The Sundown Chaser

by Dusty Richards

  “My name’s Martha Goode. I can help her.” She hurried beside him.

  “Thurman Baker. Her name’s Mary.”

  “Is it Mary’s first?”

  “No, she’s delivered two before this—one on her own.”

  “Good.”

  They were back in the room and Martha took charge. “Lie down, darling,” she said, washing her hands in the bowl on the dresser and drying them. “Now, how close are you? Oh, my, he’s coming.”

  Thurman knelt on the far side of the bed and Mary squeezed his hand. Soon, Martha was up in the middle of the bed and coaxing her to push.

  After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, there was a final push and the woman held a slick-looking infant up by the heels. She slapped it twice and it tried its lungs.

  “Why it’s a dandy boy,” she said, rocking him in her arms.

  “His name is Cheyenne,” Thurman told her.

  “Well, Cheyenne it will be. Here, Mary, is your precious boy.” Martha gently handed the baby to Mary.

  “Thanks,” Thurman said in a state of dulled shock.

  “Don’t thank me. Thank God, sir. A baby always is a miracle. Ah, and he’s such a fine strong little fellow, too.”

  There was a knock on the door and Thurman went to answer it.

  “Dr. Williams. This where the lady’s having a child?”

  “Yes.” He swung the door open to the man. “But he’s already here.”

  The doctor fussed around, and soon declared her and the baby to be fine. Thurman was at the open window, looking at the street below in the gathering darkness. He turned back and thanked them both.

  “What do I owe you?”

  “Me? Laddie, you don’t owe a dime. I just wanted to be a help.” Martha shook her head, gathered her skirt, and curtsied before she left.

  The doctor piped up. “My usual fee is ten dollars, but since I did so little, I’ll settle for five.”

  “Record his birth, too?”

  “I can do that for another fifty cents.”

  “You do that. His name is Cheyenne Baker.”

  “I’ll send a copy back here in the morning.”

  Thurman paid him six and told him to keep the change. The doctor spoke to Mary briefly, and then thanked Thurman as he left.

  “Those two pistoleros are in town.” He went back to the window to look at the street. “They showed up in the bar where I was eating tonight. Lucky for me my former commander in the army was there. He had the local law arrest them on warrants from Texas. They can hold them for two weeks—”

  “What do you mean warrants?” Mary asked.

  “They can say they looked like men on wanted posters and wire those law agencies that they have these men they think are their wanted fugitives. The colonel is very influential in this city. I found that out tonight.”

  “What must we do?”

  “I think we should take the stage to Billings. I can get you and the baby settled up there, then I can handle those two.”

  “I’m sorry to be such a burden.”

  “You aren’t. I wanted you and him. But Cheyenne is not the place to play cat and mouse with two killers.”

  “Will they quit here?”

  “No. They can’t go home to Mexico without my head. Hell, they’ve tracked us from Texas to here. They don’t know the word for quit.”

  “So it’s either your death or theirs?’ she asked him in a soft voice, cuddling her new infant.

  “If there was a better way, I’d do it. You know I told you how between San Antonio and Fort Worth I set them afoot, no boots and no horses . . .” He dropped his chin while looking at the floor and shook his head. “I should have killed them then.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. This baby has made things worse.”

  “No! This is something I can handle. I want you, Mary. He’s our son. I gave him my name.”

  “Yes, that pleased me.”

  “I am sorry to upset you at such a trying time. I’ll get you out of here. If you get too tired, we can lay over on the trip.”

  “I can leave tomorrow.”

  “You sure you will be strong enough?”

  “I walked twelve miles the day after my first one was born.”

  “I’ll go see how I can get the horse and mule handled. Blacky, too. And check on the stage schedule. What can I get for you and him?”

  “Some diapers and a couple of small blankets. I can make him clothes when I get there.”

  “Food?”

  She shook her had. “I am fine.”

  “I’m sorry we have to move. But this is not the time or the place.”

  “It will be fine. He is here.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  “We’ll be all right. Take your time.”

  He agreed, but wasn’t satisfied at all closing the door and hurrying off. But he cut a deal on boarding the dog, horse, and mule with the liveryman, and paid him for two months’ care with word not to sell them, he’d be back. The man agreed.

  A short while later, he learned the railroad passenger service ran to Casper and bought tickets on it. The station man said there was a daily stage that ran from Casper on to Sheridan and then to Billings. If she could stand it, they’d make it in a three-day trip. Angry that his plans to simply let her rest up awhile when the baby was born had evaporated, he hurried off to buy what she needed.

  He was feeling very protective of her as they started out the next morning. Besides her bag, he took his saddle and rifle along. They rode in a cab to the depot. She looked tired and that worried him, but she pushed him to go ahead. On the train, she marveled at everything.

  “This is much better than the ferry,” she said, looking out the window at the passing Wyoming country.

  “Why, hell, you’ve never been on a train before. I’m sorry.”

  “It is fine. The baby comes in the world and the very next day he rides a train. When he is old enough, I will tell him about this trip and the adventures we had.” She laughed.

  He sat back on the passenger seat and felt relaxed for the first time in a day. She had a way of soothing him. He didn’t really know how she did it, but all his piled-on anxiety drained away. His mission’s conclusion was only days away. Lord, help me convince that boy. And thanks for her and the little one.

  In mid-afternoon, they reached Casper and stepped down onto the depot platform. The porter brought his saddle and her things. Thurman found a cab and they went to the hotel that the driver suggested.

  They ate in the hotel restaurant, and then ordered a tub and hot bath in the room for Mary. While she bathed, he sat in the stiff chair and held the baby wrapped in a blanket. The baby’s tiny fingers were so small, it was hard to imagine he would ever grow up to someday be a man.

  The fourteen-hour stage ride proved tougher than the train. Part of the way, he cared for the baby while she tried to sleep in the rocking coach. Late that night, they were at last in a hotel room in Sheridan.

  “We can stay here an extra day,” he offered.

  She agreed.

  The next day, he had his white shirt washed, starched, pressed, and his suit brushed in a Chinese bathhouse. Then after a bath, shave, and haircut, he went back to the hotel room to check on her.

  “I feel very rested today,” she said.

  “Good. It won’t be as far up there as it was from Casper.”

  He stood at the second-story window and hugged her shoulder when she joined him. “You seen anything in the future?”

  She squeezed him from the side. “No, I don’t dread anything right now. Maybe my visions will come back now my son is here.”

  “Did you have some earlier?”

  She laughed. “I wasn’t sure about the train.”

  “You know, I never thought of that until we were on it.”

  They both laughed.

  He spent the afternoon playing poker in a saloon on Main Street. A small game between four men: a local rancher, a freighter, a builder, and Thur
man.

  “Where you headed, Baker?” the fortyish rancher named Trisk asked.

  “Billings.” Thurman folded his hand.

  “Damn railroad’s headed there next,” the Scottish freighter said, and then turned to spit tobacco in the nearby spittoon.

  “You going to settle up there?” the builder, who called himself Earl, asked as he raked in the small pot.

  Thurman shook his head. “My son is up there.”

  “Who’s he?” Trisk asked.

  “Herschel Baker.”

  “We know about him. He’s the sheriff that tracked a killer down and arrested him here. Tough guy. Borders are just lines to him, they didn’t bother him one bit. You just visiting him?”

  “For now.” He anted two dollars and watched the fresh cards coming.

  “What’s your line of work?”

  “I ranch down in south Texas. Wanted to see my son this summer.”

  “Whew, laddie, you must have wanted to see him bad,” the Scotsman said. “Coming all this way.”

  “It was time.”

  The others nodded, and Thurman won the next hand.

  Thurman, Mary, and Cheyenne boarded the northbound stage in the cool predawn. They stopped at a stage stop at midday, and the drummer riding with them pointed to the nearby hill. “That’s where they got General Custer. Sitting Bull and that bunch killed them all right up there.”

  After using the facilities out back, they went inside the low-walled building to find some food. Thurman noted two men dressed in buckskin and with unkempt beards who were talking loudly at the bar to the side of the dining table. The woman waiting on Thurman and Mary noticed Cheyenne, and was delighted when Mary held him up for her to see.

  Thurman had his back to the wall, and he saw the two loudmouths talking about something that had attracted their interest. The larger one, towering over six feet, then started toward the dining table. Thurman eased out of the seat and Mary blinked at his move.

  “That’s close enough.” Thurman held up his left hand to stop the man.

  “Hell, all I wanted to do was look at the merchandise. I may wanta buy her.”

  “You better get back to that bar and mind your own business.”

  “Aw, I’d give you a sack of gold for her. She’s a cute little pup.” His words were slurred by the whiskey, and he rocked on his moccasin heels.

  “She’s my wife. She’s not for sale. And I’ll accept your apologies and you get back to the bar.”

  “Adobe, get back here. That man’s serious. Serious as hell,” his partner said from across the room.

  But Adobe either didn’t hear him or refused to heed him. His hand went for his cross-draw holster. The man’s fingers barely had closed on the grips when the .44 in Thurman’s hand spit lead and boiling gun smoke from the muzzle. The bullet struck Adobe in the chest like a thud on a watermelon.

  The mountain man dropped to his knees, and his partner rushed over screaming, “I told you—”

  “This your fight, too?” Thurman asked him, herding Mary and the baby aside. His gun was still cocked in his hand.

  “No—no. Adobe, talk to me. Adobe, talk to me.” He looked up with tears in his eyes. “He’s—he’s dead, mister.”

  “I’m sorry. He went for his gun.”

  The man nodded and broke into sobs.

  Thurman and Mary went outside in the bright sun along with the stage driver.

  The woman who’d waited on them came to the door. “I’ll bring your food out. No way you can eat in there.”

  “Shame,” the driver said. “But he was too drunk to listen. You did the only thing you could do.”

  “What’ll the law want to do?” Thurman asked.

  “Nothing. I’ll have someone here bury him.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  When the waitress brought their food on tin plates, she also gave them silverware from her pocket.

  “I’d pay for burying him,” Thurman said softly to her.

  “Naw, Big Mike’ll take him up in the Big Horns and bury him near their cabin.”

  “Sorry about the trouble.”

  “No need. He should have known better. I’m sorry he embarrassed your wife.”

  Mary shook it off.

  Thurman looked off toward the distant purple Big Horns. Damn shame. While Mary ate her food, he held the baby. No doubt Cheyenne was still upset from the gun’s loud report, squirming and whimpering some, but the little guy seldom cried.

  Before they climbed back on the stage for the last leg, the woman’s man and the other trapper brought the dead man’s body out wrapped in a blanket and loaded him over the saddle across a riding mule. When the body was tied down, the trapper mounted a crop-eared paint buffalo pony and rode off.

  Next stop was Billings. Why did he dread that notion so? It roiled his stomach.

  TWENTY-ONE

  BLANKETS, the canvas fly, three poles with iron bolts in the ends for tent support, a shovel, ax, food for an army—Herschel considered it a major deal when he saw it.

  “We’re ready to go,” Nina told him before he dismounted. “We been working all day like slaves.”

  He nodded to her when he dropped off Cob and began to undo the girth. “I guess it’s lots of work getting ready to go to a dance.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t plan to get married at this one.”

  “Oh?” He lifted the saddle and blankets off Cob.

  “I made up my mind.”

  “How is that?”

  “Since Kate’s the oldest, she’ll have to get married before I can.”

  “I guess. Is that a rule?” He put the saddle on the rack.

  “Of course it is. And since she ain’t looking very hard, why, I’ll probably be an old maid.”

  “What’s happening out here?” Marsha asked, joining them.

  “Oh, we were talking about not getting married this weekend.”

  “Well, I should hope not.”

  “Mother, it is a conspiracy between Daddy and me.”

  “Very well. We are loaded and ready to go.”

  “I see that,” said Herschel. “Reckon those buckskins can tow that load and all of us up there?”

  “They’ll make it.”

  “We better get headed up there then.”

  “I didn’t bring anything I didn’t think we’d need,” Marsha declared.

  He smiled and winked at her. “I’m just used to an old greasy sack tied on the saddle horn.”

  Nina made a face and they laughed.

  When the girls were loaded and they found themselves a place to sit among the load, Herschel helped Marsha up and they drove off. The long tent poles were under her feet and presented no problem, but he was amazed at all she’d brought along. They wouldn’t starve for certain. Of course, there’d be more freeloaders coming around at mealtimes since the word would be out.

  The drive went fine. They took some breaks. And Kate was soon braiding daisies into a crown. She made one for Sarah to wear instead of the sunbonnet she hated. Nina wore a boy’s derby for headgear, and refused to be involved in any flowery attire. Instead, she skipped rocks across the streams they stopped at, or tried to hit meadowlarks with rocks while going down the road.

  Close to sundown, they pulled up to park on the edge of the school yard. The girls were worn out. Marsha started a fire to cook supper, and Herschel began unloading. A few folks were already camped there. They came over and helped, making small talk about the nice weather and the cattle markets. Soon, the Baker camp was set up and the horses were on the picket line eating oats from nose bags.

  Sarah fell asleep before finishing supper, and he carried her wearing her daisy crown to her palette. His little princess tucked under the blanket, he walked back to the fire’s glow, grateful Marsha had thought to bring some wood along. In the morning, he’d find some to chop up.

  “I’m not going to sleep tonight,” Nina announced.

  “Why not?” Marsha asked.


  “I might miss something.”

  “But then you’d be too tired to play tomorrow.”

  “Oh, well, I may sleep a little.”

  “Did you go to dances when you were a boy?’ Kate asked him.

  “Yes. They had dances at folks’ houses, they had them in town, they had them out at schoolhouses.”

  “Who taught you to dance?”

  “A girl named Gretchen.”

  “Did you want to marry her?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t have to marry whoever you dance with,” her mother said, looking at the stars for help.

  Kate shrugged. “I just wanted to know about Daddy’s life before we knew him.”

  “That’s being nosy.”

  “Naw, Kate’s all right. Back then, I got my tongue all tangled up talking to girls who I thought I liked. And I reckon I never impressed them much on account of that.”

  “But you don’t act like that now.”

  Marsha gave her an exasperated look as she washed the dishes.

  “I guess, Kate, I was slow growing up about that,” Herschel said.

  “If I’d been a girl back then, would you have wanted to dance with me?”

  “I sure would have. But I’d’ve stammered and sounded plumb clumsy.”

  “Why did you dance with Gretchen?”

  “Because she always asked me to dance with her.”

  Kate snickered. “Was she pretty?”

  He sucked on an eyetooth and shook his head. “Not near as pretty as you girls are.”

  He had an image of the straight-backed, flat-chested Gretchen in her very homemade dress dancing stiff-legged with him. One and two and one and two. Then, one night, he must have heard the music, and they were soon whirling around the floor and her brown eyes got big enough to pop out. After that, he always danced with her—because he didn’t know how to dance with the other girls. It only worked for him with her. She even laughed sometimes when they had to quit to get their breath. And one day, he wasn’t dancing with a flat-chested girl, but a woman with a nice figure, and he never knew when it all changed.

  Gretchen’s big brothers caught him outside the schoolhouse one night, and demanded to know his intentions toward their sister. What did he do for a living? How could he support her? When would he ask her to marry him?