The Western Justice Trilogy

by Gilbert, Morris

  “No, but the Arkansas cuts into it. They got boats go all the way to Fort Smith, I hear.”

  “I guess that’s right, but I doubt if this hoss will make it.”

  “No, I’ll try to sell her.”

  “She ain’t worth much, you know.” The toothpick wiggled up and down again. He turned his head to one side and added, “The fare is pretty high on those paddleboats.”

  Kincaid wanted to get in out of the cutting wind. “I planned to work my way. Where can I get a room and something to eat?”

  “Down the street there. The Silver Dollar Saloon. It ain’t nothin’ but a saloon, but they got some rooms, and they cook some meals. You can sure get some whiskey, maybe warm you up.”

  “Well, grain this horse, Cecil. Get her out of the cold.”

  “Sure, but I doubt she gets you very far.”

  “Well, maybe I can swap with someone.”

  Cecil shook his head doubtfully. “I’ll ask around, but you ain’t got much to swap with.”

  Kincaid paid Cecil then started down the street toward the saloon and did his best to keep from coughing. His chest was already sore from the wrenching it took with each spell. He reached the Silver Dollar, identified by a handmade sign. He walked inside and was struck at once by the heat. A woodstove blazed at one end of the saloon, and several tables were gathered around it, their occupants taking advantage of the heat. He started for the stove and noticed that a pretty girl with long black hair was singing a song, but he was too beat to pay much attention.

  A large man with coarse features approached. “Help you, mister?”

  “I’m Kincaid. Can I get something to eat and a room?”

  “Yeah. This is my place. I’m Millard Billaud. You be stayin’ long?”

  “No, I’m heading for Baton Rouge then headed up north to Arkansas.”

  Billaud shook his head. “The weather is gettin’ worse. Got a fellow that came in from the north just a little bit ago. He says the snow is fallin’ thick and fast up that way. Better stay here until it clears up.”

  “What I need right now is a room.”

  “Go up the stairs. First door on the left. Ain’t no locks. People carried the keys off a long time ago. Just put a chair under the knob if you want to, but nobody will bother you.”

  “Thanks.” After giving the man the cost of the room, Kincaid climbed the stairs. He felt the weakness of his legs and struggled to restrain the coughing. He felt hot and knew that he had a fever coming on, and that made it worse.

  Entering the room he saw that it was about as primitive and ugly as a room could get. It was papered with yellowed sheets of newspaper, some of it peeling off now and hanging by strips. There was a bed with a sorry-looking mattress that appeared as if it had been slept on since the Flood, one chair, and a table with a pitcher and a basin on it. He poured the cold water into the basin, washed his face as well as he could, then moved over, took his boots off, lay down, and pulled the dirty quilt and a blanket, equally dirty, over him. He began coughing and knew that the fever was going up. Finally he went to sleep, but the coughing woke him from time to time.

  When he woke up it was dark outside, and the room was freezing. Kincaid felt awful. He summoned what little strength he had, pulled on his boots, and went downstairs. He went up to the bar.

  A balding man, who was obviously the barkeep, had a filthy apron on. He turned to Ty. “Something for you?”

  “Whiskey.” As soon as the man handed him the drink, Ty threw down some coins, took the glass, and swallowed the liquid down in one gulp.

  “The woman will cook you something if you’re hungry.”

  “That’d be good. Whatever she’s got will do me.”

  The girl who had been singing was now moving from table to table, carrying drinks on a tray. She stopped in front of him.

  He glanced up and saw that she had a beautiful complexion, but he was not at all interested in women at the moment. The smell of cigarettes, stale smoke, unwashed bodies, and alcohol flavored the air, but it was that way in all saloons. He chose a table and sat quietly, paying little attention to what was going on.

  Finally the girl came over and said, “Here’s your breakfast.”

  He looked down and saw that it was ham with some eggs and thick-sliced bread. “Can I get coffee?”

  “Yes, I’ll get it for you.”

  There was something odd about her speech, and Kincaid wondered what. And then he realized that this was Louisiana country, full of Cajuns who spoke French and English, but French better than the latter. “Thanks,” he said and began eating. He ate slowly and managed to withhold his cough.

  The table next to him was occupied by three men, all of them wearing lumber jackets, heavy coats, and fur hats. One of them said, “Wanna sit in on the game, mister?”

  Kincaid looked over and shook his head. “I don’t have much money.”

  “Ah, it’s just penny ante poker to kill the time. I’m Beaudreux. This is Johnny. That’s Conroy. Come on, set in while you thaw out and maybe have another drink.”

  Kincaid did not feel like gambling, but neither did he want to sit alone. He joined in the game and listened to the men talking, figuring out they were lumberjacks and most of them had grown up in swamp country. One of them was telling the story about how he had landed a twelve-foot alligator with his bare hands.

  “Oh Conroy, you always tell the best lies,” the tall man called Beaudreux said. “What’s your name, mister?”

  “Tyler Kincaid.”

  “Well, pretty cold out there to be travelin’. You headed far?”

  The young woman came with drinks, and he took his and looked up and nodded at her. “Thank you, miss.”

  His politeness seemed to shock her. For a moment she stared at him, then said, “You’re welcome.”

  Kincaid turned back to the men and the game. “I’m heading for Indian Territory.”

  Beaudreux asked, “What for? They say that ain’t much of a place.”

  “Oh, I thought I could trade with the Indians. Do something. Maybe become one of Judge Parker’s marshals.”

  The man called Johnny shook his head mournfully. “I hear that’s a rough crowd. Been more than fifty of them marshals kilt chasin’ around after bad men and Indians.”

  “That’s right,” Conroy said. “Every crook in the world winds up in that territory. Hard on them marshals. I heard about that Judge Parker. Feller said he’ll hang ’em half a dozen at a time.” Conroy shook his head. “He must be a hangin’ judge.”

  Kincaid noticed that the girl did not get far. She apparently had lingered to listen, but he could not understand why. The talk seemed mundane to him. He continued playing poker, and finally he said, “Well, too rich for my blood. I lost nearly two bits.”

  At that time an older man with a star on his vest came over and said, “I’ll have to take your gun, mister. I’m Sheriff Farmer.”

  “My gun? Why would you do that?”

  “I got a poster with your picture on it. You’re a wanted man, even got a reward out on you.”

  “Who’s offering a reward for me?”

  “Mexican police put it out. Claims you shot a national big shot down there.”

  Ty stared at the sheriff. “That was one of their revolutions I got caught in.”

  “You did some shootin’?”

  “I got caught in one of the fights between the nationals and the revolutionists. I defended myself and got out of there.”

  “Have to hold you, Kincaid. Maybe you can get some help from our government.”

  Ty saw that argument was useless, so he handed the sheriff his gun, and the two of them left the Silver Dollar.

  The sheriff led Ty to the jail, and as he locked him in a cell, he said, “Sorry about this, son, but I’ve got no choice.”

  As soon as Farmer left, Ty collapsed on the bunk. A bitterness filled him, and he muttered, “I’ll either die of whatever sickness I’ve got or rot in a Mexican prison.”

  An old
man with bleary eyes came into the room and stopped to peer into Ty’s cell. “Guess you could use some grub.”

  “Not too hungry.”

  “I’m Gabe Hunter. We got some stew left over, and I’ll get you some fresh water.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Whut you in fur?”

  “Got mixed up with a shooting down in Mexico. They put out a reward on me. Guess I’ll be in jail for a long time.”

  “Hope not,” Gabe said. “It ain’t no place for a young feller like you. Life’s too short as it is.”

  Ty felt miserable, but when the jailer came back with a bowl of stew and a pitcher of fresh water, he took it.

  Gabe stood and watched, and when Ty had a coughing fit, he shook his head sadly. “Sounds like you got something bad.”

  “Hope it’s just a bad cold.”

  “No, hit’s down in your chest. You need something to break that up. I’ve got some medicine that might help.” He reached into his hip pocket and brought out a half-pint bottle. “Try a bit of this.”

  Ty took the bottle, took two swallows, and then went into another coughing spasm. He managed to say, “Thanks, Gabe.”

  “You want me to get a doctor or maybe a preacher to pray over you?”

  Ty stopped coughing long enough to whisper, “No thanks, Gabe.” Then he lay back and tried to sleep.

  CHAPTER 4

  The night had drawn on forever, or so it seemed to Raina. She had tossed and turned and gotten up more than twice to get an extra blanket, for the room was not well sealed. Frigid air blew in from the cracks around the window and through the other passages.

  While she had been tossing and turning, suddenly an idea came to her. It was like nothing that had ever happened, but she had been thinking for days now about how to get away from Billaud. The thought startled her. At first she put it aside and tried to go back to sleep, but she did not succeed. The idea kept coming back, and she kept building upon it and found herself growing excited about the possibility that her plan might hold.

  Finally dawn broke, and although the sky was a dull gray and the sun was only a feeble light as it came through her window, she got out of bed and quickly dressed, putting on her woolen underwear and her warmest dress. Going downstairs, she stirred up the fire in the stove and quickly cooked a supply of ham and then scrambled eggs. These she put into a basket along with half a loaf of bread that she sliced carefully. No one was stirring yet.

  She had taken on the job of feeding prisoners in the jail for the small pittance that it paid. Putting on her heaviest coat and a shawl over her head, she left the Silver Dollar and made her way down to the jail. When she got there the door was locked, but she knocked and soon it opened.

  Harry Jackson, the night man at the jail, looked at her out of sleep-filled eyes. “What are you doing here so early, Raina? You’re not usually stirring around at this hour, are you?”

  “Well, I just woke up early today and decided to go ahead and get breakfast ready for the prisoner and for you, too, Harry.”

  “Well, that’s right nice of you, Raina. Come on in. Get out of the cold.”

  She stepped inside and put the tray down then suddenly turned. “Oh, I forgot.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That beer you like so well. I was going to bring you a bottle of it, and I just walked off and forgot it.”

  “Well, tell you what. Why don’t you go back and get it?”

  “It’s so cold. Would you mind going for it? If you’ll go, you can get two bottles of the beer for having to make the trip.”

  Harry’s eyes lit up. “Well, sure I’ll be glad to do that. I’ll have to lock you in here though.”

  “That’s all right. The prisoner can’t get at me. I’ll slip his breakfast under the bars.”

  “Okay. Where’s the beer?” Harry listened as she told him the location of the beer, and he left at once whistling a cheerful tune.

  As soon as she heard the door lock, she moved out of the main office back to a row of four cells, two on each side of an aisle. There was no one in there except the one prisoner. She saw that the man was lying on the bed and said quickly, “I brought you some breakfast.” She watched as he got up and saw that his face was flushed and that he moved carefully. “You’re sick,” she said.

  “I guess I am a little bit. Nice of you to bring breakfast.”

  She slipped the tray into the space underneath the bottom row of the horizontal steel bars. “I brought some coffee, too.” She put the cup between the bars and he took it. He sat down slowly, and she saw that he had started eating, but he did not act hungry. “How long have you been sick?”

  “About a week. I hope it’s not pneumonia, but the doc said it probably is.”

  Raina hesitated and then, knowing her time was short, said, “I heard you tell some of the men in the saloon that you were headed north to Indian Territory.”

  “Well, that’s where I was going. Doesn’t look like I’ll make it now though. From what everybody says, I’ll be in jail for a long stretch.”

  Raina took a deep breath and stared at him. He did not look at all trustworthy. He had a rough look about his face. There was a scar, she noticed, on the left side pulling down his eye into a partial squint and his mouth open to what looked like a sneer. The scar spoiled his looks. It gave him a sinister appearance, but she knew she had no choice. “If I get you out of this place, would you take me with you to the Indian Territory?”

  He looked up. “Why, I never thought of such a thing, but it won’t work. You can’t get me out of here.”

  “I can get you out, but you’ll have to promise me two things.”

  “What’s that?”

  Quickly Raina said, “First, you have to promise to take me with you all the way to Fort Smith.”

  “Well, if I can get there, I’ll get you there.”

  “You have to promise to—to leave me alone. Not to put your hands on me.”

  “Sure. I’m not much on forcing myself on women. But I don’t think it can be done.”

  Raina was afraid that Harry Jackson would return. “I can do it.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “I’ll come by late tonight. The jailer, Ben Hogan, is a real drunk. I’ll bring some whiskey by and tell him it’s my birthday and I want him to help me celebrate, but the whiskey will be drugged with laudanum. It’ll put him out. Whiskey does that to him anyway.”

  “What then?”

  “Then I let you out and we leave.”

  “You might get me out of here, but they’ll be looking for us.”

  “Remember, you do anything I ask no matter how crazy. Let’s just get you out of here tonight; then I’ll tell you the rest of my plan.”

  He smiled briefly. “I’ll be here. I won’t be going anywhere.”

  Mason Channing said, “Why, Raina, good to see you. Won’t you come in?”

  Raina walked into Mr. Channing’s office. She had been there before. He was a lawyer and often sent for meals from the saloon, and she had brought them.

  Channing gave her a warm smile. “What can I do for you, Miss Raina? Most people come to see lawyers because they’re either in trouble or about to make trouble for somebody else.” She glanced down at the floor and then she looked Channing straight in the eyes. “I’ve got to get away, Mr. Channing. If I don’t there’ll be trouble.”

  Channing studied her face. He picked up a letter opener, balanced it on one finger, and then said, “Who’s going to be in trouble?”

  “You, I’m afraid, Mr. Channing.”

  Channing laughed. “You’d have to get in line for that. There’re so many people who don’t care for me. They’d have to wait. What’s the nature of this trouble you’re going to give me?”

  “I want you to buy my half interest in the Silver Dollar.”

  “Why, I thought your sister and brother-in-law owned that.”

  “My mother divided it before she died. It was in the will. We each got half interest.
But she married Millard, and she found out pretty quickly he was just interested in getting her half of the business away and then mine.”

  This did surprise Channing. “Why would it be trouble for me?”

  “Because if you bought my half, you’d be a partner with Billaud, and he can be troublesome. He’s a mean, cruel man.”

  Channing said mildly, “No, I don’t think so, Raina. If anyone has trouble, he’ll have it with me. How much would you want for half of the place?”

  “I don’t know what it’s worth, but I must have two thousand dollars cash to get away from here.”

  “It’s worth more than that,” Channing said.

  “I mean I want the money right now, and I want it in cash.”

  “You mean today?”

  “I mean in one hour.”

  Channing said, “Everybody expects lawyers to cheat their clients. I wouldn’t want you to think that. Half of that place is worth at least three thousand.”

  “I know, but I just want enough to get away, and I want you to get paid for your service. Will you do it, please?”

  “You want to tell me anything else about your plan?”

  “I’m going to find my father. All I have is a letter with his picture that came some time ago from Arkansas. It was written to my mother, but she had died by the time it got here. I found it by accident. He asked her to let him come and see me, but she never told me about it.”

  “All right. I’ll help you. Now let’s talk about this.” They talked for fifteen minutes, and in the end he went to the safe and got some cash out. “Most of this is in small bills. That’ll help. Now you’ll have to sign a paper. Let me make one out.”

  Raina waited while he wrote out a paper, and then he had two men come in whom she didn’t know. He didn’t tell the men what the paper said. “Just witness this signature.” He dismissed them, and as soon as they left the room, he said, “Here’s your money, Raina. Go with God.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Channing. I’ll think of you often when I get away. You’ve been very kind to me.”

  She left the office and went at once to a small house on the outskirts of town. She knocked on the door, and it was opened almost at once by Antoine Doucett. He was a slim man with dark hair and black eyes. Unlike most of the men in the area, he had always treated her with respect. “I need your help, Antoine.”