The Way Of The West

by Elmer Kelton

  “There’s a big tree outside my shop,” Dane replied. “I can tie anyone arrested to it. That’ll sure hold them.”

  “Vhat if it rains?”

  Dane smiled, or tried to. “Well, the prisoner gets wet. Might help discourage bad behavior even more.”

  “I like it, Herr Marshal. I like it Oar much.” Mikman waved his arms in a circle and said he would call for a quick meeting and get approval from the town council that day.

  “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  “Herr Marshal, der council may vant to hire . . . a full-time marshal.” Mikman leaned on the counter and looked into Dane’s face. “Talk there has bin, ya know. Torsmill ist growing. Ve nicht to vant this trouble vit Herr Cross to hurt Torsmill.”

  “No, we don’t. A full-time marshal would be fine with me. These days, I’ve got more than enough with my blacksmithing.”

  “Vhat if they vant du—for der full-time marshal?”

  “I would say thanks, but no thanks.” Dane turned and headed for the door. “I’m a blacksmith, not a lawman.”

  “Vait, Herr Marshal, there ist something I vish to give du.”

  Without waiting for a response, he went to the rack on the wall behind him, lifted a double-barreled shotgun from its rest, and turned around holding out the gun.

  “I vant du to haff this,” Mikman declared, pushing the weapon toward Dane. “A marshal should be veil-armed, I think. Especially vit this trouble. Around us. Ja.”

  “Let me pay you for it, Fred,” Dane said, accepting the shotgun.

  “Nein. It ist gift.” Mikman brought out two boxes of shells. “Du vill need these also.” He paused and added, “I think der scatter-gun vill keep trouble from happening. If der cowboys see du with der gun, they vill . . . be of peace.”

  VIII

  The fire on Dane’s forge was winding its way to a dull gold as he finished shoeing a long-legged sorrel. Off to the side, four repaired wheels cooled in the water trough a few feet from his anvil. The friendly squirrel was enjoying the small pieces of bread the blacksmith had brought from the restaurant and placed on the ground.

  His face and body ached, but he felt it was important to keep working. His mind was walking with Mary and he mumbled comments to her as he worked and grunted occasionally as he pounded the orange-hot iron. The recollection of her smile pushed him past the pains. A second cup of coffee since the noon meal sat untouched on the stool.

  After eating, he and Reiker had brought hot food to the jailed cowboy; Dane told him that he would be released tomorrow morning and that there was a Cross horse waiting for him in the livery. Its time there had been paid for, by the rancher himself. The cowboy seemed relieved at that news. The waiter at the restaurant told him Trash Tess had been there earlier and had eaten only lightly. He didn’t know where she went after leaving.

  As Dane tapped the last nail in the right rear shoe with his fifth stroke, Fred Mikman knocked on the doors to his shop. Dane smiled. He knew of only one man who would knock before entering his shop.

  “Come in, Mayor—and welcome.”

  By the look on the mayor’s face, it was clear he was bringing bad news of some kind.

  “Be with you in just a minute, Mayor,” Dane said, letting go of the horse’s leg, held as he squatted, and stood. “You look troubled, Fred.”

  “Ja, I am so.” Mikman wrung his hands together as if trying to cleanse them. “How do I say this?”

  Dane patted the horse’s back. “I’m your friend. Just say it.”

  “Ah, der council, ah, they haff decided . . . to have anudder marshal,” Mikman said, looking down at his feet.

  He went on to explain the council was worried that Dane’s fight with the Cross riders might bring trouble to the town. To quiet the situation, they fired Dane and hired Xavier Anthony as the new part-time lawman. His first task would be to take the arrested Cross cowboy out to the Cross ranch and explain the town was most interested in keeping a good relationship with Rudolph Cross and his men. The council wanted the new marshal to meet with the county sheriff and make certain he held no grudges against the town either.

  Laying his hammer against the forge, Dane let the news settle into his mind before responding. He should have expected it, he told himself. Town councils like peace—and they respond to wealth. But Xavier Anthony?

  “Does Xavier have the time to do this?” Dane asked, surprised at his first words in response. “With his tailoring?”

  “He says he does,” Mikman said. “No busier than du, he said. In fact, he vere at der meeting. Or rather, he vaited to be introduced. Ve had it in der hotel, du know.”

  “When does he take over?”

  “It ist now.” Mikman glanced at Dane, then again to his feet.

  Dane’s shoulders rose and fell. Part of him was relieved to have this responsibility removed; another part was worried about what would happen next. Cross would take the action as nothing more than weakness. Pure weakness. He knew both Cross and Stockton were the tailor’s customers, enjoying fine suits. He told himself that wasn’t a fair observation; he had done work for Cross, too. But not recently.

  He walked over to where his long coat and other clothes hung from the wall. “Let me get the badge. I made it, but it’s the town’s.”

  Mikman’s face was twisted with agony. “I did nicht see this to happen, Herr Marshal Dane. I should haff. I am so vehr sorry. Vehr sorry. Herr Ringley und Herr Lindsay und Herr McCornick had already talked to Herr Anthony about this. There vas only two votes for du. Myself und Lester Wilson.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Fred. Really, it’s all right. I’ve got my hands full right here,” Dane said, handing him the badge.

  He remembered the shotgun and turned to get the gun, resting against the wall. “Let me get the shotgun and shells. I won’t be needing them anymore.”

  “Nein. Nein. I vant du to keep them. It ist gift.” Mikman shook his head and waved his hands. “Ach du lieber, I do nicht like this at all. They are so wrong. Du are der reason there ist peace. Herr Cross vill come vit guns, I know it.”

  Dane licked his lips and his tongue ran along the puffy, scabbed wounds. “That is very kind of you, Fred, but you gave it to me as the town’s marshal. You should give this to Anthony.”

  “I do nicht like Herr Anthony. I believe he ist nicht vhat he claims to be,” Mikman said, getting red beneath his massive beard. “He vill nicht to face Herr Cross. He vill run und der town vill suffer.”

  Fumbling in his pockets, Dane finally found the key to the jail shed and handed it to the mayor. “Well, how about turning the shed over to Tess? Did they like that idea?”

  Mikman shook his head, before answering. “Nein. They decided to leave it as a jail until Herr Anthony und Sheriff Stockton could decide. They did nicht think der tree vould be satisfactory. Especially when you are nicht der marshal.” He pointed in the direction of the large cottonwood.

  After a few minutes of disjointed conversation, the saddened mayor left and Dane forced himself to return to his work. He looked over at where the squirrel ate, but the little animal was gone.

  “You, too, huh?” he muttered, and looked for his bellows.

  After a few minutes of renewing his fire, Trash Tess pushed through the shop doors. She was smiling and immediately told him about a “purty red burd” she had just seen and withdrew a small red feather from her large purse. She pointed to the coffee mug and Dane quickly brought her a filled cup.

  “Sugar? I wans sugar this time,” she declared.

  Dane shook his head. He didn’t use sugar and didn’t have any at his workplace. “I’m sorry, Tess, but I don’t have any sugar.”

  “Nex’ time ya has sugar.” She sipped the hot brew, frowning.

  “Yes, I will, Tess.”

  She nodded and took another sip. This time she smiled at him. Sort of a cockeyed smile, but definitely a smile.

  “Thank you, Jerr-i-koo,” she muttered.

  “You’re welcome, Tess.”

 
He asked if she was getting enough to eat and he thought she indicated she was, then he asked where she had been sleeping at night. The question annoyed her. He wasn’t certain if it seemed to be prying, or if she didn’t understand. He tried again.

  “Are you sleeping in the alley next to Carter’s restaurant?” he asked.

  She sipped her coffee and made no attempt to answer.

  “You are welcome to sleep here, Tess,” he said and pointed toward the storeroom. “I will get you a cot to sleep on. And blankets. What do you think?”

  She handed him back the half-drunk mug and shook her head. “Moth’r an’ fath’r wou’d miss me.”

  He took the mug and didn’t know how to respond. She waved cheerfully and left. He watched her go; her walk was a lumbering one, stiff and uneven. Her mind was that of a small child’s—or was it? He told himself to talk with Mary about getting a cot and fixing up the shed, in case Tess changed her mind. Unless Mary had a better idea.

  Later that evening, he and Mary had supper at Carter’s, enjoying each other’s company. Their eyes engaged each other’s and spoke of romantic things to come. Mary couldn’t hide her feelings of relief that Dane was no longer responsible for the law enforcement in the town. At the same time, she was incensed that the council had so callously fired him—and hired, of all people, Xavier Anthony.

  “What do you think Rudolph Cross will do?” she finally asked, sipping her coffee.

  Dane pursed his sore lips. “He’s going to take Kill Pond, then I think he’ll take control of the town.”

  “Oh, you can’t be serious,” she said, louder than intended.

  “Oh, I’m serious.” Dane took a small bite of his remaining steak. “He’ll get rid of Mikman and Reicker.” He nodded. “He’ll get rid of me. Probably Clell Edwards or one of the other ranchers, too, to scare the others. That would put everything in place. His own cousin as sheriff. Now Anthony as marshal.”

  Mary’s hand sought his. Her face was crumpled with concern. “Don’t say that, Jericho. Please. Don’t. It should be enough that you aren’t the marshal anymore. Won’t it?”

  Dane started to respond when the restaurant door opened and Xavier Anthony made a grand entrance. A few steps behind him were the three councilmen who voted him in—McCormick, Ringley and Lindsay—looking happy. Anthony held out his cane to reinforce the attention he had already received from the restaurant patrons and grandly announced that peace had come to the region.

  “I have Rudolph Cross’s word on it,” Anthony said proudly and added, “He was very upset with the way his men had been handled in the last two days, in town and near Kill Pond, by our former marshal.” He spotted Dane, who hadn’t turned around to watch his performance. “There is a time for violence, and there is a time for making friends. I have made an important friend for Torsmill.”

  There was scattered applause, along with glances in Dane’s direction. The blacksmith resumed talking with Mary as if there had never been an interruption. The topic changed to finding some place for Trash Tess to stay. He told her his idea for giving her the jail shed had been rejected by the town council.

  “The mayor liked the idea,” Dane said. “He’s given Carter money for her meals.”

  “I hear you have, too.”

  Dane’s face reddened. “And you have given her clothes.”

  “Haven’t seen her today; have you, my love?” Mary asked, noticing the late-arriving foursome was moving through the restaurant to an open table.

  Dane nodded. “I forgot to ask if she’s eaten here tonight.”

  “We’ll do that when we leave.”

  “Sure.” Dane felt Anthony’s presence. The other three men continued to their assigned table.

  “Good evening, Jericho,” Anthony said loudly. “I presume you just heard my meeting with Rudolph Cross was a successful one. I asked Sheriff Stockton to join me. He was happy to do so. Holds no bad feelings—against Torsmill.”

  Without looking up, Dane said, “I truly hope that is so, Xavier. I truly do.”

  “Oh, by the way, he and I wired Ranger headquarters and told them a Ranger was not needed.” Anthony held his cane in both hands at his waist. “I understand you had wired them earlier to send someone.” His smile stayed with his mouth and didn’t reach his eyes. “You seem to see danger everywhere, Jericho. I had a lieutenant who was always seeing the enemy when none was there.”

  Laying his fork against his plate, Dane started to say something, but Mary spoke first. “Mr. Anthony, you are interrupting our supper. Please find your seat with your friends. We really aren’t interested in hearing any of your fairy tales.”

  Anthony’s face turned crimson and he lifted his cane as if to strike her.

  “That’s the third dumb thing you’ve done today, Anthony” Dane said. “Put the cane down—and go sit.”

  Flustered and wary of Dane’s reaction, Anthony lowered the cane and spun around.

  Shifting his attention, Dane told Mary of his plan to create sleeping quarters for Tess in his small second room within his shop but she hadn’t seemed interested. Mary smiled and told him that she had taken Tess into her house. Tess had used it last night for the first time.

  “Dad’s bedroom hadn’t been used since . . . he passed.” Her eyes fluttered. “Tess seemed to like it.”

  Shaking his head, Dane said, “Well, no wonder. Why didn’t she tell me that?”

  “She likes you, Jericho. She probably didn’t know what to say, without hurting your feelings. I’m going to have her do some work at the store. Tasks she can handle, I think.” Mary smiled. “But I love you for caring about her.”

  Dane smiled. “I love you.”

  “Not as much as I love you, Jericho Dane.”

  Their long kiss good night outside of Mary’s house kept him warm all night long.

  IX

  Early the next morning, Dane went to the general store. Before he started work. He just wanted to see Mary. And hear her voice. As he stepped inside, he saw Mary—with Tess—in the back of the store. Tess was wearing a freshly laundered dress with her face and hands scrubbed clean. Mary was showing her how to straighten some shelves of canned goods.

  He wasn’t surprised to see the mentally slow woman there after Mary’s comments last night.

  “This is Tess’s first day working in the store,” Mary announced, and stepped back so Dane could see the woman carefully turning cans on a shelf so they could easily be read.

  “Good day, Jerr-i-koo,” Tess said. “I am stayin’ wit’ Miss Mary. Is that all ri’t?”

  Dane bit his lower lip. “Tess, I think that’s wonderful.”

  “Can I still come for coffee?”

  “I sure hope you will. I would be unhappy if you didn’t.”

  “Do you haff sugar?”

  Dane chuckled. “I’m buying some right now.”

  Tess beamed, and glanced at Mary, who smiled.

  A can spun out of Tess’s hand and crashed to the floor. She looked up with a worried look on her face. “I sorry. I can’t . . .”

  “You’re fine, Tess. Just fine.” Smiling, Mary picked up the can and handed it to Tess. “It happens to me all the time.”

  Tess glanced at Dane. “Jerr-i-koo, I didn’ mean to.”

  He nodded. “You’re doing a good job, Tess. A very good job.”

  Mary leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek

  Tess watched and giggled. “Mary kissed Jerr-i-koo.”

  Two customers entered and Dane excused himself, gathered a small sack of sugar and laid coins on the counter. As he paused at the opened door, Mary blew him a kiss and Tess waved.

  At his blacksmith shop, he put the sugar in the tool shed, then shed his coat and shirt and put on his apron. Quickly, the fire at his forge took control of the irons he laid there. With his tongs, he carried one iron to his anvil and began striking it with his hammer. Hours passed and only the squirrel interrupted his work—and the occasional cup of coffee. Most of his thoughts were about Mary a
s he finished a lap weld in a wagon tire and hinges, piled in stacks of five.

  He was surprised to see a familiar figure standing a few feet away.

  It was J. R. Reicker.

  “Need to talk with ya a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  “Got a bad case o’ the worries,” the older man said, sliding into the work area, his face curled with disgust. “That simple fool Anthony. He thought takin’ your prisoner back early was gonna turn Cross into his buddy.” He took the unlit cigar from his mouth, looked at it and continued, “I reckon he’ll just stand ‘round smilin’ while Cross takes over. Won’t know thar’s a problem’til they decide to git rid o’ him, too.”

  “Not much I can do about it,” Dane said.

  Reicker returned the cigar to the left side of his mouth. “True. But did ya know Stockton an’ two of Cross’s men jes’ rode into town?”

  Dane frowned. “He’s the county sheriff.”

  “Well, they dun pulled up in front of Miss Tressian’s place. Goin’ in.”

  “Why didn’t you say that before?”

  “Gittin’ to it.”

  “I’m going over there.” Dane rushed toward the doors.

  “Figgered.”

  A few steps from the doors, the blacksmith spun around to take off his apron and put on his shirt, long coat and hat. In minutes, he was at the door to the general store, telling himself that he wasn’t looking for trouble, just making certain Mary was in no danger. His hand went to the gun in his pocket, then retreated to his side.

  Turning toward the sound of Dane entering, Stockton’s face became a snarl as he realized who it was. His cheek and jaw were swollen with streaks of purple and yellow painted across them. His movements were stiff from the beating.

  “Salut. Look who’s here,” the closest cowboy, Lecaunesse, proclaimed as he twisted toward the door opening.

  The second, stocky man with a tied-down hat and knee-length chaps, who had been at Dane’s shop yesterday, snorted agreement. “The damn blacksmith.”