by Lou Bradshaw
Andy mumbled, “Uh huh. I just hollered and walked out there. My gun was still in my holster. I didn’t even know if Ben had his shotgun.” I must have suddenly found the toes of my moccasins very interesting because I was starring at them.
“That’s what I mean.” Stewart went on. “You boys were damned lucky – good reactions but damned lucky. The Judge wants you two to be witnesses at Puckett’s trial, and I want you where I can keep an eye on you. And, maybe give you a little schoolin in the real facts of frontier life. So, I want you to pack up and move into Miz Baker’s boardin house for a little while. It’s only a dollar and a half a day for the both of you – I know you can afford it. You got three hundred dollars reward coming as soon as Hancock makes out the order. The whole thing shouldn’t take more than a week – includin the hangin.”
“Hangin!” I almost shouted, “They wouldn’t hang Puckett just for tryin to steal our stuff would they? That stuff wasn’t worth hangin’ for.”
“Hold on a minute, Ben.” he said, holding out his hand to calm me. “For one thing stealin a horse on the frontier is a hangin crime. Usually, when someone steals a horse he leaves someone else afoot. And out here, a man afoot is often a man dead. But stealin your stuff is the least of the preacher’s crimes. He’s left dead men and raped women from Texas to Missouri. So, I reckon there’ll be a hangin.”
I guessed he was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to take. I had trouble setting the preacher in my mind murdering and raping. For one thing, I couldn’t imagine a thing like rape. I knew what it was, but I had no idea what was actually involved with it. I just knew it was something awfully bad.
We agreed to move into Miz Baker’s boarding house. That way we wouldn’t have to be all that worried about leaving our gear and horses. He told us to come to the office as soon as we got settled in, and we said we would.
After he left, we held a war council and agreed to go along with whatever the marshal and the judge told us, but as soon as we were cut free, we were heading for Amarillo, wherever that was.
Fanny Baker’s place was a regular house, with paper on the walls and rugs on the floor. It was nicer than any place we had ever been before. It had a room downstairs just to sit and talk or read a newspaper or do whatever a person wanted to do. Miz Baker was a jolly little thing. She wasn’t much more than five feet tall and at least that big around. She treated Andy like he was a regular person, but she treated me like I was a big overgrown school kid, which I guess I was. She was always whacking me on the head with a thimbled finger for tracking in dirt or for slumping in a chair or for almost anything a kid gets whacked for. I would have to take off my hat and bend my head down for the whacking. Then she would pinch my cheek and say, “Oh, you scamp.” I reckoned that meant she liked me. She had me call her Aunt Fanny – but Andy had to call her Miz Baker.
We shared a room, but we each had our own cot. And there was a colored lady who came in everyday to tidy up. It was pretty elegant. There were four other men staying there at that time. Three were drummers, and the other was a lawyer. There was also a single lady staying there, but she didn’t seem too friendly, so I stayed clear of her. The best thing about the place was the food. Aunt Fanny could cook. Thanks to Aunt Alice and Miss Elizabeth, both Andy and me had good manners, so we didn’t embarrass ourselves. In fact Aunt Fanny would scold one or another of the drummers for their table manners and say, “Now, you just take a lesson from these upright young men. Somebody has taught them manners.” And we’d turn red.
That first day in town after we got settled in at the boarding house we went over to the marshal’s office, where we were shown in to meet Marshal Stover. Deputy Stewart, whose first name turned out to be Jasper, looked more like a U.S. Marshal than did Stover. Jasper told us that his ma was the only one ever allowed to call him that, and since she was now in Heaven that meant no one was allowed to. We could call him marshal, deputy, or Stewart, but he wouldn’t answer to anything else.
Marshal Stover congratulated us on taking four criminals out of circulation and approved the reward payout. Then he said, “Fellas, I can’t let you go running around over there in the Indian’s territory If anything happened over there I’d never hear the end of it. If you got crossways with some of those injuns those Eastern newspapers would be just full of ‘Lo the poor savages.’ We can’t take that risk. Every time one of my men goes over there he has to present himself to the Indian Agent and the Indian Police in whatever area he is working. It’s just too sensitive a situation.”
“I’m tellin’ you officially to stay out of the Nations. You probably won’t pay any attention. I wouldn’t at your age, but if you got into trouble over there it could go hard on you.” He thanked us again for our civic services, and the meeting was over.
Mr. Hancock had our reward money waiting for us when we got back out front. We signed the receipts, and I thanked him. He gave me a genuine smile. Jasper was waiting for us when we got outside, and we walked on down the street together.
As we walked along Stewart pointed out places of interest in the town. One of the places he pointed out was a saloon, which surprised me. “A saloon,” he said, “is where most people in the west get their news, and it’s where they learn the things they need to know. They are clearing houses of all sorts of information from trail conditions to beef prices to the whereabouts of bad men. Men go there for a few drinks – or more sometimes – sometimes they talk or listen.” We turned into a store marked gunsmith.
When inside Jasper greeted the man behind the counter as Sam and the man returned the greeting with, “Afternoon, marshal what can I do for you today.”
“Well, Sam,” he said, my young friend here is looking for an express gun.” I looked up startled, and started to say something, but the marshal cut me off with, “Only he don’t know it yet. You got any good used ones – gotta be a good one.”
Sam pulled a pair of short double-barreled shotguns from under the counter and laid them on the top. ”I’d vouch for these two.” he said, handling them like they were made of glass. This one is a little scarred up. But it served Klel Jones well, before he got drunk and fell off the stage. I don’t know the history on this’n but it’s in fine shape.”
Stewart picked up first one weapon and then the other. He would break them down and look through the barrels. Then he’d snap them shut and try the hammers and ease the triggers. After giving them a good going over, he declared them sound. He checked their balance and weight. The scarred up one had the stock cut down to almost a pistol grip and had a shoulder strap attached to it. The other end was attached to a band around the foot long barrels. He put the strap over his shoulder and let it hang free. Then quick as a cat he had that thing in his hands and a hammer was pulled back. “Take a little practice, but that thing could come into action mighty quick.” he said.
“Ben,” he said, “you let Andy here take care of the pistol work – he’s got a knack for it. With this weapon not many people will want to try you.” He laid the express gun back on the counter, then reached over with his left hand and lifted Andy’s gun from its holster. “Sam, I want you to give this one a good going over to see if it’s in shape.”
Then turning to Andy he said, “Son, don’t ever let anybody do what I just did no matter how well you know them. I’m not being mean to you. I’m just gonna do everything I can to teach you boys to stay alive. We ain’t got much time and you got a lot to learn. You can’t always count on luck, so you gotta count on yourselves.”
“Now, let’s collect the rest of your artillery and have Sam give it his stamp of approval. Where do you have it all stashed?”
“Back at the boarding house.” I said, “Up in our saddlebags. Exceptin for our saddle guns and they’re in Miz Baker’s tack room with our saddles.” That earned me a frown and a scolding.
“Boys, those long guns can be the difference between life and death, ‘specially in wild country. And, they can make the difference between just bein hungry and star
vin to death. Keep ‘em safe. You leave ‘em in a barn or stable, and they are sure to turn up missin or ruined sooner or later.” Our lessons were coming at us quick and heavy, but we wouldn’t be forgetting them soon.
We went to the boarding house, and Andy dug the other outlaw gun and the rat pistol out of our saddlebags while I collected the outlaw’s saddle guns and the shotgun from the tack room. We hauled that mess of weapons back to Sam’s shop. When we arrived, Sam was showing Stewart something about Andy’s pistol. We were just about to dump everything on the counter when the teacher said, “Whoa! Unload ‘em first.” Another lesson learned.
“Young fella,” Sam said, “This here gun has been worked over to give it a hair trigger – real good job too. So you be extra careful – ya hear? She’s a good piece, keep her cleaned and oiled.”
By the time we left the gunsmith’s shop we knew that all our guns were in good shape and we had made a deal on the cut down express gun. It cost me twelve dollars and the old single barrel. I came away with the sawed off, twenty shells, plus I got enough powder and shot for about a hundred loads. It was a fair day of business.
Jasper, I couldn’t think of him as anything but a Jasper now, told us to be in court tomorrow at ten o’clock for the preacher’s trial. If he could get away after that, he would take us out for a little work in the field. He said we had a lot of work to do in a short amount of time, so we needed to pay close attention.
I asked him if I might be able to visit the preacher. He looked at me funny and said, “I reckon so, but why would you want to?” I didn’t have an answer; I just knew that I needed to. He told me to wait until after the trial as to not mess up anything legal. That was fine with me.
At ten o’clock the next morning, Andy and me were in the courthouse along with half the folks in town. Lawyering and speech making were popular things in most rural areas. They may not have been big deals in the cities because there were so many other things going on, but out in the remote small towns, they were major entertainment. I’m afraid those folks were in for a big disappointment this time.
The prosecutor stated the charges against Puckett and called a young woman who would not show her face from behind her veil. She said that her husband and brother were both gunned down by the preacher, and then he and his partner raped her in the same room with the dead bodies. All the while, he was doing that he was quoting scripture. The other lawyer objected and the judge told him to sit down and shut up.
When it was the other lawyer’s time to talk, he really didn’t have anything to say, except he was sure that the lady must have been mistaken. No one called on either of us to say anything, so we just sat and listened. I guess that poor woman in the veil must have been all they needed because the jury didn’t even leave the room, they just huddled up, and then they said he was guilty.
The judge made Puckett and his lawyer stand up and told them that Puckett was to be hung at noon the day after tomorrow. The lawyer just shrugged his shoulders, and the preacher looked around like he was confused. A man in a uniform took him by the arm and led him out a side door in shackles. His lawyer turned to some other folks, and they were talking and smiling like nothing had happened. The prosecutor came over and said, “How about some dinner, Bill?” and they left together. I looked around like I was confused.
Jasper had set it up so that I could go see Puckett that afternoon. When they led me to his cell door, the preacher looked up and stared for a few seconds before he recognized me then he said, “Well, if it ain’t that boy with that big old shotgun. I sure wished we’d never stumbled into your camp, boy.”
“Me too.” I said, “I came here to tell you that I’m sorry it all worked out the way it did. I didn’t mean to get you hung. I should’ve just run you off. Then I think of what you put that poor lady through, and I get all mixed up.”
“Awe, it ain’t your fault, boy. I done some mean things along the line. In fact, I don’t even remember which woman that was. I guess it just all caught up to me, and I got to make it up. Too bad though, that I won’t be able to preach at my own funeral. I could’ve done that up proud.”
I left him with the promise that I would consider him every now and then… which I was sure I would. I couldn’t help thinking, as I walked out of the jail, that he had to be as crazy as a peach orchard sow. It didn’t seem right to hang a crazy man, but he sure couldn’t be left to carry on the way he had been – maybe it was best. I was still confused.
We worked with Stewart whenever he was available, and we were learning a lot. There was much we had never thought of, even though, we were country boys and had spent a good deal of time in the woods. We never thought anything about building a smokeless fire or covering our trail or watching our back trail. There were so many things that had just never come up before. I guess we really were just a couple of dumb kids, and I figured we would still have to be pretty lucky to keep from getting ourselves killed.
When we were on our own, we would drop into one or two of the saloons along the strip to try to pick up any information we could about traveling west. Andy let the story out that he had an uncle in Amarillo and wanted to find the best way to get there. Most everyone agreed that we should cut across the Nations going west by northwest. We would have a couple of hundred miles of wild country and wilder men, but it would save a lot of time. We didn’t mind wild country, and figured to avoid the wild men, so that was our plan. Amarillo wasn’t where we wanted of go, but it gave us a direction. Jasper knew we were going after Coleman and Frazier, but he figured on us going by way of Kansas, so we just let him figure that way.
We went to the hanging, not so much for the entertainment of it, which it was considered to be in those parts, but since we were more or less responsible for it we thought of it as our duty. When they sprung the trap door and he dropped, I crossed myself and didn’t know why. That was not something that the backwoods Baptists did. In fact, I had never seen anyone do it, but it seemed the thing to do. I surely must have seen it done somewhere, but I couldn’t recall where.
Chapter 8
Our goodbyes were said, and our horses, gear, and supplies were all set to leave at first light on the day after the hanging. Sure enough at first light, we were in the saddle with our horse’s noses pointing north. Aunt Fanny had us some grub wrapped in oilcloth, but that was for the road. She made sure we had a bang up breakfast before we started. I purposely tracked in some dirt and left the door wide open just to get a farewell thimble whack and a cheek pinch. It worked, and we both had a good feeling.
We made a show of leaving by the north road just in case Stewart or someone who knew us was out at that time of the morning. After about a mile of heading north we circled south and made a wide sweep around the town. Then we picked up the south road and watched for a place to cross the river. We found a ford about a half an hour later. It looked often used with a trail leading off on the other side. The crossing was easy enough, and the trail seemed to be a good one, but a good trail was something we didn’t want at that point. A well traveled road or trail meant other travelers, and we wanted to meet as few people as possible at that time.
If we tricked Jasper then it was his own fault. He’s the one who told us about misdirection – making someone think you’re doing something you’re not. We were paying attention.
As soon as we were out of the water and over the first little rise, we left the trail where the ground had been somewhat torn up by other travelers and headed south through gullies, woods, and rocks. That country wasn’t much different than it had been on the other side of the river. We stopped at midday in a grove that was cut by a stream to let the horses rest up and get some food in us – that bang up breakfast hadn’t lasted.
Our plans were to move westward at a steady pace but not a quick one. Patience was something we both had to learn, and we both wanted to learn it almighty quick. The only thing we could figure to do was each of us had to ride herd on the other one. As it turned out, I was the one who had to
ride herd on Andy and myself because he wasn’t any good at it. I had to keep telling him and me both that West Texas would be there when we got there. I had to keep us from wearing out horses and stirring up dust and tracks. If we were to happen on to some other traveler or Indian police or hunter we wanted to see them before they saw us.
From Ft. Smith to the Texas boarder was a little over three hundred miles. We judged that a slow and easy pace of twenty miles a day would get us there in about two and a half weeks. That would allow for some problems and some rest for the horses. It was still early in the summer so water shouldn’t be a problem. We were hoping to be able to find some game along the way to stretch out our foodstuff. That was our plan, and sticking to that plan was my job.
The first four or five days we traveled through country that was much like what we had left behind in our Ozark hills. It may not have been as rugged and the hills weren’t as steep, but it was cut with same gullies and had the same rocks. The vegetation was pretty much the same, but fewer trees and more grass and brush. We could tell that we were gradually climbing even though it all looked pretty much level. There was plenty of game to be had for the taking, and I shot a deer. We saw our first buffaloes and knew what they were from hearsay. We decided against shooting any because we couldn’t use that much meat, and we didn’t want to take the time to make jerky. We ran across some tall rangy looking cattle with horns that stuck out six or more feet. We took them to be Texas longhorns, again from hearsay descriptions.
What we didn’t see was people, nor did we see many signs of people. On rare occasion, we would run across some unshod horse tracks or a campfire sight. It was kind of spooky.