Summer of the Star

by Johnny D. Boggs

  She quickly turned to him.

  When he noticed me and Tommy, he smiled like Satan, saying: “Mad Carter, you finally made it to Ellsworth. Hello, Tommy.”

  “You know this gal, too?” Tommy asked. “Seems like I’m the only one who ain’t had the pleasure.”

  As Le Fevre settled his hat on his head, I wondered if he had been sweeping out the storeroom, stacking and unloading. Had Mr. O’Sullivan offered him a 65¢ shirt as payment. Had he been here every evening while I was working off the money he’d given me. Courting my Star?

  Estrella didn’t look so happy. At any of us being there.

  “I’m Tommy Canton,” Tommy introduced himself, not doffing his hat, just grinning. “These thirty-a-month boys ride for my pa. He’s a big man in Texas. Big man in Kansas. And I’m a big man, too.”

  She muttered something, then walked over to Le Fevre. “It’s good seeing you, Mad Carter,” she said, and she’d never called me that again. As she and Le Fevre walked down the boardwalk, she called back: “Nice meeting you, too, Teddy.”

  “Tommy. It’s Tommy. And my pleasure, ma’am.”

  The door chimed. Keys rattled. As he came out of the store, Mr. O’Sullivan might have nodded a greeting at Tommy and me, but he didn’t say a thing. He hightailed it in the opposite direction Le Fever and his daughter had taken.

  “You look gut-shot,” Tommy said.

  Which is exactly how I felt.

  “That the girl you been sweet on. She’s tall, by jingo. Fine-lookin’ petticoat. You let Le Fevre steal her from you. Serves you right. If I had a girl like that waitin’ for me in town, I’d surely wouldn’t be nursin’ beeves the way you been doin’ of late. Where you goin’?”

  I’d backed Sad Sarah from the hitching rail, and was riding away. Didn’t know where I’d wind up, but it didn’t surprise me when I found myself in Nauchville, swinging out of the saddle in front of the Lone Star Saloon.

  “Now you’re talkin’!” I heard Tommy sing out behind me, but I was already moving through the batwing doors, noticing that the busted pane on the open front doors had been covered with a piece of canvas.

  The place was different this evening. Oh, it was filled with cowboys in big hats. Spurs jingled. Glasses clinked. Gamblers turned pasteboards, and the roulette wheel spun, the little ball clattering as it tried to find a place to settle. The air was thick with smoke. I half expected someone to recognize me as the shotgun-toting traitor who had robbed them of justice.

  No one did. They were too busy losing their money or gabbing at each other.

  Sixteen-year-olds can be mighty stubborn when it comes to learning a lesson. Not much different than sixty-two-year-olds, come to think on it. I went up the bar, waited for a gent with a handlebar mustache and long goatee to slide down in front of me and ask my pleasure. I pointed, not really noticing what the label on the bottle said or caring, and he filled a tumbler with amber liquid.

  By then, Tommy had sidled up to me, and was saying: “I’ll take the same, barkeep.”

  “Not till I see the color of your cash,” the big man said. He pulled my whiskey away. “From the both of you.”

  I was busted, but Tommy grinned, fetched two silver dollars from his mule-ear pocket, and slapped the coins on the bar. The beer-jerker nodded, filled Tommy’s glass, and started to cork the bottle.

  “Don’t bother with that,” I told him, and Tommy cut loose with a Rebel yell.

  chapter

  22

  “You ain’t taking me to jail!. I lashed out at that gun-toting Happy Jack Morco, and rolled off the sofa, knocking over a tin pail that someone must have put on the rug in case I vomited. Ten thousand cattle kicked my skull with their hoofs. I righted the bucket I’d knocked over—empty, thankfully—but the tin felt so nice and cool, I turned it over again, and laid my head down on its bottom.

  Happy Jack Morco had vanished when I woke from the nightmare. Now an owl screeched. No, not an owl. I pried my head off that bucket, leaned against the sofa, studying the tulips and roses growing out of the wall. I blinked, lifted my head to look at the ceiling, saw the pressed tin. The owl kept screeching, and then it became clear. A baby was crying. Then I heard footsteps.

  “’Morning.”

  I looked at the tulips and roses again, and connected it with the pattern on the wallpaper in the Whitneys’ sitting room. Then I saw Sheriff Chauncey Whitney standing in his stocking feet and nightshirt.

  “I woke up your baby?” I said.

  His head shook. “She woke you up. How you feel?”

  I laughed.

  “You might learn that you won’t find the answer to whatever’s troubling you in a bottle of rotgut down in The Bottoms.. He turned, whispered something to his young wife who had appeared in the doorway, and then pulled it shut. “Want some coffee?” he asked.

  Without waiting for me to answer, he walked to the kitchen. He made a dreadful amount of noise, so I pulled myself to my feet, the room spinning, and gingerly eased my way toward the sink. The sheriff worked the pump handle, and I splashed refreshing, cold water over my face.

  As I dried off with a towel, Sheriff Whitney dumped a couple of spoonfuls of something in a tumbler of water, stirred it, then handed me the glass.

  “What’s this?”

  He answered: “‘Brain cleaner’, says on the label. ‘Headache Reliever and Nerve Steadier.. Or you could just call it a morning bracer. But it might cure that head of yours.”

  I drank it while he busied himself with the coffee.

  “You want breakfast?”

  My head shook.

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “You fetch me here?”

  He measured out the ground coffee. Larry McNab had always merely guessed on how much he should use.

  “You fetched yourself here,” he explained. “Almost tore down our front door. Gave Nellie and Bessie a fright, till Nellie realized it was you. She brought you inside, told you that this wasn’t Estrella’s house. Says you apologized, fell, tried to stand, but couldn’t. She told you that you weren’t going anywhere, and that, if you left here, one of our town marshals would likely beat the bitter hell out of you. Which you deserved. She laid you down on the sofa, and that’s where I found you when I got home four hours later.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Save that for my wife and daughter.”

  “I will. But I’ll also tell you.”

  “You did.. He fiddled with the stove, struck a match, lit some paper and kindling. “Take a while for this coffee to boil. I’ll get dressed. Then maybe you and I can have a talk.”

  The baby had stopped crying.

  * * * * *

  “Estrella’s a fine woman,” Sheriff Whitney said as we sat on his front porch, nursing our coffees.

  “Too good for the likes of André Le Fevre,” I said.

  “I expect you’re right.”

  “Then what does she see in him?” I asked, spilling coffee over my shirt, which just made me madder.

  “I thought you got drunk on account the grand jury let Morco and Branham go. Seems a better reason than over a crush.”

  “It’s not a crush. I love ..... I bit off the word. “He’s not right for her. She deserves a whole lot better than the likes of that Louisiana trash.”

  “Folks said the same about me and Nellie. I imagine they were right, at that time. But she sure settled me down. Changed my way of thinking.”

  “You and Le Fevre aren’t cut from the same piece of cloth.”

  “Well, I appreciate that sentiment. Can’t say I cared much for him during the brief time that I rode in with you boys.”

  “He’s a man-killer. He murdered that farmer’s daughter down in Holyrood ....”

  “Madison ...,” Sheriff Whitney began, but I wouldn’t be roped.

  “Wouldn’t sur
prise me if he strangled that girl you were telling me about ... the one murdered in Nauchville. Why, it wouldn’t surprise me a whit if he even killed Ackerman himself. Just made it look like lightning struck him.”

  “Madison ....”

  “No, listen to me. I didn’t tell you that when Ackerman came to our camp, he walked right up to Le Fevre, stared at him the longest time. So ....”

  “You saw Ackerman’s body?” Whitney said, finally getting a word in.

  “Yeah.”

  “You told me that Ackerman was killed by God.”

  “Well, God might have sent down that lightning bolt.”

  “Right. So let’s consider your theory. Le Fevre killed the farmer, then propped him up on the prairie so lightning would strike him ... so nobody would be able to tell he’d actually been murdered. He knew lightning would just happen to strike Ackerman.”

  “He had that axe. Always had that axe.”

  “Sounds like something straight out of a Beadle’s Half-Dime Novel. This Le Fevre must be well connected with the Almighty to get that kind of co-operation.”

  Silence. He sipped his coffee. I stared at mine.

  “You think that’s what really happened?” he asked.

  I exhaled. “Maybe he didn’t kill the farmer. But I just know he killed that big guy’s daughter. Wouldn’t surprise me if he killed ..... My eyes widened. I rose. “I need to warn Estrella. He might ....”

  “Sit down, Madison. Finish your coffee.”

  Reluctantly I complied.

  There we remained, sitting in rockers on the porch, the sheriff greeting passers-by. Nellie came out after a bit, letting us know that the baby was sleeping, and to ask if we needed more coffee, or if I needed another “Brain Cleaner”.

  “I’m fine,” I said. And then I wasn’t.

  I recognized three riders coming down the street, and weakly rose to my feet, though I had to grip a wooden column to make sure I wouldn’t fall flat on my face. Sheriff Whitney stayed in his chair, nodding at the men, but they didn’t say a thing.

  The major looked me square in the eyes and said: “You heard what I said yesterday.”

  He, Mr. Justus, and a sheepish-looking Tommy Canton had reined up in front of the sheriff’s home. They did not dismount.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I told you not to go to Nauchville.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But you went. Took Tommy with you.”

  I started to say—“Yes, sir.”—once more, but couldn’t.

  Tommy was slumped in his saddle.

  “June and I just bailed Tommy out of jail. But I reckon you’ve made yourself a pet out of the law hereabouts.”

  I didn’t try to say a thing to that. Instead, I shot a quick glance at Tommy. He hadn’t been beaten by whoever had arrested him—Happy Jack, Brocky Jack, or some other Jack. Oh, Tommy’s nose was bleeding, but it didn’t take much imagination to picture the major bashing his son’s nose the moment they left the jail.

  “What was the kid charged with?” Sheriff Whitney asked.

  “Drunk and disorderly,” the major answered without looking at the sheriff.

  Whitney started rocking his chair.

  I imagine Tommy had been drunk. And likely disorderly. If I hadn’t wandered onto the Whitney home by mistake, I’d have been in jail, too. I didn’t think Major Canton would have bailed me out, though.

  “I’ve treated you fair,” the major said. “Always did that. Hired you when you weren’t nothin’ more than a nubbin’. Taught you how to work cattle. Taught you how to ride. Taught you everything you needed to know. This is how you pay back that debt. Get my son jailed. After I gave you orders not to go to Nauchville. I even let you stick after you up and got Larry killed.”

  That caused my back to straighten. Even Mr. Justus, who had kept his head bowed, looked up and said: “Now, wait a minute, Luke ....”

  “You stay out of this!” the major barked. “You’ve always said I was in charge of the hirin’ and the firin’. Well, that’s what I’m doin’ here this morn. You’re fired, MacRae. You can keep the horse. Sad Sarah, ain’t it. She’ll get you back to Texas, if Texas will have you. That’s all you’re gettin’. Stay out of my camp, boy. Stay out of my sight. I’m finished with the likes of you. Forever.”

  Nellie came back out as June Justus and the Cantons turned and headed out of town.

  I just sat back down and rocked. It didn’t hurt me. Getting let go. Losing friends like the major and Tommy. I knew I deserved to be fired. I had disobeyed Major Canton’s orders, had gotten roostered, had gotten Tommy jailed.

  The door closed, and I realized Nellie had returned inside, leaving me and Whitney alone on the porch again.

  “You all right?” the sheriff asked. He stopped rocking.

  I shrugged.

  “That Canton, he’s one hard rock.”

  “No.. My head shook. “He was always right by me. And he was right to fire me.”

  Whitney went back to rocking. After a spell he asked: “Where’s your horse?”

  I shrugged. “Reckon where I tied her up at the Lone Star. If nobody’s stole her.”

  “I’ll fetch her.”

  More rocking. I finished the coffee, and wished I had couple more spoonfuls of “Brain Cleaner”. I sure had need of something like that right about then. I could smell bacon and eggs frying in the kitchen. Another couple passed down the boardwalk, greeting the sheriff, who offered some polite remark as they walked along.

  “You got any money?” Whitney asked.

  My head shook. And I still owed that weasel Le Fevre a right smart of cash.

  “You going back to Texas. Back home?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. If I went home, I’d have to tell my mother about Larry McNab, and that idea troubled me.

  “I ..... I didn’t know what I was going to do.

  “Well, Madison,” he said, “you can’t stay here without a job. We have a law about vagrancy.”

  More rocking. The wind picked up. A warm wind. It would soon be hotter than that stove inside cooking up breakfast.

  Stretching and yawning, Sheriff Whitney rose from his rocker. “Smells good. Let’s eat. You need a job?”

  “I need a brain,” I said. A shadow crossed my face, and I looked up to see Chauncey Whitney grinning.

  “Can’t do a thing about the brain,” he said. “Often think I could use a new one myself. But I can give you a job.”

  His hand cupped a deputy sheriff’s badge.

  chapter

  23

  Hiring a Texas kid not seventeen years old to serve as a deputy sheriff in Ellsworth took some explaining on the part of Chauncey Whitney.

  We were back on the town square, upstairs in the county building, and Mayor Judge James Miller kept shaking his tired, old head, and waving the cigar between his fingers. The city attorney, Harry Pestana, told Whitney that this was totally unacceptable, in that nasal whine of his.

  “Wasn’t for this boy here,” Whitney said, “I’d be dead in the Lone Star Saloon.”

  “But that’s just it, Chauncey,” the mayor said. “He’s a kid.”

  “And a Texas cowboy,” Pestana added.

  “Which is something we need in Ellsworth,” Whitney said. His raised hand to silence the two city officials. “This town’s about to boil over, thanks to those lawmen you have policing the city. Suddenly we have a deputy sheriff, a deputy who hails from Texas, a deputy who has ridden up the trail with these cowboys. What’s more, the cowboys and trail bosses know the kid has grit. They saw that a few weeks back at the Lone Star Saloon.. He shot a quick look at Sean Ronan, who stood in the corner, not saying a word.

  “Well,” the mayor said, “I won’t hear of it.”

  After spitting into the nearest spittoon, Whitney played his hole card. “Then h
ear this. We came here as a courtesy, because you asked to see me. But you don’t have a say in the matter. You’re city. I’m county. I hire my own deputies. And I’ve hired MacRae.”

  Once silence settled, everyone jumped when Sean Ronan cleared his throat. “That’s not a bad idea,” he said. “Might keep the lid on the kettle. Those Texas boys are mad, especially after Morco and Branham got off without even a slap on their wrists for beating that stove-up cook to death.”

  “We’re working on doing something about our police force,” Pestana said.

  “You might think of doing something real quick,” Whitney said. “Come along, Madison.”

  * * * * *

  I slept in the jail. At some point, Fenton Larue brought my war bag, leaving it with Nellie Whitney, along with my sougans, gun belt and old revolver, and an envelope with my name written in Mr. June Justus’s hand. There was no note in that envelope, but $32. That humbled me. Mr. Justus was a good man. Broke as he was, knowing that money could have helped keep his crew together, he had probably taken all the cash he had on him and given it to me.

  In turn, I would give it—what I had left, anyway—to somebody else.

  But there I was, lying in a bunk in an empty cell, unable to sleep on the 14th of August, fingering the star pinned on my vest, wondering if I would be able to arrest Phineas O’Connor or Tommy Canton if I found them breaking the law. Law. I didn’t even know what was a law and what wasn’t.

  Suddenly the door flew open, and some ten-year-old runt of a boy stumbled inside, trying to catch his breath.

  “Sheriff, come ..... He was determined until he saw me. “You ain’t the sheriff.”

  “I’m his deputy.”

  The kid hesitated until he spied the badge. “You ain’t no deputy I ever seen.”

  I just shook my head in disgust. The boy looked around, probably confirming that Sheriff Whitney or any other deputy wasn’t around, and that I was all he was likely to find.