by J. Lee Butts
So, I ambled down to the old fart’s room and pulled a chair up beside his bed. Figured it wouldn’t hurt to buy myself a little insurance just in case he actually passed on this time. Nurses had him hooked up to three or four different kinds of liquid. Usually had to rehy-drate his desiccated old carcass for a couple of days, then fill him full of all kinds of other stuff before he made it back from the other side.
He must have heard me, because his eyes fluttered open like broken window shades flipping around. Stared at me for almost a minute before full recognition flittered across his face. Then he smiled and said, “What the hell’s going on, Hayden? Think we’ll have to blast our way out of here?”
Guess he lost that thread and picked up on another pretty quick. “Any of them dancin’ girls still around? I really like that ’un named Ruth. Blond-headed gal looks awful good in that white thing she wears. Heddy’s better-looking, though. Actually like her better’n Ruth. Course Marty’s a real juicy little thing, but she’s only here one day a week.”
Pulled on the sleeve of his pajamas to get his attention. “Carlton, I need you to do something for me.”
He cupped his hand over his ear and started to play hard of hearing on me again. I wasn’t having any of it. “Don’t you dare drag out that ole ‘I’m so deaf Gabriel’s horn would sound like a tin whistle’ stuff on me today. We don’t have time for it right now.”
A devilish grin crooked its way across his face. He dropped the hand back onto the bed. “Oh, really?” Fumbled around under the bedcovers for a bit, and went to complaining. “Don’t know where they hid my pistols, but I’ll put windows and doors in whoever you want. Just point ‘out and aim me in the right direction.”
Carlton brought his gnarled fingers out of the sheets like guns and started waving them at the ghosts who danced around his bed and shot back at him. “Damn you, sorry bastards. Hold still, for cryin’ out loud. Sweet Jesus on a handcart! Hard to hit ‘when they move that fast, ain’t it, Hayden.”
I pulled his right arm back down to the bed and held it there. “Need you to concentrate, old man. Want you to talk to Lightfoot in a couple of days. You’re gonna tell him about the time you and Billy pulled the cannon from McAlester’s Store up to Big Cougar Bluff.”
His head turned toward me like something mounted on a rusted swivel. For about a minute he didn’t say anything—laid there staring at me like I’d come from some faraway place he didn’t believe existed. Then, his eyes lit up again and he smiled.
“Long time ago. Almost forgot that one, Hayden. Hard to believe anyone could forget something like that, ain’t it? Hellfire-and-brimstone fight like that’n ought to stay with a man right up till the time he has to quit this life and give up his spurs.”
“Well, you work on it for a couple of days and we’ll sit down with the boy and see how much you can scratch out of that lump you call a brain. Okay?”
He scratched at the one or two remaining hairs on his freckled head, then examined his finger like he expected to find something. “Oh, you bet. I’ll work on it. We’ll have a fine time with Junior.”
“Now listen, old man, don’t polish this stuff up too much. I’m gonna be right there listening, and don’t want you to put a whole bunch of fancy embroidery on it.”
He squinted and looked disappointed. “Oh, come on, Hayden, cain’t we pull his skinny legs a smidgen here and there as we go along?”
Had to laugh. “Okay, a smidgen. But don’t get carried away. We want enough of the truth to keep him coming back for more. If you start colorin’ this up redder’n a Navajo blanket, we might lose him and you wouldn’t want the boy to stop coming to see us, would you?”
The next day I went down to the nurse’s station and called Junior. He’d left me a fancy-looking embossed business card with his office number on it.
Phone barely got a chance to ring. “Features desk, Franklin J. Lightfoot, Jr.” Boy had a real superior, officious-sounding demeanor on the squawker.
“Junior, this is Tilden.”
“Why, Marshal Tilden, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?”
“Need you to bring a sack of lemon drops when you come back out tomorrow.”
“Lemon drops?”
“Yeah. And if you can get ’em, bring the kind they sell down at Walgreen’s Drug Store.”
“Walgreen’s? Why Walgreen’s?”
“Carlton J. Cecil is a connoisseur of finely aged lemon-drop candy. Can’t testify to the thing myself, but he claims Walgreen’s Drugs lays out the best you can put in your mouth. Bring some, and I can guarantee you’ll make a friend for life. Course I’m talking his life here, not yours.”
A fairly pregnant silence came to me from the other end of the line before he finally said, “How big a bag should I buy?”
“The bigger, the better. Might even be a good idea to bring two, but we’ll have to parcel them out to him a few at a time. Understand?”
“Hell, no, I don’t understand, but of course I’ll do it because I know you have a sound reason for asking.”
“You’re a good boy, Frank. It don’t take much to make an antique killer happy, just a few chunks of flavored sugar. You’re gonna be surprised what you get for that fifty-cent investment. See you in the morning.”
“I’ll be there,” he said, and hung up on his end.
Way I had it figured, if everything went just by-God perfect, Franklin J. was in for a real treat.
7
“A TART-TONGUED WOMAN
WITH AN AX TO GRIND”
FRANKLIN J. LIGHTFOOT showed up the next day sporting a toothy grin and carrying what looked like a five-pound bag of lemon drops. Nurse Heddy and me already had all the chairs and tables arranged out on the sun porch, but I wanted to wait and check everything over with Carlton before wheeling him out for his big debut performance.
I said, “Sweet Jesus, Junior. Did you buy up everything Walgreen’s had? We don’t want the old fart to go into diabetic shock—least not right away. Take a handful of those little weasels and give me the rest. I’ll hide ’em. We’ll dribble him out a few at a time. He’s like a hungry dog. You give him this whole bag and he won’t quit gobbling them down till it’s completely empty.”
Stopped at my room and squirreled all the leftover goodies in a spot under my socks, and hurried on over to Carlton’s room. Nurse Ruth Willett had checked on him and entertained the crazed coot most of the morning while I got everything ready for his entrance.
Whizzed over to him—least I did as much whizzin’ as a man my age could—grabbed the grips of his chair, and started rolling him toward the porch. But I’d gone only a few steps when Heddy had to take over for me. Huffed and puffed along beside him.
“You ready, Carlton?”
“Hell, yes. Was born ready.” His voice sounded like a rat-tailed file ripping through the teeth on a handsaw.
“You remember everything we talked about? All the stuff from yesterday and the day before?”
“Yeah. Well, most of it. You said Junior might bring me some candy.”
“What else?”
“Whattaya mean, what else?”
“Dammit, old man, don’t mess with me this morning. I’m doing my best to give you a chance at immortality here. You’ve got a sterling opportunity to live forever on the printed page. You could end up being as famous as Heck Thomas or Bill Tilghman—if you play your cards right. So, cinch it up tight and put on a good show.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Knew that’d get yore goat, Hayden. Really jerks yore longjohns up in a knot when I play deaf or dumb. Don’t fret about it. Won’t let you down. Just point me at Franklin J. ‘Whistle Britches’ Lightfoot. He’ll never know what hit him when I get through with that wet-behind-the-ears puppy.” He giggled again, shook all over, and twisted his head my direction. “Hell, Hayden, no one knows who Heck Thomas was, or Bill Tilghman for that matter. You three boys might have been the most famous marshals ever come out of Parker’s traveling band of d
o-rights. But I’d bet everything I ever owned our friend Franklin J. Junior could go to downtown Little Rock and stop the first fifty people he met and not a damned one of them would know who any one of you was. Well, maybe some would recognize you now because of Lawdog.”
He might have been fake deaf, a lot oversexed for a man his age, and a little bit crazy, but he was right as rain about that one.
Lightfoot stood and offered his hand as we rolled to a stop in front of his chair. He almost yelled, “Morning, Mr. Cecil. How’re you doing today?”
“No need to scream, boy. I can hear fine today. I’m not bad. Not bad at all. Yourself?”
The boy looked a bit puzzled. “Fair to middlin’, Mr. Cecil.”
Heddy locked the wheelchair into position. Lightfoot and I got ourselves situated in our respective wallows, while Carlton counted the sugary yellow treats the boy dropped in his hands. Most times we’d have moved him out of the wheelchair, but Nurse Ruthie had already passed dead-certain judgment and declared it would be a better idea to keep him in it just in case we had to get him back to his room real fast. With all that candy in his trembling fist, he didn’t care much where he sat anyway. Personal comfort took a backseat to a sweet tooth the size of a poorhouse soup dish. Personally believe we could have set his toes on fire and he wouldn’t have noticed till his shorts flamed up.
Junior pulled his pad out, scratched around for a minute, then looked up like a man about to hear something monumental. “Your hammer cocked there, Mr. Cecil?” The boy smiled at his own joke. Thought there for a minute he might bust out laughing.
“Hell, yes. My hammer’s always cocked. Along with several other things.” He smiled, and I could see the candy sitting on top of his wiggling tongue.
“Mr. Tilden told me that when the two of you went out after Smilin’ Jack Paine he left you with Billy Bird at McAlester’s Store. Is that correct?”
“Yep. We stayed at McAlester’s Store fer a bit.”
He smacked his lips and rolled the candy around in his mouth, but didn’t say another word for about a minute. “Always liked Billy Bird. Enjoyed his company. Felt safe with a man who could handle a brace of pistols the way he did. Anyone would.”
“Tell us what happened after Hayden left the two of you. Can you remember that?”
“Most of it. I’ve lost some along the way. But I think I can remember most of it.” He leaned over in his chair and nailed the boy with a look that sizzled from the power he’d known in the past. “But let’s get one thing straight ’fore we get started. Things I’m gonna tell you here today have been a secret for over sixty years. Me’n Hayden are the only ones what can tell the whole story, and we’ve kept it to ourselves all this time.”
He threw me a conspiratorial glance and winked. Well, he kind of winked. Carlton had a way of closing his right eye real slow. It was something like a wink, but a real strange one.
He snuggled back against his chair, closed his watery sagging eyes like the world had fallen on him, and for a moment I thought he’d dozed off. But then it started, and—honest to God—the man performed like a classically trained Shakespearean actor. It has to go down as one of the most amazing things I’d seen him pull off in years. And, hey, I’ve seen him get away with some doozies.
My ancient friend started slow. At times it seemed like he had to really stretch to find the right thoughts and attach them to the correct words. Then, his rheumy eyes would brighten up and he’d go at it like a long-legged, thoroughbred Kentucky racehorse that hadn’t been let out to run in a coon’s age. And just like I’d hoped he would, once he got moving in the right direction, the memories of who he’d been and what he’d done took over the situation, and it all came pouring out. Funny, but for the first time in months he didn’t bother to do his “I’m deafer than a post” act—tricky son of a bitch. Always knew he faked it.
Hell, I’d bet anything his hard-of-hearing trick was just another deception designed to get them pretty young nurses and other less than cautious females to lean over close when he talked to them so he could look down their blouses. Good thing the randy old goat couldn’t get around any better than he did.
Well, there we was—dressed up pretty and not much of any place to go. Had that cannon hooked up behind. All the ammunition we could possibly ever need. We was on our way to Martin Luther Big Eagle’s nest up on the Canadian. Then, this plow-pusher come up and said he’d found some poor murdered feller in the creek behind his house. Hayden, Harry, and Lucius Dodge struck off looking to help him out. Me’n Billy headed due west for the Canadian. Warn’t nothing unusual ’bout such events, though. Hell, I tried last night, and couldn’t bring to mind a single time things actually worked out the way we wanted them to when we started on one of those raids. Hayden can tell you the same thing.
We took our time, but hit at it pretty steady. Managed to get over there in the Chickasaw Nation ’tween the Muddy and the Clear Boggy. Billy had the reins that day. I’d managed to doze off for a while when he punched me on the arm.
“Whaddaya make of that, Carlton?”
He had us stopped on a pine-covered hill what looked down on a grassy glade. Appeared to be a fine place for a camp. Guess some other folks thought so too. Their wagon smoldered and sputtered down below us. Must have been burning for a spell ’fore we showed up. Flames had died down. Warn’t nothing but ugly black smoke coming off the wreck. Steady breeze brought the odor all the way to where we’d stopped. You know, the burnt-up smell that causes your eyes to water and your nose to scrunch up. Comes from wood, clothing, and all the other stuff that makes up what normally goes in a house. Overpowered everything there.
During my time out on the trail, I noticed as how killers and thieves often liked to set fire to everything in the hope they could somehow manage to cover up their most brutal crimes. Seldom worked—if it ever did. Come to think of it, cain’t remember a time it even came close to accomplishing what they intended. Every instance I can bring to mind ended with the perpetrators being caught, jailed, tried, and their sorry necks stretched for their no-account misdeeds.
Climbed off our rig, got our rifles out, and ventured down the hill to see what might have transpired. Billy went at it from the left. I covered his back, and kinda trickled down on the right. Pots, pans, clothing, and all other forms of personal belongings decorated the grass-covered ground like hell its very self had rained down from above onto those poor folks.
Here and there, larger items like a trunk or leather valise had been ripped open and emptied in an effort to find something valuable. So much stuff in the grass you had to wade through it. Found three bodies. Man, woman, and a youngster. Folks died some horrible deaths. Woman was laid out on her back with her dress bunched up over her head. Her death was bad enough, but their combined departures from this life—and everything else—made for an awful sight. Never seen Billy Bird that mad afore.
“God damn the bastards that did this.” He stood over what had been a fine-looking little boy about five or six. Tears rolled down Billy’s cheeks and hissed when they dropped into the smoldering ashes near the body. Kept shaking his head like couldn’t believe his own eyes. Said the same thing over the man and his wife.
But, hell, we both knew things like that happened all the time out there in the Territories. So many murderers was running loose in the Nations, anyone caught in the boonies alone was shootin’ craps with their lives. But them killings seemed to have had a deeper effect on Billy than others we’d come across together. Still don’t know why.
We’d been investigatin’ and scratchin’ around for about an hour. Got the corpses together and under the only piece of tarp not blackened by the fire. Gathered up most of the stuff scattered around on the ground. I happened to glance over Billy’s shoulder while we were sharing a sip from one of our canteens. Had to give it a serious effort to see what was really there. A girl who looked about seventeen stared at us from the safety of the tree line. The color of her clothing and the way she hunkered down a
nd eyeballed us over her knees turned her into a living rock. Even someone as sharp-eyed as I was back then could have barely made her out as human. Something catlike about those eyes of hers.
Whispered, “Billy, there’s someone watching from the woods directly behind you.”
“Can you make out more than the one?” His eyes narrowed down under scrunched-up brows, and his hands dropped to the buckle of his gunbelt before easing to the grips of his pistols.
“Don’t look like but one to me. Young girl. ’Bout sixteen or seventeen from all appearances.”
“Can’t see any others?”
“Nope. Just the one.”
His hand came up, and he pushed his hat onto the back of his head. “What we gonna do, Carlton? Make the wrong move and she’ll probably run like a turpentined wildcat. Hell, can’t really blame her if she did.”
Well, we cooked it up that he’d stay with the dead folks. I’d sashay back to the tumbleweed and then circle around behind our ree-luctant observer. Everything went pretty good till I got just a few feet from the girl. Could see she was shaking all over. Fear can do that to you. Seen it lots of times. People tremble like it’s fifty below and there’s a heavy wind from the north. Had my arms stretched out and was about a step and a half away when she jumped up and started screaming like the lunch whistle at a sawmill. Don’t know what possessed her. She turned and tried to run straight over me.
Heard Billy yell, “Hang onto her, Carlton. I’m coming as quick as I can.”
Black-haired gal fought like a branded bobcat. Hell, she put scratches all over me. Found one a couple of days later on my shin down inside my boot. More’n sixty years later, this very day, and I still haven’t been able to figure out how she managed to do it.
“I’ve got her now!” Billy grabbed our phantom by the arms above her elbows. He had his grip from behind, and you’d of thought she didn’t have much of a chance at getting away from him.