Rancher's Law

by Dusty Richards

  Luther’s thoughts were on Tillie, who waited for him across the murky river, a bath and a shave away. His paperwork could hold off until morning. The clothes on his body were ready to stand up by themselves. No telling the ticks and chiggers he had attracted in the brush. He might need to take a bath in kerosene to extract the vermin. It would be heavenly to lie in a real bed, eat something besides that Indian girl Martha’s burnt cooking, and feel clean again. Whew. He would have to pinch himself to believe those three weeks were finally over.

  Eight prisoners, at two bucks a head. The mileage at ten cents. A buck a day to feed them, he might make thirty dollars for his efforts. Plus he needed to collect Choc’s posse man wages for a dollar a day and send it to him. He drew back on the reins and set the brake to scotch the wheels. At this rate of pay he would be plumb rich, just any day. He tied off the lines and jumped down to limber his stiff muscles.

  The ferry drew closer. There were rigs aboard the barge and he left them enough room to let their rigs off and past his.

  “Hey, that you, Marshal Haskell?” the deckhand, Charlie O’Toole, shouted, jumping off and securing the lines as the pilot nosed it up tight.

  “Yes, it’s me, Charlie. We’re about to get wet.”

  “I’d say so. Be ready for you to board in a minute.”

  “Fine.” Luther studied the first buggy coming off with a hesitant horse, but it was too dark to see who drove it. In a bolt, the startled horse leaped off the ferry. The poor driver cursing and trying to haul him down went bumping past him up the corduroy slope. The other customer drove a pair of mules and wagon, a teamster, a real one. The man coaxed them off the ferry over the growing wind and thunder onto the landing and past Luther’s rig.

  Leaves and branches rattled in the trees overhead. The storm drummed closer. Rain came in huge drops. Luther jumped upon the wagon, undid the lines, and drove his team with his dun horse hitched to the tailgate on the deck. His outfit at last was on board. The deckhand scotched the wagon wheels for him. Luther climbed down to stand on the deck in the driving rain.

  “How many you got this time?” Charlie asked, over the growing storm’s fury.

  “Eight.”

  The pilot reversed his engine and they snaked away from the bank. Waves sprayed over the sides and Luther’s team stomped around on the hollow-sounding deck. He and Charlie turned their backs to the growing force and the sky opened up.

  Docked at the end of Garrison, with jagged streaks overhead and booms rattling the air, Luther drove off the ferry in a blinding deluge. From the main street, he turned the rig south and soon drew up in front of the federal courthouse. Ignoring the complaints of his wards in back, he went up the stairs in the roaring downpour.

  “I’ve got eight prisoners outside,” he said to the captain of the guard seated behind his desk.

  “Well, are they drowned?” the man asked, rising and slipping on a rubber raincoat.

  “Half,” Luther said.

  The captain buttoned his rubber coat, then drew down a sawed-off shotgun from the rack and went outside with him. Lightning struck close by. The flash was blinding, and the thunder was loud enough to deafen Luther for a moment. He ordered the soaked prisoners to disembark. They needed little encouragement. Holding wet blankets over themselves and their chains, they looked around like they expected to be struck dead any moment.

  All eight were finally inside the shelter of the basement. The jailers searched each man, then unlocked their leg irons one at a time.

  “I’ll make you a receipt for them,” the captain said.

  The building trembled with a loud strike outside. That one was close. Ben tore into the alcove like something had chased him. He dropped to his butt and then sneezed.

  “Your bulldog’s got him a cold?” one of the jailers asked, making conversation and looking him over.

  “No. He don’t like the smell of this jail.”

  “Have to admit it damn sure ain’t roses.”

  Luther laughed with the man.

  An hour later, with his three horses stabled at the livery, he left Ben for the night with them. It beat having to pull him off the strays that slunk around Garrison. In the drizzling rain, Luther made his way for the bathhouse. Delays, delays, delays. He wondered if he would ever get to Tillie. That was the part of his return he looked forward to the most. First things first. No way that he could go to see her smelling like a wet horse. He took the stairs into the basement shop two by two.

  “Damn you, Chink!” The words sounded tough as Luther pushed in the door. A bell tinkled over his head.

  “You highway-robbing yellow bastard!” The man’s back was turned to Luther. He had the Chinese owner of the bathhouse by a fistful of his kimono.

  “Hey,” Luther said with a frown. “What’s your beef with Chang?”

  “Mind your own gawdamn business.” The man jerked Chang up and halfway across the counter. “I ain’t paying for no damn—”

  Luther whipped out his .45 and with all his force, laid the barrel on the edge of the man’s head. Like a poled steer, he went down to his knees and let go of the short Chang. The second lick sent him facedown on the cement floor.

  “Oh, very sorree!” Chang shouted. He boosted himself up to look over the counter at the moaning man.

  “Who in the hell is he?” Luther stuck the Colt back and put his hands on his hips to appraise the situation.

  “Man’s name is Hopkins.”

  “Go get a policeman. Hopkins needs to be locked up. I can smell liquor on him.”

  “Madman, him say we ruined his clothes! No payee for washing them.”

  “What happened?”

  “All rotten. Fall apart when wash them. No can help it.” Chang held out his small hands in defeat. His poor wife huddled, moaning in fear the end of the world was about to strike them both.

  “I understand. Go and get a patrolman. He can handle him.”

  “No want trouble with law.” The small man shook his head vehemently.

  “Okay, I’ll handle him.” Luther realized the poor Chinese man felt any dealing with police would turn out badly for him. The Chinese were to be seen and not heard. Poor Chang probably already paid a hefty weekly business fee to one of them on the beat. Luther reached down, collared the disoriented drunk, and half dragged him to the door.

  Then in the dowpour, he hustled him up the stairs by the coat collar. Once on the street, he looked around. Never a policeman around when you needed one.

  “Who the hell are you?” the drunk slurred, and swung his arms around loosely.

  Luther didn’t bother answering him. He shoved his prisoner in the direction of Garrison. Surely there would be a cop there. Under a gas lamp and on the main street, Luther could see the rain coming down diagonally.

  “Police!” he shouted. Then with growing anger, he searched the wet night. Someone was coming in a hurry. Maybe a cop.

  “You—” The drunk never got his threatening words out. Luther spun him around and drove his head into the lamp pole with a clunk. The man fell face down.

  “What’s happened here?” the policeman demanded, brandishing his billy club.

  “This drunk ruined my bath. Threatened law-abiding citizens. Throw him in the tank and sober him up.”

  “I guess you’ll be filing charges.”

  “Not tonight.” Luther looked at the man like he had lost his mind.

  “We can’t hold him—”

  “Just lock him up,” he shouted, with water running like a river off the brim of his hat. “Take my word for it, he’s drunk and disorderly.”

  “In his present state …” The policeman shook his head as if there was no way for him to handle the matter.

  “Then let’s say I shoot the sumbitch. Then what can you do?”

  “You’re one of them bloody marshals, now ain’t yeah?”

  “It’s going to be bloody around here in few minutes if you don’t do something.”

  The cop held out his hands. “All righ
t, all right, I’m taking him in.”

  “Why couldn’t you do that in the first place?” Luther turned on his heel and headed through the downpour the block back to Chang’s. Damn. He’d wasted enough time arguing with that dumb cop to take two baths. And Tillie was still waiting. My heavens, he hoped so.

  Hours later in her room, he lay for a long while on his back in her bed and studied the tin ceiling panels in the lamplight. Memories of their very physical tryst drew a smile on his tight mouth. The smell of her new perfume imbedded in his nose, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and went to the smudged window to look out. A faint crack of dawn had begun out there. His brain still in a daze from their torrid activities, he looked around to see her return, wrapped in the black net robe. Why she even bothered wearing it he couldn’t decide. He could see through it like she had nothing on. Cooler in the summer to wear it, she claimed.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, standing in the doorway. “A Major Bowen over at the Diamond Hotel wants to see you.”

  He blinked and hauled up his pants. “What’s his business?”

  She went to the dresser, picked up a card, and read it. “Only says that he’s a retired major on this.”

  He padded across the pine flooring in his bare feet. Taking the card, he held it to the lamp. Bowen, all right. Prescott, Arizona Territory. Who was he?

  “Must want to see you badly. He paid me five in gold to tell you that.”

  He backed up and dropped his butt on the bed. Then, shaking out his sock, he smiled at her. “Didn’t he want any other services for that price?”

  “You can believe me or not. I think he was embarrassed to be here.” She shrugged her shoulders under the netting, then leaned her face against the edge of the door. “He was very nice. I let him out the back way.”

  “What does this major look like?”

  “Stocky, but shorter than you. Sandy brown hair. Maybe in his forties, but he stands very erect.” She threw her shoulders back and her exposed breasts pointed through the net material.

  Luther shook his head in amusement and laughed. “He damn sure must have impressed you.”

  “Hey, he wasn’t some bum off the sidewalk.”

  “When does he want to see me?”

  “I guess when you got back.” She shook her head in disapproval. “I figured it was too late last night to go see him when you got here. Then I about forgot him.”

  “Major Gerald Bowen, huh?” he said it more to himself than to her. “Guess I better go see him.”

  “Ain’t you ever going to sleep? I’m so tired, my eyes won’t stay open.”

  “You can do that anytime,” he said, and with his boots on, he stood.

  “Not me.” She moved in front of him and ran her palms over the hair on his chest. “Kiss me and don’t come back for a while. If you’re leaving, I’m going to bed.”

  He kissed her. “I may play some cards for a while if he ain’t up yet.” Then with a playful swat on her heinie, he sent her toward the bed.

  Luther started the four blocks to the Diamond Hotel. The temperature felt cooler than in weeks past, and the rain had freshened the air. Things were beginning to stir on Garrison. Mop buckets of slop were being unceremoniously dumped off the curb; sounds of a tinny piano carried to his ears.

  “Wait! Wait!”

  Luther turned and looked around. A lanky black man hurried to catch up.

  “What do you need?” Luther asked. He certainly didn’t know him. What was his purpose in stopping him there on the street?

  “You be Luther Haskell?” the black asked, out of breath

  “I am.”

  A warm smile filled the man’s dark face. “Lordy, that major, he’s sure going to be pleased to see you. I’m Dan, Dan Tuney.”

  “Dan, you’re the second person told me that today,” Luther said, and the two headed up the sidewalk.

  “Ah, you been talking to that girl he seen at Miss Molly’s?”

  “Yes. You work for him?”

  “I sure do and I’m sure going to miss him when he leaves.”

  “What’s he like?”

  Dan shrugged, then went to bobbing his head as they walked. “He’s a big man. And he don’t mind to have a beer with a black man in a bar. You’d know what I means? He done shook hands with Bass Reeves like he was someone.”

  “Bass is someone. What was he seeing Bass about?”

  “About you’s, I reckon.”

  “Where is he, this major?”

  “Right in there.” Dan pointed to the Cotton Cafe window. Then he clapped Luther on the arm and nodded to the man inside. “This him, Major. This him. I found him for you.”

  Luther thanked Dan and went inside the restaurant. The sandy-headed man did look stockily built. He felt the major’s keen eyes inspecting him as he crossed to the table.

  “Have a chair, Haskell,” the major said, standing and extended his hand.

  “Obliged,” Luther said and took his place.

  “You come in during the storm last night?” the major asked, waving a waiter over. “You haven’t had breakfast yet, have you?”

  “No, but anything’s fine.” Luther held up his hands in surrender.

  “Bring him a large platter,” the major ordered, and the waiter poured Luther’s coffee into a china cup from a silver urn. “Where were we? Oh, yes, the storm?”

  “I almost got my wagon here, but it caught me.”

  “I was told you have been off in the Kiamish Mountains serving warrants?”

  Settled in the large straight-back chair, Luther considered the man’s erect posture and take-charge manner. He could be a tough man to cross or to anger. What was his business? More than that, what did he want with him?

  “Bass Reeves says you’re a tough lawman.”

  “You know Bass?”

  “Dan, my guide, does. I spoke to Reeves earlier this week.”

  “You need a lawman?”

  The major quit cutting his ham and raised his gaze. “I need a tough one.”

  “Sounds interesting enough.”

  “Interesting enough to go undercover for several months to ferret out some killers?” He waited for a reply.

  “Who, why, and where?” Luther blinked in disbelief at the platter of eggs, ham, biscuits, gravy, and grits that the waiter delivered. He nodded to the man.

  The major looked around to be certain no one was listening, then began to explain the details of his territorial marshal force. After completing the explanation, he told him about the triple lynching and the political ramifications for the governor.

  “That trail, like the sheriff said, is sure cold by this time,” Luther said, wondering about the low chances for his success.

  With a forkful of egg, the major paused. “You know, in every chain there’s one link weaker than the rest. You would have to find that link.”

  “And let’s say that after a few months I can’t make a crack in the case?”

  “Then we’ll have other enforcement matters for you to attend to. The job of cleaning up this territory is endless, as far as I can see. Eat your food. It’s getting cold.”

  Luther agreed. He took a bite of the soda biscuit. It melted in his mouth and filled it with saliva. One other thing the man had not mentioned was money.

  “You’ve never been to Arizona?” the major asked.

  “No. Drove a herd of cattle into eastern New Mexico is close as I ever came to it.”

  “Good, then maybe we can keep your identity concealed. Job pays one fifty a month plus expenses.”

  Masticating the biscuit, Luther nodded slowly, considering the excellent salary. Sounded a damn site easier and better paying than being a deputy U.S. marshal. It came as a quick reminder of the past three weeks making various arrest of hard cases, caring for the prisoners and all the rest. Arizona couldn’t be worse than the Nation.

  “I’ll take it. When does it start?”

  “I first need to arrange a cover for you. I think we can make a connection w
ith a cattle broker. Then you can ride into the Christopher Basin country with a reason to be there. You do know cattle?”

  “I made a living buying and driving them to Kansas, till the railroads put me out of business. Where do you need me?”

  “Winslow, Arizona, for a jumping off place. It’s on the Kansas Pacific tracks. Give me two weeks. And, Luther?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t tell a soul where you’re going.”

  “I understand. You’ll send my orders here?”

  “Yes. I will send you your orders here. So you stay in Fort Smith until I can arrange everything out there.”

  Good. Luther nodded that he heard the plan, then savored a bite of the sweet, smoke-cured ham. That would give him time to sell his team wagon and stock and maybe find a good buyer for them if he wasn’t rushed. The major had it all lined out. A new job in a new land. Posing as a cattle buyer shouldn’t be too hard. He looked over his plate of food. He had hardly put a dent in it.

  The major went on to tell him about the other marshals in his force and their operations. He concluded with, “You can see with only Sam T., John Wesley, and you, we’re a small force. The politicians and sheriffs wouldn’t take to the notion of this marshal business if they realized the full extent of our operation, but that’s too damn bad. We’re officers of the court. Our job is to enforce the law. Be polite, but firm. Let them have the headlines. Some will work with you. Others may even be in with the local outlaws.”

  “Why hire me?” Luther paused in his eating.

  “Your reputation. You have some good referrals. Bass Reeves was one. Another a young lady, Lily Corona, whom I met on the stage to Ash Fork.”

  Luther nodded. “That’s different. A black man and a whore recommended me.” He chuckled to himself.

  “You know why I put so much weight on that?”

  “No.”

  “They both had nothing to gain by telling me the truth.”

  “I can savvy that, Major.”

  “A man once told me, don’t hire a boy when you need a man.” The major’s brown eyes were hard set in expectation when he said it.

  “Must have been my paw.” Luther smiled and nodded in agreement. “Now tell me something. You never asked about my military?”