The Western Justice Trilogy

by Gilbert, Morris

  “The last I heard—which has been quite awhile ago.”

  “Well, are you going to stay here long?”

  “I don’t have much money.”

  “Well, there’s a Chinese man here who does washing. Your clothes probably need it after that long travel.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t afford to hire somebody.”

  “Why, you can use my tubs. You’ll have to heat the water on the stove before I start cooking lunch.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Mullins.” The kindness of the woman pleased her, and she spent the next hour heating water and washing all of her clothes. She asked Mrs. Mullins if she could hang them close to the fire.

  She said, “For the next hour you can, then I have to start cooking dinner.”

  After she washed her clothes, she borrowed Mrs. Mullins’s iron and pressed them.

  Two of her boarders came in, rough-looking men, and one of them winked at the other one and said, “Hey, sweetie, how about you and me goin’ out tonight?”

  Mrs. Mullins entered as he spoke and said, “That’s enough out of you, Bill. Leave this lady alone.”

  Both of the men laughed, not at all intimidated. “We’ll be back. We’ll work on that goin’ out together.”

  When the two men left, Raina said, “Thank you for taking up for me.”

  “Well, what are you aiming to do now?”

  “Well, I’ll start trying to find my father.”

  “How will you do that?”

  Raina suddenly realized she had no idea about how to find a man who had disappeared from her own life years before. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll just have to start asking around.”

  “That won’t be easy,” Mrs. Mullins said. “People comin’ and goin’ here all the time. Most of ’em is trash and wouldn’t help you unless there was money in it for them.”

  “I don’t have enough money for a reward.”

  “I didn’t reckon so. Just didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  Raina shook her head. “I don’t have much hope, but I have to try to find my dad. I don’t have anyone else.”

  “Sad to have no folks.”

  “Do you have a family, Mrs. Mullins?”

  “Me and my man had five children—but two of them died and the others went off.”

  “You don’t know where they are?”

  “No, I wished I did.”

  The two talked for a while, and then Mrs. Mullins said, “You ort to go to the hanging.”

  “A hanging? Why would I go there?”

  “Why, you might see your pa there.”

  It was a thought that never would have occurred to Raina, but she decided at once that she would go. I might not know him if I saw him. All I have is this one picture, and he’s a lot older now. She got her coat and left the boardinghouse.

  The flakes of snow had fallen enough to whiten the ground. As Raina walked down the main street of Fort Smith, she was not overly impressed. It was not a beautiful town. The main street had businesses on both sides, usually in framed buildings, many of them unpainted. The bank itself was made out of brick, as was the courthouse, but aside from them, the buildings were mostly warping lumber.

  She had almost reached the end of the street, and she saw a crowd had gathered. They were talking loudly. She went closer to watch.

  A woman stood next to her. She was wearing a scanty-looking dress and over it a coat not fastened in the front. The woman turned to her. She had a hard look about her. Her early beauty had faded. “Do you know the fellow?”

  “What fellow?”

  “The one being hanged.”

  “No, I’m new to town. Who is he?”

  “Mack Wilford. He killed his wife and her cousin and a marshal who came to arrest him. Ought to be a good one. Mack’s a tough man.” She laughed shrilly and said, “We’ll see how tough he is with a rope around his neck.”

  Raina had nothing to say to this. She had never seen a hanging and suddenly had an impulse to leave, but for some reason she stood in place waiting to see what would happen.

  “My name’s Alice.”

  “I’m Raina.”

  “So you’re new around here….”

  “Yes, I just got in town yesterday. I’m looking for my father. I’ve lost touch with him, but I know he’s somewhere here in the territory.” She reached down in her reticule and pulled out the picture. “This is him. You ever see him?”

  “Nope,” Alice said, “but to a dance hall girl, all men look alike—-” She broke off suddenly and glanced up. “Look, there’s the judge.”

  Raina looked up and saw a dignified-looking man standing in the second-story window. The window was up, and he ignored the cold weather.

  “Who’s that?”

  “That’s Judge Parker. They call him the Hanging Judge.”

  “Don’t all judges hang people from time to time?”

  “Not as many as Parker. He never misses a hanging. He must have hanged forty men. How do you think a man would feel if he hanged forty men?”

  “Pretty bad I would imagine.”

  “Look, there’s Jack Maledon.”

  “Who’s Maledon?” Raina asked.

  “He’s the hangman. See, he’s got that rope. He went all the way to Saint Louis to get the rope he uses to hang men. He’s very fussy about his job.”

  Maledon was a small man with a large, long-pointed beard. His eyes were a cold gray, and he appeared to be completely uninterested in what was going on.

  “He tries to pretend he don’t like it, but he does. One time they hanged six men all at the same time. They made quite a racket when they pulled the trapdoor. See that scaffold there? They can hang as many as eight men at once. I doubt if there’s another gallows like that in the whole country.”

  “I don’t see how a man could live with himself knowing he had hanged men like that.”

  Alice laughed again, her voice shrill and yet without humor. “Can you imagine when he goes home and his wife says, ‘How was your day, Jack?’ ‘Oh,’ Jack would say, ‘I only hung two. Not a very good day.’”

  “Look, that must be the man they’re going to hang.”

  Everyone in the crowd began to murmur as a man came out. His hands were tied behind his back, and he was kicking and cursing at the two jailers who dragged him out.

  One of them said loudly enough to be heard, “Now Mack, be nice.”

  “Be nice nothin’!” Mack Wilford cursed the jailers, Maledon, the judge, and the people who were watching. He was practically dragged up the stairs and held in place.

  Maledon came forward with a hangman’s noose in his hand, pulled a black mask over Wilford’s face, and then adjusted the rope.

  “I often wonder why they do that,” Alice said. “What don’t they want ’em to see?”

  Raina watched in horror as Maledon tightened the noose so that it was just under the man’s left ear. He stepped back then and without warning pulled the switch. The trapdoor opened beneath Wilford’s feet. He shot downward, and she heard plainly the snapping of his neck.

  “Well, he was a tough one,” Alice said. “Some of them faint.”

  The execution sickened Raina. She turned to leave.

  Alice said, “You go see the judge. He knows lots of people. He may know where your pa is.”

  “Thank you, Alice.” Raina left and made her way to the courthouse. The crowd was dispersing. She walked in and asked a man who was also entering, “Where would I find Judge Parker’s office?”

  The man was not imposing. He had a pair of direct blue eyes and a mustache and a big pistol on his side. “Well, it’s upstairs, but you won’t be able to see him now. He’s behind with his court. You can try later.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Yes, ma’am. My name’s Heck Thomas. I’m the chief marshal.”

  “I’m here looking for my father. Would you look at this picture to see if you’ve seen him?”

  Heck waited while she pulled out the photograph, and he s
tared at it. “No ma’am, I don’t recognize him, but that don’t mean I ain’t seen him. There are so many folks here, and I see lots of ’em. If I see a face on a Wanted poster, I don’t forget it, but I don’t recollect your pa. You got any copies of this picture?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “There’s a picture man here. Takes portraits, you know. He could probably make some copies. You could pass ’em around. I got a hundred and fifty marshals, and they see lots of folks.”

  “Could I see the judge later?”

  “I ’spect so. He’s a mighty polite man, and he’ll help you if he can. What’s your name, miss?”

  “Raina Vernay.”

  “Right pretty name, Miss Vernay. You come on back. I’ll mention it to the judge.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Thomas.”

  Raina made her way back to the boardinghouse, not knowing what else to do.

  Mrs. Mullins had a harried look. “My helper is sick and will not be able to assist me for a while. Can’t pay much, but if you want to help me with the cooking, you can get your meal and fix up a storage room in the attic. That is, if you’ll help me with the cooking and maybe some cleaning.”

  “I’ll be glad to do that.” The work did not sound terribly hard, and Raina was a fine cook. She peeled the potatoes and baked the bread.

  That night, Mrs. Mullins, whose first name was Emma, said with satisfaction, “You’ll do real well, Raina.”

  Later Raina served the table. There were eight men there. One man, about as rude and dirty as a man can get, made a remark equally rude.

  Emma Mullins said, “Jack, if you can’t be decent, you can get out and find someplace else to stay.”

  “Didn’t mean nothin’, Emma.”

  Mrs. Mullins said, “Miss Raina, show ’em your pa’s picture.”

  Instantly she went to get her bag, got the picture, and passed it around. They all examined it but said they didn’t know him.

  The lack of response dampened her spirit. She helped Emma clean up.

  The old woman then took her upstairs to the attic. The room was small, but it did have a window. It had a bed but lots of junk. “This is a catchall. I’ve got another place you can store all this stuff. You might make it fairly presentable. You’ll need some bedding though. I can fix you up with that.”

  “Thank you, Emma. I appreciate your help. I feel kind of lonesome here. No people, no friends.”

  “Oh, you’ll make lots of friends. These men are great at makin’ friends with pretty women,” she said sarcastically.

  For most of the next day, Raina did her best with the room. It was indeed dirty and full of dust, and by the time she had moved out all of the extra stuff, washed the window, swept the floor, beaten out the rug that covered part of it, moved in her things, and fixed the bed, she was tired.

  The room was cold so she put on her warmest clothes, lit the lantern by the bed, and then picked up one of the romances she had brought with her. She got in the bed and pulled the blankets over her and read the old romance again.

  Finally it was time to go help Mrs. Mullins. She got up and went downstairs. She peeled potatoes, fried ham, shelled peas, and made coffee.

  At the meal, the men were pretty much the same except there were two new faces. She showed them her father’s picture, but neither of them had seen him.

  After the meal was over and she had helped Emma with the dishes, she said, “I’m tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”

  “Why don’t you have some coffee before you go. It’ll warm you up.”

  “Thank you, Emma.” She drank the coffee, chatting with Mrs. Mullins.

  She then went upstairs and, not bothering to undress, simply pulled off her shoes and got under the covers. She read some more of the novel but found it strangely unsatisfying this time. She realized she was longing for a real romance, one that provided more than those she read about in the pages of her books.

  CHAPTER 9

  A fly crawled across Ty’s face, and he slapped at it unconsciously. The straw that he had slept in fitfully all night exuded a rank odor. Slowly Ty brushed his hand across his face and then opened his eyes to see the sunlight coming through a crack in the roof, putting a bar of yellow illumination on the livery stable.

  Slowly he rose up to a sitting position, reached over his head, and stretched his muscles. The straw had been better than sleeping on the floor, but not a great deal. The lack of a bath troubled him, and he reached up and tried to scratch between his shoulder blades but did so ineffectually.

  He got to his feet noting that his wardrobe was sparse. His jeans were worn and patched over the left knee, white with many washings. He dusted himself off as best he could.

  Reaching into his pocket, he found a dollar and twenty-seven cents. He stared at the money as if by observing it he could make it multiply itself, then shook his head dolefully and stuck it back in his pocket. He took off his shirt and shook it violently, getting the straw and the dust out of it. He put it back on and buttoned it. Then he picked up his coat and shrugged it on. It had been an expensive coat at one time, but that was many years ago. Now it was merely shabby and did little to cut out the cold. His hat was hanging from a nail in the rafters, and he plucked it off and jammed it on over his head. Slowly he left, and not seeing anybody in charge of the livery stable, he filed it in his mind that he might have to come back and spend another miserable night in the straw.

  He walked along the boardwalk, noting that the town was only gradually coming to life. A few stores were now opening up, and glancing up, Ty saw that a darkness lingered beneath the stars.

  He moved slowly and noticed the sun was just beginning to glow in the eastern sky. He passed by some birds that were noisy with a wild joy, twittering and calling. They were not yet singing but ecstatically greeting the day.

  Sunlight soon ran fresh and fine throughout the town, flashing against the windowpanes and cutting long, sharp shadows against the dusty velvety carpet. “Going to be cold today,” Ty muttered, but it was not a complaint. He had expected no less.

  He reached a café and was glad to see that it was open. When he entered, he saw that he was the only customer. He sat down at one of the tables covered with a dingy red-and-white-checked tablecloth.

  A woman came over. She was past her prime but still attractive, somewhat overweight but with a figure that drew men’s eyes. “What’ll you have, hon?”

  “I guess bacon and eggs, if you have it.”

  “Sure do and some fresh biscuits, and how about some coffee?”

  “That sounds good to me.”

  “Be right back.” He watched as she left, swaying in a practiced gait that she had obviously assumed would attract men’s attention.

  As soon as she disappeared through a swinging door, Ty leaned back and closed his eyes. The night had been fitful, and he had slept little. Now he felt the grim arm of weariness and despondency drawing him in. He was not a man who gave in easily to such things, and finally he put the matter out of his mind. I’ll get out of this somehow, he thought. I always do.

  Ten minutes later the woman brought out a platter of eggs and bacon and a cup of coffee. “I’ll get your biscuits, hon.”

  “Thanks. That will be just fine.” He began to eat slowly.

  When she brought the biscuits, she had a chunk of butter on a saucer. “This is fresh butter. Just put some of that on them biscuits, and I’ll bring you some jelly to go with it. Blackberry jelly, I think.”

  “That would go down real well.”

  She turned to leave, then stopped to turn and face him. She flirted with him wantonly. Ty knew that she was one of the many women he had met who outlasted their first flush of beauty and began to degenerate.

  He answered, but mostly he paid attention to the food. He ate slowly, chewing as well as he could, and he did find that the biscuits with the blackberry jelly and butter were as good as any he had ever had. When he had finished, he asked, “What do I owe you?”

  “Seventy-
five cents, I guess.”

  He put a dollar down, smiled at her, and nodded. “Mighty good food,” he said.

  “I get off at six o’clock.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you then.”

  “I hope so, hon.”

  Leaving the café, Ty walked down the plank boardwalk. The earth began to warm up, not a great deal, but it was better than the coldness of the livery stable. He was thinking about what to do next when he saw a man wearing a star leaning back against the wall of a two-story building. Glancing up, he saw the sign said CITY HALL. Slowing down, he walked over and said, “Howdy.”

  “Hi there. Gonna be warmer I reckon today.”

  “I’m new in town. Come a long way. I’d like to be one of Judge Parker’s marshals.”

  “I’m Frank Dillinger. I’m one of the marshals.” A gloominess occupied the man and marked his face with a doleful expression. “You better think on that.”

  “Why had I better do that?”

  “Why, it’s a dangerous line of work.” Dillinger reached into his pocket, pulled out a plug, took a bite, and stared at the remains joylessly. “Mighty dangerous work. The judge used to have two hundred marshals. Over fifty of ’em have been killed. Dangerous line of work.”

  “Well, I guess I’m ready for that.”

  “Your choice.” Dillinger shrugged. “The judge’s always lookin’ to hire more marshals but can’t find many who can do the job.”

  “What kind of qualifications is he looking for?” Ty smiled.

  “Somebody that’s tough. I guess that’s the biggest thing. Bein’ smart don’t help a lot. Got to be tough to be a marshal these days. Just last week there was two of our men got waylaid and shot not ten miles out of town. They never even seen the killer, I reckon. Nobody knows why they was killed, but you make enemies in this line of work.”

  “Well, I’d like to see the judge.”

  “Guess you’d better wait until after the hanging. He’s in a bad mood on hanging days.”

  “What time will the hanging be?”

  “I think this one will be at ten o’clock. You’ll see the judge standing up in that second-story window. He never misses a hanging.”