“I wasn’t workin’ that night,” the fat fella said.
“I didn’t ask if you was workin’ that night,” Marion said. “I asked if you know’d who done it.”
The fella licked his lips. “Nossir,” he said, “I don’t. Some folks talked, but I doan remember what they said.”
Marion smiled at him an’ leaned his elbows on the counter. “You think maybe,” he asked, “if you was on this side of the bar you might have a little better idea?”
The fella started to take a step backwards an’ Marion had him by the shirtfront, just as quick as that. “Do ya?” he asked.
“I doan know, Marshal,” the fella said, kindly shrinkin’ down some.
“Let’s see,” Marion said, an’ just hauled him over the bar like he wadden any heavier than a loaf a bread.
Marion, as calm as you please, stood there, holdin’ that fella like he was one a them kids on the river. “Now then,” he said, “how’s yer memory?”
“Honest, Marshal,” the fella said, “I wadden here. But I heer’d it said it was them Waxler boys, Jim an’ Jack. They took off an’ the sheriff over in Nodaway county set after ‘em with a posse, but two or three fellers got shot an’ he got kilt. The Waxlers an’ them are a wild bunch. They purty much used to own Atchison an’ Nodaway counties. That’s all I know. Honest.”
Marion turned loose a him then. “Thank you for your cooperation, sir,” he said. “That cut up lady here today, is she?”
“Yessir, she is. Upstairs. Room four. Nobody with her that I know of.”
“Reckon I’ll go up an’ have a talk with her, an’ anybody else I care to,” Marion went on. “I doan speck to be bothered none. That alright with you?”
“That’s fine, Marshal,” the fat fella said, wipin’ some sweat off his face with a sleeve.
Marion turned away then an’ climbed them steps. If he had a bad back, I sure couldn’t see it.
As soon a Marion got outa the room, them two hayshakers lit a shuck. I sipped on that shot for a spell an’ finally Marion come back down an’ walked out. I finished the shot an’ got another one. I waited a couple a minutes, took the shot an’ stepped outside. Soon as I got on the off side a Willie I spit that whiskey in the dirt, mounted up, grabbed the packhorse’s lead rope, an’ set off. Marion would be waitin’ for me on down the line.
I stopped at a livery on the way out an’ filled our water bags from their cistern, then kept Willie at a easy canter an’ caught up to Marion in about three miles.
“There was two fellers in there flippin’ cards,” I said. “They lit out when you went upstairs.”
“Musta got tired a playin’,” Marion said.
“That’s what I figured,” I said. “When we camp tonight, let’s build us the biggest fire we can. Maybe hire somebody to hang around an’ play the mouth harp or the fiddle. What the hell do we havta worry about?”
Marion smiled. “Settle down, Ruben,” he said. “You’ll git a sour stomach.”
CHAPTER FOUR
We hit some heavy brush for a while, but it broke up after a ways. I rode up beside Marion.
“Was that lady hurt some?” I asked.
“Quite a bit,” he said. “She’s healed up most a the way, but she ain’t never gonna be right. Nobody took a knife to her. A feller did cut on the other one’s neck an’ she died from it, but the one I talked to got hurt tryin’ to help her friend. She come at the ol’ boy with the knife, an’ his sidekick flung her across the room. She went face first inta a lookin’ glass on a dresser agin’ the wall. That glass busted up inta splinters when she hit it. She ain’t but about twenny years old. Doan know if she ever was purty, but she damn shore ain’t now. Said her name was Charity. Wasn’t no charity in what that feller done to her.”
“She know the names a who done it?” I asked.
“Says she don’t,” he said. “Said they was just a couple a hard cases she’d never seen before. May be true. She’s plumb broke down about it, though. Scared right through. This other gal I talked to claimed it was boys from that Waxler bunch, but she wasn’t sure which ones. That’s just what she heard a couple a the other whores say. None a them other girls would talk to me.”
“This Waxler got a ranch up thisaway?” I asked.
“He’s got somethin’ up this way,” Marion said. “I doan know if the old man is even still alive. Way I heer’d it, he never was mor’n a pirate on the river anyway. Shit, boy. He prob’ly come up here before the war. This was some rough country in them days. Oglala injuns was still raidin’ this far south an’ east of their territory. Cheyenne was burnin’ out settlers. Dakotas was raisin’ hell west a here a ways. Wadden no law a hardly any kind. Couple a big ranches tryin’ to get started, raisin’ horses though, not cattle. Homesteaders an’ squatters scattered around. It was frontier. Waxler an’ some a his kin show up an’ purty much just take what they want an’ hold onto it with a gun. In them days, Nebraska City was a piss-pot. Lincoln wadden much better. Hell, Omaha wadden mor’n a wide spot on the trail, saloons an’ whores. Liquor an’ fuckin’ has always paved the way for the rest a the herd, Ruben. Neither one a them things is exactly whatcha might call polite society. Folks that come up through that time, an’ profited from it, doan got no plans to change anythin’ unless they is give a real good reason. Kinda like a pack a wild dogs. They got their territory. As a rule, ya cain’t just wade in there and gentle ‘em down so they’ll trail along behind the wagon. Most times ya gotta run ‘em off or shoot ‘em.”
“You think them fellas that took outa that saloon was some a the bunch?” I asked him.
“You ever watch a pack a wolves?” Marion asked.
“Nossir.”
“There’s usually a dog an’ a bitch in the middle of it,” he said. “Them two purty much run things. Everbody else sucks up to ‘em. Then ya got the rest a the pack. They got a order to ‘em. Rank an’ file, just like the goddam army or somethin’. Like generals an’ colonels an’ majors an’ captains, right on down to privates an’ new recruits. Everbody down the line wants to move up the line. To do that they gotta git noticed doin’ somethin’ by command an’ prove they do a good job. Sometimes in a wolf pack there’ll be one or two strays hangin’ around the edge a things, tryin’ to figger a way into the bunch so they doan havta go it alone. Could be that’s what them fellers was at the saloon. If I recall, they was fair young. Might be they seen a chance to go runnin’ to a captain or a major with the news that I’m out here sniffin’ around, an’ git themselves noticed some.”
“If that’s the case,” I said, “somebody’s gonna know we’re comin’. Then maybe somebody on up the ladder might wanta come look us over.”
Marion smiled. “Or do somethin’ to get a boost on up another step or two,” he said.
“Well, ain’t that just fine,” I said.
“Be some easier if they was three of us,” Marion said.
“Be some easier if they was thirty of us,” I told him.
He thought that was kindly funny an’ chuckled a while. “Ol’ Ruben,” he said.
“You spent time watchin’ wolves?” I asked.
“Some,” he said. “When I was yer age, back afore the war, I spent time watchin’ injuns. Them an’ wolves operated along the same line. Them injuns didn’t have to be taught it like our boys. They was born to it. That’s why we never could whip ‘em in a fair battle. We could out gun ‘em, but we damn shore never could out fight ‘em. I never did feel sorry for no injun. That don’t make no more sense than feelin’ sorry for the wind. But I damn shore feel sorry for what we done to ‘em. Seems to me like preachers an’ politicians cain’t never leave nothin’ alone. Hell, Ruben, we even give ‘em bad blankets and such so they’d git the fever or the pox an’ die from it. We done the same thing to the injuns that we done to the bufflers. Them big shaggies never stood no real chance neither. Injun or buff, mebbe it was just their time, but the way it come about was terrible wrong. Damn shame, Ruben. Damn dirty shame.”
>
We stayed on the trail all day, never mor’n a mile or two from the river, chewin’ on jerky now an’ then. Later that afternoon we come on a open flat for a ways, studded up with new growth river birches an’ thorn bushes an’ such, nothin’ mor’n four or five feet high. Marion turned toward the river then an’ stopped next to a gravel bar in grass about a foot tall. Willie flushed a rabbit an’ my packhorse took exception an’ got to dancin’ around some an’ give me a little rope burn through my shirt. Marion swung down an’ looked up at me.
“You git done playin’ with them horses,” he said, “why doan you go ahead on an’ make camp?”
“Some early ain’t it?” I asked him.
“Lemme borrow your rifle,” he said.
I pulled the Yellaboy outa the scabbard an’ handed it to him.
“Tend to the roan for me. I’m going for a stroll,” he said, an’ walked off down our backtrail.
I pulled saddles an’ packs an’ hobbled the horses after I led ‘em down for a drink. They went after that grass like it had gravy on it. They was some dry wood above the high water mark an’ I carried a bunch of it in an’ built a fire. ‘Cause we had enough time, I put on a pot a beans an’ got the flour out for fry bread. We still had two or three hours a good light left when them beans started to boil. I tossed in some bacon an’ salt, then added a little molasses an’ let ’em bubble.
It was a purty place. Had a nice breeze from the south, hardly no cloud in the sky. I got one whiff of a skunk from God knows how far off. Unusual that was, gittin’ skunk scent in the daytime. I set there an’ watched a big ol’ heron along the river bank, now an’ then grabbin’ a little fish an’ slidin’ it down that long neck. I coulda easy had us a rabbit, but I didn’t wanna fire off no gunshot, Marion someplace out there like he was an’ not knowin’ I was only shootin’ at a critter. Instead, I opened one a them cans a peaches, leaned back agin’ my saddle, an’ et half of it, puttin’ the rest aside for the marshal.
Musta been a couple a hours go by when Willie tossed his head an’ looked off toward the south, twitchin’ his ears. He snorted once, then relaxed an’ went back to the grass. Marion was comin’ back I figgerd, or Willie wouldn’t a been so calm about it. Sure enough, a few minutes later he come walkin’ into camp. It come on me then that I didn’t hear them Mexican spurs a his. I took notice an’ seen the rowels was tied up with little pieces of rawhide. He leaned the Yellaboy agin’ the backside a my saddle an’ grunted as he set down.
“Beans an’ bacon in about a hour,” I said. “Half a can a peaches open for ya. Coffee’s hot.”
“Thanks, Ruben,” he said. “If they come in, them three fellers might git here in time for the beans.”
“Three fellas?” I asked.
He nodded. “A mile or so south. I figger they trailed us from town. I was them, I’d circle an’ come in from the north. That way my horses could git scent first an’ not be shy, an’ it wodden be so plain I’d been trailin’ nobody.”
“Whatcha reckon they want?” I asked him.
“See who we are. Maybe try an’ git the bulge on us. They most likely know why I was in town. I speck two of ‘em was the fellers in the saloon. They got any guts, they’ll come in to size us up. If’n they don’t, they might come at us after dark. If the third one is like them other two, they ain’t nothin’ but kids. Kids usually ain’t got a lotta experience. They git nervous an’ maybe figger they got somethin’ to prove. They is more hazardous than dangerous. Hazardous can shore enough put a feller in the ground, though.”
Marion got up an’ moved his saddle farther away from where I was settin’, fetched that can a peaches, an’ stretched out agin’.
He et a peach an’ grinned at me. “Wanted to put a little more distance between us,” he said. “Wodden want one a them fellers to hit me just ‘cause he was tryin’ to shoot you.”
They come in outa the northeast after we et an’ it was gittin’ on toward sundown. Three of ‘em. Number one was a big fella with a black slouch hat an’ a black kindly holey beard. He was carryin’ a silver-lookin’ Colt with a gold hammer an’ shiny white grips in a crossdraw. Number two was kindly heavy-set wearin’ a ol’ gray hat with a ragged brim an’ a string comin’ down around his neck from it. He was packin’ another Colt in a side holster by his left hand on a gunbelt lined with bullets. The third fella didn’t have no hat. He was little an’ skinny with wiry carrot hair, freckles, an’ light-colored quick eyes. He had what looked to me like a ol’ Colt’s Dragoon shoved down in his pants. That revolver musta weighted five pounds. If it hadn’t been converted, it was a cap an’ ball. Their horses wadden much. I eased my scattergun down beside my leg. Marion didn’t move at all. When they got close, number one spoke up.
“Howdy,” he said.
Marion nodded to him.
“Me an’ my frens had a long day. Could you spare a cup a coffee for some travelers?”
“Wouldn’t turn no man away from coffee that had his own cup,” Marion said. “It’s on the fire. Help yerselves. That little bag layin’ there has got some brown sugar plug in it, if’n you got a taste for sweet.”
“Thank you, sir,” number one said, gittin’ down a collectin’ a cup from his saddlebag.
The other ones got down, an’ number two got his cup. One an two poured coffee an’ squatted across from us, number three just stood behind ‘em an’ watched. They was all young, none of ‘em older than me.
“Where you fellers headed?” number one asked.
Marion yawned an’ scratched his neck. “Omaha mebbe,” he said.
“What’s in Omaha?”
“Hell, boy,” Marion said, real cheerful like, “they’s a whole bunch a shit in Omaha. Ya ever been there?”
“Nossir, I ain’t,” number one said.
“I recommend it,” Marion went on. “If’n I was you, I’d finish my coffee an’ head up that way. Ain’t hard to find. Just go back the way ya come an’ keep on goin’.”
“You sayin’ you want us to leave?” number one asked.
“No,” Marion said. “I’m just sayin’ that it might be safer for ya in Omaha than it is here.”
Number two spoke up. “Well, yer about a hard ol’ stump ain’t ya?” he said.
Marion smiled. “Son,” he said, “I was twenty-three year old the last time my daddy kicked my ass. I was a lesson of value. It taught me to never confuse age an’ ability. Might save you some grief if you was to take heed. Omaha is lookin’ better for you boys all the time.”
It was then that number three went for his gun. Marion shot him before he even cleared his belt. He fell over backwards an’ I raised the scattergun an’ leveled it at them other two. Neither one of ‘em moved a inch. The one on the ground commenced to wheeze an’ twitch. Number one spoke up.
“You sonofabitch!” he hollerd, “Yew shot Bucket!”
“Who?” Marion asked, his Colt pointed between the two that was left.
“Bucket, Goddammit!”
Marion grinned at him. “Safe to say,” he said, “that bucket is leakin’ some. He’ll settle down an’ git quiet in a minute. Meantime, I’d appreciate it if you two boys would take out your revolvers an’ toss ‘em, real gentle like, over to this side a the fire. A course, ya doan have to. My pard over there can easy git both of ya with that little shotgun a his. Doan make me no never mind. The more the merrier. I ain’t gonna dig no holes anyway.”
Them guns come over the fire in short order. Marion picked up the shiny Colt an’ looked it over while I kept the scattergun on them two.
“This here is a nice piece,” he said. “Pearl handles, all engraved, nickel plated with a gold trigger and hammer, ‘bout a eight inch barrel.” He looked at number one. “This your’n?”
“You know damn well it is,” number one said.
“Bullshit,” Marion grunted. “Ain’t no way a web-footed river rat like you ever had half the money in one spot to git a fine piece like this. You took this offa somebody, most likely after y
ou backshot him.” He stepped over the fire, grabbed number one by the throat an’ lifted him up on his tippy-toes. “Mebbe I oughta give this Colt back to ya an’ let ya come at me with it, boy,” he growled. “You want it? You want yer smokepole back, you chickenshit sonofabitch? You wanna drag leather agin’ somebody who’s facin’ ya?”
Marion held him there for a minute, eye to eye, an’ then just kindly tossed him away. Number one hit the ground gaggin’ with snot runnin’ outa his nose an’ wheezin’. Marion looked at number two. Two was terrible pale an’ shakin’ some.
“Pick up that dead bucket over there an’ tie him to his horse,” he said. “Then you an’ that coward mount up an’ git out. I ever run up on either one a you agin’, I’ll kill ya. My name is Marion Daniels, boy. I am a United States Marshal. I can see like a hawk an’ scent like a hound. Anybody in that bunch you’d like to run with wants to try me on, tell him to bring a shovel an’ a friend to use it. You got two minutes to git that snot-covered asshole up an’ git out a here. Doan fergit to take that redheaded bucket a shit with ya. I doan want him stinkin’ up my camp.”
We watched ‘em ride away, an’ Marion tossed another piece a wood on the fire.
“Hey, Ruben,” he said. “We got anymore a them peaches?”
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The Deer Run Trail Page 22