the trail as much as we can. We’ll leave enough tracks as it is without ridin’ through ever town we see.”

  “Suits me,” I said. “Harmony would be right pleased if’n the two of you would care to set with us for supper this evenin’. Last I seen her, she was fixin’ to stick a couple a loaves a her sourdough in the oven. The ones she puts a little cinnamon in an’ glazes with honey. Verlon’s got a ham or two in the smokehouse that should be about ready. Might be a hard meal to miss.”

  “’Bout half-past five seem good, Rube?” Arliss asked.

  “Make it six,” Marion said. “I need to git Miz Clary to do a little laundry for me, an’ I’d like to git down to the barbershop for a haircut and a tub a hot water. Might be a while before I can git to that kinda thing agin’.”

  The next day I set to cleanin’ my guns an’ lookin’ after my horses an’ tack. Verlon trimmed up my packhorse an’ put fresh shoes on him. I put on a new cinch, as the ol’ one was gittin’ a little thin. I’d had one break on me once an’ I didn’t care for it. It was deep spring an’ Willie was gittin’ a little grass fat. A trip would shape him out an’ drop some weight. I went over to the general store an’ got some flour an’ cornmeal, some dry beans, some salt-cured bacon, half a dozen cans a peaches, coffee, one a them plugs a dried tea, some jerky, brown sugar for Marion, some peppermints an’ four a them little boxes of Gayetty therapeutic papers. Harmony always kept ‘em in the outhouse an’ I’d got some used to ‘em. They was a luxury, sure enough, but they was a damn site more useful than a corncob or a handful a moss an’ leaves.

  I stop
ped by an’ seen Elmo at the dry goods store an’ got me a nice pair a buckskin chaps. If we was gonna be ridin’ the river any, I wanted somethin’ to turn briars an’ thorns. I also got me a new slicker as mine was leakin’ at the seams, a wax-treated ground cloth, an’ a spool a stage line in case we might need to string us up a shelter a some kind.

  I was fixin’ to go collect the buckboard to pick up all my truck, when I seen Verlon comin’ down the street in his with some bags a feed. I flagged him down an’ loaded up my stuff an’ he saved me a extra trip. Back at the livery I packed up my panniers, added my three pound axe to the load, an’ finished up gittin’ what we needed for the trail.

  That night, Harmony didn’t have a lot to say an’ hung onto me quite a bit while she slept. It was worrisome an’ kept me awake more that I mighta liked, but I let it go. I knowed she was some upset I was headin’ out with Marion an’ all, an’ I didn’t feel no need to add to her discomfort none. She did fix us a big ol’ breakfast a ham an’ eggs an’ fried potatoes, an’ sourdough biscuits an’ gravy. I didn’t figger I’d git that good a breakfast for a while, so I et as much as I could hold an’ still swing a leg over a horse.

  I had them panniers strung up on my pack saddle an’ was putting a skillet an’ coffee pot in one of ‘em when she come out with a sack a them biscuits for us. I got everthin’ closed up, an’ was tossin’ a blanket on Willie when Marion caught up his roan, an’ saddled up. Arliss was on hand. We said goodbye to him an’ Verlon, Harmony gimme a kiss an’ a hug, an’ about a half hour after daybreak, me an’ Marion took out. We wasn’t more than a hour gone when clouds gathered, the wind picked up, the temperature dropped, an’ it come to rain.

  I wonder how come it is that a fella can feel wetter in the rain than if’n he jumped in the durn river? It never did rain terrible hard, but the wind kindly drove it at us, turnin’ some of it into a mist that snuck down collars, up sleeves, an’ into eyes an’ ears ‘til the two of us was shiverin’ from it. It wadden but the middle a the afternoon afore we come on this little creek an’ got down next to it an’ up agin’ a high bank that cut the blowin’ from the northwest an’ give us a windbreak. Marion rooted around in some brush that had collected in a bend at high water, lookin’ for some dry wood while I hobbled the horses an’ strung that groundcloth to give us a little roof to set under. Between the saddles an’ the panniers offa my packhorse, I fixed us up a place to lean back out the weather an’ dug a pine knot out the pack about the time Marion showed up with a armload of small stuff that was not too wet. That pine knot got them sticks goin’, an’ purty soon we had us a fair camp an’ fire. I got some water outa the crick an’ put coffee on an’ a pot to boil an’ handed Marion a peppermint stick.

  “I thank ya, Ruben,” he said, leanin’ back an’ puttin’ that stick between his teeth. “Ain’t it fine how a stick a peppermint can take the edge offa unfair day like this one. It’s the little things that can make the biggest difference, I guess.”

  We’d set there a hour or so an’ I’d put some beans in the pot an’ a piece a bacon when he had to go piss. He durn near fell down tryin’ to git up. It embarrassed him I believe, an’ he limped off a little ways. When he come back, he grunted when he set down, an’ screwed his face up some. He beat his hat on his knee a lick or two to git the water offa it, put it back on an’ stared into the fire.

  “Now before you even ask, boy,” he said, “me and the roan took a fall this past winter over by Sikeston. There was a foot a snow on the ground and I speck that softened up things some, but I hurt my back down low a little. Wasn’t long afore I had some shootin’ pains down my ass plumb to the back a my right knee that was worrisome. Got to where it kept me up of a night and I couldn’t hardly walk. I went to a doctor over that way and he rolled me around on the floor pullin’ on that leg and pushin’ on my butt four or five different times. Felt right foolish, but it helped quite a bit. I git around alright with it now, ‘cept once in a while it hangs up on me. Wet weather seems to aggravate it some.”

  “I believe that horse a your’n has had all a you he wants,” I said. “First he slaps you upside yer head an’ knocks the hell out of ya, then he tries to cripple ya fallin’ down. Maybe ya oughta git a mule.”

  Marion rolled that peppermint sick around a minute afore he spoke up.

  “I believe,” he said, rockin’ his head a little from side to side like he usually done when he was gittin’ cocky, “that little tin star you been wearin’ for a spell has turned you into about three-quarters of a smartass.”

  I grinned at him. “Anything’s possible,” I said.

  Marion rooted around in a pocket under his slicker for a minute.

  “Well,” he said, “I reckon this’ll only make matters worse.”

  He tossed somethin’ silver at me, an’ I caught it. It was a U.S. Deputy Marshal badge.

  “Do you swear to uphold and the rest of all that?” he asked me.

  “Yessir, I do,” I said.

  “Alright then,” he said, sinkin’ a little lower into his set. “Good to have ya along, Ruben. Doan let the fire go out.”

  He pulled his hat down low over his eyes an’ sighed, what was left a that peppermint stick twitchin’ a little.

  I woke up afore daybreak the next mornin’ an’ freshed the fire. The rain had stopped overnight, but it was still cool and windy. By the time Marion got up, I had coffee hot an’ bacon on to go with Harmony’s biscuits. Marion headed out to do his business an’ I give him a box a them Gayetty therapeutic papers. He looked at ‘em, quizzical like.

  “What the hell’s this?” he asked me.

  “Well, it ain’t a handful a wet leaves,” I said.

  When he come back, he didn’t say nothin’ about them papers, but he didn’t give ‘em back neither.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Our third night on the trail we camped four or five miles outa Saint Joe. The next mornin’ Marion left me at camp an’ rode to town. I had me a cup a tea an’ brown sugar, an’ et all but the last two a them biscuits, then squared everthin’ away so we could git on without much fuss. While I was waitin’ on Marion, I took a little ride down toward the river an’ found a couple a boys fishin’. I got offa Willie an’ tied him to a saplin’ an’ walked down the bank to where they was.

  “You boys doin’ any good cuttin’ down on the fish population?” I asked.

  The little ‘un spoke right up.

  “We got us some catfish, mister,” he said. “Five of ‘em.”

  “The heck ya do,” I said. “Lemme see.”

  He pulled on a rope they had tied off to a root an’, sure enough, they had three mudcats, a little channel, an’ about a five pound flathead.

  “Would ya sell that flathead?” I asked.

  The little fella studied on me for a minute, squintin’ in the sun. “How much?” he said.

  “You got the product,” I said. “You set the price.”

  He thought that over an’ said, “two-bits.”

  “You got change for a dollar?”

  “Neither one a us got any money, mister. You ain’t got two bits?”

  “All I got is a dollar,” I said.

  He studied on me agin’ afore he spoke up.

  “If’n you ain’t got nothin’ to eat,” he said, “I’ll give ya that channel so ya don’t go hungry.”

  I grinned at him. “How ‘bout I trade you my dollar for the flathead,” I said.

  He blinked at me. “A whole dollar?”

  “Take it or leave it,” I said.

  He took it.

  I rode back to camp, freshed the fire, an’ put a chunk a bacon fat in the skillet to cook down. While that was sizzlin’, I took out my Barlow an’ cleaned the fish, throwin’ the guts away from camp ‘cause a flies. I dipped that catfish in some a the cornmeal an’ had just laid him in the skillet when Marion come back.

  “Ain’t no town law on hand,” he said, puttin’ a little slack in the roan’s cinch. He walked over an’ looked down at
the fire.

  “Catfish, ain’t it?” he asked.

  “It is,” I said. “Flathead.”

  “Where the hell did you git a catfish?”

  “You ain’t noticed that big ol’ river just west of us?” I asked.

  Marion thought that over for a little bit, but he didn’t let no question git away from him. He didn’t let none a his half a that catfish git away from him neither.

  After we et, we rode around Saint Joe an’ come back at it from the north side. I went on in with the packhorse an’ run across the Blue Island Saloon on the edge a town. It was a rickety buildin’, long an’ narrow, with a floored tent attached to it on the east side servin’ fatback an potatoes an’ such. I hooked that little shotgun on my belt, made sure my badge was covered up, an’ went in.

  There wasn’t hardly but six or seven fellas in the place. A couple a hayshakers was takin’ turns drawin’ cards an’ hollerin’ at each other at one a the tables. I went up to the bar an’ this heavy set fella come up an’ asked me what did I want.

  “Shot a whiskey,” I tolt him, “an’ it better be in the bottle it come in.”

  “You’ll git what everbody gits,” he said, reachin’ under the counter.

  I smiled at him. “Mister,” I said, “if I figger it come outa a tub in the backroom, you’ll git a bath in it afore I leave.”

  He stopped his reach an’ took a bottle offa shelf behind him, poured a shot, an’ set it down.

  “Two bits,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said, an’ dropped the money on the bar just as Marion walked in, his badge showin’. He took up space about six or seven feet from me. I ignored him. Them two fellas playin’ cards quit they’re yellin’ an’ got quiet.

  “Yessir, Marshal,” the fat fella said. “What can I do for ya?”

  “You had a couple a whores in trouble a while back,” Marion said. “One kilt an’ one with her nose or ear cut off, I hear.”

  “One was kilt,” he said. “Bled out. The other’n had her nose an’ face sliced up some an’ got beat on or somethin’.”

  “Know who done it?” Marion asked.