Tanner's Law

by Charles G. West

  Jeb noticed a fairly fresh bruise beside her right eye and almost commented on it, but decided to hold his tongue. Instead he said, “Here, why don’t you let me fill that bucket for you?”

  “No. Thank you, sir, but I can get it,” she replied, looking around as if afraid someone might see them talking.

  “No trouble a’tall,” he said, taking the bucket from her hand. “I’ve gotta fill this one anyway. It’ll be easier to fill both of ’em—keep my balance better with two coming up this bank.” He descended the bank before she could protest further. “I’d be glad to carry it back for you,” Jeb said when he returned to the top of the bank with full buckets.

  “No, no,” Cora protested fearfully. “I’ll get in trouble.”

  She reached for the bucket, but it was already too late. “Cora!” an angry voice bellowed.

  Jeb turned toward the voice. It was not her husband’s. Standing near the closest wagon, one of the three men who had backed Cora’s husband the night before glared menacingly at the frightened girl. She grabbed the bucket, almost spilling it, and hurried back toward the camp. As Jeb watched, she hung her head when she passed by the man. Jeb could not hear the words spoken, but she was obviously scolded as she went by him. Damn, he thought, sorry that he had evidently caused her trouble.

  Aware that the man was still standing there, now glaring at him, Jeb turned and started back to camp with his bucket of water. Standing beside her wagon, Ida Freeman paused in her supper preparations when she saw the incident taking place by the creek bank. Though it was a minor thing, and seemingly of little significance, she deemed it important to warn Jeb about paying any attention to Cora Leach.

  “I thank you, sir,” Ida said when Jeb set the bucket down by the wagon wheel.

  “No trouble a’tall,” Jeb replied. “Always glad to help a fine-lookin’ woman.” He grinned as he added, “Especially one that makes such fine biscuits.”

  Ida cocked her head and grunted. “Don’t go wastin’ your charm on me,” she said, brushing the ever-present wisp of gray hair from her face. Jeb threw his head back and chuckled. Ida’s smile faded then and a frown appeared to take its place. “Young man, it appears to me that you’re possessed of a fun-lovin’ spirit, and I reckon that’s your business. But I need to warn you about having any to-do with the Leach brothers, especially Garth. That’s the big fellow that was just down at the creek when you were talking to Cora. Garth’s the oldest of the four brothers, and Jacob can tell you that he’s the most dangerous of the bunch, although they’re all pretty ornery.” Her warning surprised Jeb, causing him to give her a questioning look.

  “Ida’s right,” Jacob Freeman said, overhearing his wife’s comments. “Them boys is bad business, and no doubt about it.”

  Still puzzled by the unexpected word of caution, Jeb said, “Why, I ain’t lookin’ to cause anybody trouble. All I did was get a bucket of water for the lady. Same’s I did for you,” he added, looking at Ida. He was beginning to wonder how the four happened to be traveling with a train of obviously peaceful Christian folks. Jacob went on to explain.

  “They joined up with us back at Council Grove,” he said. “Two wagons, Joe and Cora in one, and Garth, Ike, and Jesse in the other. We found out about two days outta Council Grove that we’d made a mistake in lettin’ them join us.” Again there was a questioning look from Jeb. “They just ain’t our kind of folks,” Jacob went on.

  “Fightin’ and cussin’,” Ida interjected. “You never heard such a fuss. We were kinda hopin’ they’d kill each other off, after we saw what kind of people they were. The thing that bothers me most is the way they treat that poor little girl Joe’s married to. I swear, she comes out with a new bruise or cut every mornin’. Janie Reece asked her what happened to her eye one mornin’, and that weasel she’s married to told Janie to mind her own business.”

  “Well, there’s that,” Jacob said. “But there’s also the fact that the wagon three of the brothers are drivin’ is loaded down with something. Fred Lister got a peek into that wagon one day when he was lookin’ for his son. The little feller’s about three years old, and he’d run off somewhere. Fred was just lookin’ to keep the young’un from pesterin’ anybody. But he got told pretty quick to keep his nose outta their wagons. Fred said he didn’t get to see much, but there were some wood crates that look like the kind rifles are shipped in, and he saw one whiskey barrel. Everything else was covered up. They’re up to no good, that bunch. They tagged on to us for protection, and I reckon they figure the soldiers won’t bother lookin’ in their wagons as long as they’re traveling with respectable folks like us.”

  “Why don’t you tell them to quit the train?” Jeb asked.

  “We intend to,” Jacob replied. “But up to now we haven’t, for the same reason we asked you and your partner to join up. We’ll wait till we get clear of Fort Larned. Then, by thunder, we’ll come to a partin’ of the ways quick enough.”

  Jeb shook his head thoughtfully. Considering the makeup of the people in the train, he could understand a reluctance to confront the likes of Garth Leach and his brothers—a pack of wolves traveling with a flock of sheep. “Well, any trouble they get from me, they’ll bring it on theirselves,” he said. “When the time comes, me and Tanner will back you.”

  “I appreciate it,” Jacob said. “I’m afraid they ain’t gonna like it when I tell ’em to git.”

  Jeb left the Freemans then to tend to his horse, but he was still thinking about what they had told him. A wagon full of guns and whiskey, he thought. That doesn’t sound like typical settlers, for damn sure. “Well, I reckon it’s their business and I don’t need to make it none of mine,” he announced, and turned his attention to the horses grazing near the river.

  It was close to sundown when Tanner returned to camp with two antelope carcasses tied on his packhorse. He was a welcome sight, since he offered to share the meat with the entire train, and several of the men quickly volunteered to help him butcher the animals. The arrival of fresh meat served to spawn a festive air about the camp, and soon the cook fires were rekindled and burning brightly. Jacob Freeman announced it a cause for celebration on the eve of reaching Fort Larned. “We can make the fort with our bellies full of fresh meat, instead of salt pork,” he proclaimed. Spits of green cottonwood limbs were fashioned over a couple of the fires, and soon the aroma of sizzling antelope haunches filled the air.

  Off to one side of the circle of wagons, the four Leach brothers stood watching. Sullen and scornful, they stared at the festive scene like coyotes on the fringe of a buffalo herd. Only Cora sneaked a hint of a smile as she watched the children darting close to the fire to snatch a sliver of roasted meat.

  Noticing the longing gaze of the dark-eyed girl, Ida Freeman walked over and spoke to her. “Don’t hang back here in the shadows, honey. Come on over to the fire and join us.”

  Cora looked quickly at her husband, seeking his permission, and was met with a deep frown. “We already et our supper,” Joe Leach replied gruffly. “Cora don’t need no wild meat.”

  Ignoring the surly response, Ida directed her invitation to Cora. “We don’t see enough of you, young lady. Why don’t you come join the fun?”

  “I done told you—” Joe flared, about to tell Ida to mind her own business.

  “No, no thank you, Miz Freeman,” Cora quickly interrupted. “I’ve still got chores to do before bedtime. But thank you just the same.”

  Ida shook her head slowly as she read the sadness in the young girl’s eyes. Then she glared at Joe for a second before turning on her heel.

  Cora felt the iron grip of her husband’s hand on her shoulder again. “Get yourself back to the wagon,” he growled. With no word of protest, she turned and obeyed, walking back to the wagon without a backward glance at the cheerful celebration.

  Close by Jacob’s campfire, Jeb stood watching the incident between Ida Freeman and Joe Leach. At some thirty yards away, he could barely make out a word or two of the conversation, bu
t enough to determine the gist of it. He said nothing for a few moments, thinking of the fresh bruise on Cora’s face. Finally, he muttered, “That ain’t no way to treat a woman.”

  Hearing his partner’s low growl, Tanner turned to see what had caused the comment. Following Jeb’s gaze, he immediately saw the reason. “I reckon there’s a lot of men that don’t deserve a wife,” he said. “It doesn’t seem right, but I guess it’s between the two of them and none of our business.”

  “Just the same,” Jeb replied, “I hate to see a woman treated like that.”

  “I know, but maybe she doesn’t think it’s that bad, or she would have run off and left him.”

  “Maybe,” Jeb allowed. “Unless she’s too scared of him to run.”

  In an attempt to take his partner’s mind off the unfortunate girl, Tanner sliced off a generous slab of haunch and handed it to Jeb. “Try this,” he said. “It’s pretty good eatin’. As fast as these critters run, I’m surprised the meat ain’t tough as nails.” He went on to describe his hunt. “I’ve hunted all kinds of game, but I ain’t ever seen anything move as fast as antelope. A man has to time his shot just right, ’cause there ain’t a chance for a second shot.” Jeb reluctantly pulled his concentration away from the slight young woman and joined Tanner beside the fire. Across the clearing, the four Leach brothers tired of the celebration and returned to their wagons.

  Chapter 6

  In the early afternoon of the following day, the wagon train reached Pawnee Fork Crossing on the Arkansas, where the original fort had been built. Continuing on two and a half miles up Pawnee Creek, they sighted the adobe buildings of Fort Larned on the south side of the creek. Jacob and Floyd debated the best location to establish camp, then decided upon a site a few hundred yards upstream from the fort where there was plenty of grass for the animals.

  Lieutenant Jack Puckett rode out to inspect the newly arrived wagon train and to familiarize the travelers with the services available at the fort, which turned out to be little more than wagon and harness repair. He informed them again of the restrictions on wagon trains traveling past Fort Larned and was satisfied that they met the requirements of twenty wagons, thirty men. After the lieutenant left, Jacob talked to his people. “Those of you who need repairs best get about it right away, and maybe we can get started again day after tomorrow. I don’t see much use in wastin’ any more time than that around here. It don’t seem like there’s much they can do in the way of supplies. It may be better when we get to Fort Lyon.”

  “Tanner, dammit, let’s go find us a drink of whiskey,” Jeb suddenly blurted. “I swear, it’s been a while since I’ve had a drink, and I know there’s some somewhere on an army post.”

  Tanner looked up from the rifle he was in the process of cleaning. A drink would be enjoyable after the long ride from Council Grove, he thought. “All right,” he said. “I expect the best place to start lookin’ might be the stables.” He figured it was a good chance some enlisted man might be assigned stable duty as punishment, and most likely for drunkenness.

  “Let’s go, then,” Jeb quickly replied. It was no more than a quarter mile back to the post, so they decided to walk. “It might be best to leave these 08-branded horses here in camp in case they come down with a case of homesickness,” he said with a chuckle.

  Just as they figured, there were two soldiers mucking out the stables when they walked in the open end of the building. They both paused to lean on their pitchforks when Tanner and Jeb approached. “What in blazes did you two do to draw this kind of duty?” Jeb called out in greeting.

  There was no response from either at first, as both men looked the strangers over. Then one of the soldiers, a slight man with a scraggly mustache, answered. “Too much applejack, I reckon. It don’t take much when Lieutenant Puckett is the officer of the day.”

  The other soldier, a short pudgy man in contrast to his bony partner, spoke then. “If you fellers are lookin’ for horse feed or hay, this here’s for army use only.”

  “Hell, we’re needin’ the same stuff that landed you in the stables this mornin’,” Jeb said. “Maybe you can tell us where a feller might find a drink of whiskey around here.”

  “It’s against regulations to have strong spirits on the post,” the skinny private announced.

  Jeb took a brief moment to aim an exasperated look in Tanner’s direction before turning back to the soldier. “We were both in the army. We know army regulations don’t mean a damn thing when it comes to havin’ a little drink. Just tell me who to see to get a little whiskey we can take back to camp.”

  The two soldiers exchanged cautious glances before the stocky one shrugged and said, “There’s two barracks. Go to the one closest to the hospital. One end of it is a storeroom. See Sergeant Crowder, and maybe you can talk him outta some whiskey—if there’s any left, which I doubt. They smuggled some in under a wagonload of hay day before yesterday.”

  “Much obliged,” Jeb said, flashing a wide grin at Tanner. “Maybe we’ll bring you back a drink.”

  “Maybe you’d better not,” the slight soldier lamented. “Puckett’ll smell a man’s breath. Stable duty this time, it’ll be the guardhouse next time.”

  “What can I do for you boys?” Sergeant Ben Crowder asked when Tanner and Jeb walked in the door of the storeroom.

  “We’re lookin’ to buy a little whiskey,” Jeb replied, “and we were told this is the place to get it.”

  “Whiskey?” Crowder responded as if amazed. “This is an army supply room. I don’t sell no whiskey here. Look around you. Does this look like a saloon to you?”

  Jeb gave the sergeant a wink. “Come on, Sarge, all we’re lookin’ for is a little jar of whiskey, enough for us to have a couple of drinks apiece.”

  “Who told you you could get whiskey here?”

  “Feller over at the stable,” Jeb replied. Tanner walked over and propped an elbow on the counter. Jeb never needed help talking, so Tanner was content to remain an observer.

  “McIntyre?” Crowder blurted. “That little weasel never could keep his mouth shut.”

  “Didn’t catch his name,” Jeb replied. “But he was a charitable man who took pity on a couple of thirsty travelers. We were hopin’ you’d be the same.”

  The sergeant studied the two men for a long moment before asking, “You two come in with that wagon train yesterday?” Jeb nodded. “And you come in here looking for a drink?” Again Jeb nodded. “Why the hell didn’t you just get it from that feller Leach?”

  Tanner and Jeb exchanged startled expressions. Jacob Freeman had told of someone seeing what looked like a whiskey keg in Garth Leach’s wagon. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Jeb allowed. “The son of a bitch is sellin’ it. I just figured he had a powerful thirst.”

  Crowder couldn’t help but chuckle. “You fellers don’t know much about the folks you’re traveling with, do you?”

  “Reckon not,” Tanner answered. He didn’t bother to tell Crowder that they had only joined the train two days ago.

  Not to be sidetracked from the purpose of his mission, Jeb pressed for an answer. “Well, are you gonna sell us some whiskey or not?”

  “Sure,” the sergeant said, the grin still on his face. “I believe you boys do need a drink. Did you bring anything to put it in?” When Jeb shook his head, Crowder said, “How much you aimin’ to buy? I’ve got some pint jars. You want more’n that?”

  “No, that’s enough,” Tanner said, answering for them.

  Crowder went back into a smaller room off the main storeroom. After a few minutes, he returned with a jar of whiskey, and Jeb made the payment. Tanner was curious about the transaction between Leach and the sergeant.

  “The fellow at the stables said the whiskey came in under a load of hay. Leach didn’t have a load of hay on his wagon.” He was not concerned with the legality of Leach’s dealings with the sergeant, even though he had no use for the surly eldest of the four brothers. Soldiers were going to drink if they could get it. That was just t
he way of things.

  “Well, that’s how I usually get it. But this was brought in last night through the tunnel.” When it was obvious to the sergeant that his remark created questions, he went on to explain. “The water tunnel,” he said. “We have to get drinkin’ water from the creek. We tried to dig wells, went down forty feet tryin’ to get good water, but it tasted like sulfur. That’s why you see those water barrels beside each barracks. We have to haul it up from the creek. They dug a tunnel to the creek so we can get water if the fort’s under attack.”

  Jeb screwed the lid off the jar and sniffed the liquid, bringing a quick retort from the sergeant. “Hey, don’t open that jar in here! Take it back to your camp to drink it, and don’t let nobody see you carryin’ it out of my storeroom.”

  “All right, all right,” Jeb replied. “We won’t let nobody see it.” Grinning broadly, he walked out the door. Just outside, he paused on the top step to sample the spirit, unconcerned with being seen. “Damn, that stuff’s rank,” he said, smacking his lips. “Here, give her a try.”

  “I reckon I’ll wait,” Tanner said. “I wouldn’t wanna get the sergeant in trouble for sellin’ it to us.”

  “I reckon you’re right,” Jeb said, and slipped the jar inside his shirt. They walked back toward the train, Jeb with a not so inconspicuous bulge hanging over his belt.

  All the families had taken advantage of the day’s layover at Fort Larned to make necessary repairs to wagons and harness, and were prepared to start out for Fort Lyon again the next morning. Floyd Reece brought out his fiddle, sat down by the fire, and sawed away on a couple of old-time favorites. The music soon attracted folks from other wagons, and before long a small crowd had gathered. Attracted by the mournful rasping of Floyd’s strings, a few soldiers from the fort came over to visit the train. Seeing Floyd set up with his fiddle, one of the soldiers went back to the barracks to fetch his squeeze-box accordion. In no time at all, there was a lively little gathering, keeping time by clapping hands and tapping toes.