Dakota Trail

by David R Lewis

  It was only about a block an’ a half down the way, an’ was terrible big. They musta been near fifty or sixty folks in the place, an’ it still warn’t but about half full. The bar was mebbe thirty feet long with brass trim an’ a foot rail. Two bartenders was hustlin’ around, an’ they was twenty tables or more, under a ceiling that was twelve feet high or better an’ supportin’ a few a them wagon wheel chandeliers with kerosene lamps. We each got a shot from one a them fellas workin’ the bar, an’ he seemed some surprised to see two U.S. Marshals.

  “What brings you fellers to Sioux Falls?” he asked us.

  “Lookin’ into what may have or may not have happened with Marshal James Jacklin,” Marion said.

  “Good for ya,” the bartender said. “Jimmy is a good feller. I doan know what’s true, but I heer’d that he kindly vanished north an’ west a here someplace. I doan know nothin’ but rumors about what happened. I kin tell ya one thing for sure, though. The second shot for you boys is on the house.”

  Marion throwed that first drink down his neck an’ set the glass back on the bar. The bartender grinned an’ filled it. I done the same, an’ me an Marion took our drinks to a table agin the west wall an’ took a set. We was news, I guess. Word that they was marshals in the place spread purty quick, an’ it was some vexin’ to have so many fellas starin’ at us. Marion smiled at me.

  “You reckon anybody has noticed us yet?” he asked.

  “Well damn, Marion,” I said, “I’m startin’ to feel like the last piece a chicken on the durn platter.”

  “It’s yer own fault, honey,” he said. “If you warn’t so lovely to look at, you wodden have these problems.”

  “I know I’m some purty,” I said, “special in my new party dress, but I still ain’t comfortable with all these ol’ boys eyeballin’ us like they is.”

  “Best you can do is ignore ‘em, Ruben. There’s a crowd a them and only two of us. That kind of advantage can give a coward a little courage.”

  They was five fellas settin’ three tables from us that was purty much goin’ outa they way to give me an’ Marion the stink eye. One of ‘em, a big ol’ boy, got to his feet an’ come walkin’ in our direction. Marion seen him comin’ an’ smiled at me.

  “Looks like this might be comin’ to a head. You got this ‘un, do ya Ruben?”

  “Believe I do,” I said. “If you notice him holdin’ me by the ankles an’ gittin’ ready to make a wish, feel free to step in afore I git tore asunder.”

  Marion grinned an’ nodded.

  “Go ahead on, Marshal,” he said. “I’m on your backtrail.”

  That fella got to within five feet or so from our table, then stopped an’ just stared at us. He was halfway between me an’ Marion’s height, looked to be well over a couple a hunnerd pounds, was wearing quite a bit a chaw juice down the front a his shirt, an’ he stunk. He smelt purty much like somethin’ that shoulda been buried a few days ago. I put up with the odor for a little bit an’ let him stare at the two of us, then looked square at him an’ spoke up.

  “Evenin’ sir,” I said to him, “Somethin’ on yer mind ?”

  “I doan like the smell over thisaway, Law-Dog,” he said, tryin’ to look fearsome for his friends.

  “Sir,” I said, “the air was fine ‘til you brung that stink with ya. You could go stand somwhere’s else, I guess. It won’t help you one bit, but it would shore bring me an’ my pard some relief. You smell terrible bad, friend. I could track you durin’ a cyclone on yer scent alone.”

  He blinked an’ kindly looked at me.

  “Smells a little too much like Law-Dogs to suit me,” he growled.

  I grinned at him an’ stood up. When I done that, he kindly shifted his stance an’ tried ta git a little bigger. I walked around him an’ over to the table where his pards was settin’.

  “Howdy, boys,” I said. “Sorry to disturb ya, but they is a problem brewin’ here. Yer pard that come over to where I was settin’ is tryin’ to pick a fight with me. I reckon he’s purty sure you fellas will help him out when that attempt goes bad for him. I just wantcha ta know that I figger he ain’t gonna be much trouble by hisself. If a couple a you boys was ta jump in, there could be blood left on the floor in here. Why doan you call him back an’ settle him down afore he gits hurt. You’d be doin’ him an’ yerselves a favor.”

  “Marvin does what he pleases,” one a them fellas said, kindly grinnin’. “There’s a backdoor to this place. If that badge a your’n ain’t so heavy it slows ya down too much, you might be able to git away if ya run fer it.”

  The rest a them ol’ boys thought that was some funny. I showed ‘em my back an’ started back over to where Marion set. They was one a them heavy beer mugs settin’ empty on a table that I passed by. I picked it up by the handle. When I come back to where that ol’ boy was standin’, he looked at me right smart an’ started to say somethin’. I swung that mug about half as hard as I could an’ smacked him on the side of his head an’ neck with it. He went down like a maple leaf in the month a November. By the time that fool hit the floor, I had kicked a chair outa my way an’ pulled a Remington. Marion was on his feet, his short Colt to hand, lookin’ at them boys what was left settin’ at the table some harsh.

  “Next?” he said.

  Them fellas seemed some shocked an’ kindly had froze up with nothin’ to say.

  “Pick up that dummy layin’ on the floor and git him and the rest of you fools outa here,” Marion went on. “Be damned glad this mess ain’t a lot worse than it is. I’m Marshal Marion Daniels, boys, and I am a rough sonofabitch. My pard, Marshal Ruben Beeler, scares the hell outa me. If I turn him loose one or two of ya might survive, but you’d be a quite a spell gittin’ over it.”

  Them fellas didn’t waste much time. They run they mouths some, but the fight was gone out of ‘em. It warn’t more than a minute or two afore them ol’ boys toted the loudmouth out. The bartender watched ‘em leave an’ brung two more shots over to our table.

  “On the house, sir,” he said, eyeballin’ me a little.

  Marion thanked him an’ grinned quite a bit.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Me an’ Marion set in the saloon for another few minutes with most of the rest of the fellas in the place kindly peekin’ at us now an’ then.

  “There went my plans for the evenin’,” Marion said.

  “What plans?” I asked him.

  “I’d figgered on mebbe payin’ a visit to the house behind this place that Mister Rafferty mentioned, but that little fracas has changed my mind. Might not be the best time for us to separate. Them fellers could come lookin’ for some revenge after the way you treated that ol’ boy. I know how delicate ya are, and I’d hate to see ya git hurt without me along to protect ya.”

  “I appreciate that, Marshal,” I tolt him. “Us law dogs has got to stick together.”

  Marion smiled. “When we git done with all this and back to Deer Run, mebbe I’ll git a extra badge and hang it on ol’ Grunt. After I swear him in, we’ll have us a real law dog.”

  That kindly tickled me.

  “You gonna git Grunt a handgun, too?” I asked.

  “Knife mebbe,” Marion said, “but no gun.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’d be plumb foolish to git that dog a handgun, Ruben. He ain’t got no thumbs. How the hell is he gonna cock it?”

  I got up an’ walked outa the place then. Marshal Marion Daniels follerd along behind, kindly chucklin’ a little bit.

  We hiked our way back to the roomin’ house, took us a set in a couple a rockin’ chairs on the front porch, an’ commenced to lookin’ out over a block or two what was lit up here an’ there by them street lights. One of ‘em warn’t more that ten yards from where we set. I spoke up.

  “Kindly purty, ain’t it?”

  “Is,” Marion said. “This place is whatcha call progressive. I ain’t never been to New York City or nowhere like that, but I hear they got street lights and are gittin’ a lot a
that electricity an’ such and even them telephones and the like. Got big poles set into the ground all over the place with wires strung up on ‘em to carry that electricity and lines to make them telephones work. That’s the modern thing ta do, I reckon, but I don’t care for it much. All them poles stickin’ up in the air with them wires strung from ‘em in ever direction, and such, sorta rub me the wrong way, I guess. Kindly feel like I’m bein’ fenced in. Seein’ it comin’ to a place like this puts me off some.”

  “It’s kindly an’ advancement, though, ain’t it?” I said.

  Marion nodded.

  “They call it that, but I ain’t terrible sure it is. A lot a folks say all them things is a luxury, and I speck they is right, but it don’t take terrible long for a luxury to become a necessity, boy. Like them Gayetty Therapeutic Papers. I done without them things my whole life ‘til you give me some. Now, I carry them damn papers with me everwhere. That is whatcha call a dependency. When that happen,s it is terrible easy to git weighed down by what ya figure you cain’t live without. You and me has spent some time on the trail together and got through it right smart. We done that without no gas lights, no electricity, and none a them telephones. You afraid a the dark, are ya Ruben?”

  “I was some when I was little, I guess,” I said, “but I got over it.”

  “How come ya did?”

  “Well, I didn’t have no choice. It gits dark ever day, ya know.”

  “Now what if you was to have grown up with one a them telephones in easy reach and that electricity keepin’ everthin’ lit up for ya all night long. You’d git some used to all that kinda life, wodden ya?”

  “Reckon I would.”

  “You’d git to where you was kindly needful of it, doncha think?”

  “I guess so,” I tolt him.

  “So let us take that Ruben Beeler down into the wilds North Arkansas on a night camp. No telephone, no lights to see by, nothin’ like that at all. There ya set in the dark with no way to call for help if ya need it and durn near blind as a bat. You think that kinda thing would bring you a mess a comfort, do ya?”

  “Now that ya mention it that way,” I said, “I doan speck I would. Truth be tolt, I reckon I’d be some fearful.”

  “A course ya would,” Marion said, “and not because yer a coward, but because you was in a position where the lights and the ability to communicate that you was used to warn’t there no more. Them luxuries had become necessities; and if them things was gone from ya, you’d be in a helluva mess.”

  I thought that over for a spell an’ come to grinnin’ a little bit. “Not if I had Willie with me,” I said.

  Marion chuckled.

  “That’s ‘cause Willie don’t use a telephone an’ ain’t got no need for electricity,” he said.

  We set there in the quiet for a spell while I thought about what Marion had tolt me. Marion was quite a bit older than me, an’ I had a lot a faith in his opinion on things. I’d never seen no telephone that I could recall, but still I figgerd it would be terrible nice if I could talk to Miss Harmony just about whenever I wanted to. I was purty much wrapped up in them thoughts when a voice come over my shoulder.

  “Evenin’, Lads,” it said.

  I come up offa that chair about six inches an’ durn near fouled myself.

  Marion give a snort an’ commenced to laughin’, an’ Mister Rafferty stepped in front of us carryin’ a tray with two coffee cups an’ a pitcher a cream. He seemed kindly startled.

  “Sure, an’ is everthin’ alright?” he asked us, lookin’ a little concerned.

  “I’m alright, sir,” Marion said, “but I ain’t terrible sure about my pard. He may need to change his britches. You still with us, are ya Ruben?”

  “I’m doin’ fine,” I said, tryin’ to settle down.

  “I brought ya some coffee, ya know,” Mister Rafferty said, puttin’ that tray on a little table next to where Marion was settin’.

  Marion, still grinnin’ quite a bit, passed me a cup.

  “I hear you lads had a run-in with Marvin Burke an’ some a his precious friends at the Nightrider Saloon this fine evenin’,” he said.

  Marion nodded.

  “We did,” he said. “Ol’ Ruben, here, knocked him out an’ we run them other boys off.”

  “Well, ya might need ta know that fuss likely ain’t over. Marvin is the vengeful type. If I was you, I might consider bein’ careful, ya know.”

  It was about that time a terrible screech come waftin’ in on the air, follered up by kindly a wail. It brung goose bumps to me an’ got Marion to lookin’ around.

  “What the hell was that?” he near hollerd.

  “That was a unfortunate lass by the name a Lucille Cook,” Mister Rafferty said. “She lives less than a block from here. Her husband got kilt in the war, and it took some of the poor woman’s mind from her. Ever now and then the unfortunate lass has dreams from it. Her daughter lives with her and settles her down so it don’t happen again for a week or more. You boys have yerselves a fine night and don’t forget what I tolt ya about Marvin.”

  Mister Rafferty went back inside then, an’ me an’ Marion set quiet for a minute or two, drinkin’ some a that coffee. I was near done with mine when Marion turned to me.

  “Ruben,” he said, “I though you was gonna jump plumb out yer skin when that coffee showed up. Where was ya?”

  “If you think you gotta know,” I tolt him, “I was settin’ by a campfire in north Arkinsaw, talkin’ to Miss Harmony on one a them telephone things.”

  Marion’s coffee durn near come out his nose. Ol’ cob.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I didn’t sleep over well that night. I musta woke up six or seven times, kindly fussin’ with whatever was goin’ on in my head, sweatin’ off an’ on from it. It was some like bad dreams an’ such, but I had no memories of any of ‘em, an’ it vexed me. I was some vexed by Marion, too. Marion snored quite a bit. After all our miles on the trail, I had got used to him makin’ such a ruckus; but that night it wore on me somethin’ fierce. It was a ways from daybreak when, instead a dumpin’ a bucket a water on his head like I wanted to, I got up, put on my clothes an’ gunbelt an’ such, an’ went downstairs to set on the porch. It was unusual for me to struggle with myself like that an’ I didn’t know what to do with it, so I took to one a them rockin’ chairs. It was a fair cool mornin’, but I was still sweatin’ a little bit an’ feelin’ near fearful for no reason I could think of.

  My mind was jumpin’ all over the place, an’ I couldn’t git it to settle down. Ever trail I had ever been on come flashin’ through my head, from dealin’ with them ol’ boys what had tried to kill Arliss Hyatt to that fella that thought he was a pig an’ durn near et up my shoulder. My first meetin’ with Harmony in the livery come in my brain, an’ that time when Arkansas Bill Cole give me his horse so I could git away. I shot that big ol’ chandelier at that Treadstone mansion agin’ an’ seen Marshal Adriss Tippideaux layin’ dead on them tables. I watched the Waxler boys git hung, et rattlesnake with Johnny Sweetgrass one more time, an’ fought a prairie fire with them black folks out on the trail to Glory. I got shot agin by that fella name a Pete, an’ went in to see Miss Harmony right after Little Bill was born. So much was whizzin’ through my head that it durn near took me with it. I set in that chair tremblin’ like a child, fearful an’ happy at the same time. It was full dawn afore I kindly come back to myself, my clothes near soaked while I was pantin’ like a dog in the August sun. Marion come out on the porch an’ looked at me.

  “Yer all covered up in sweat, Ruben,” he said. “What’s the matter, boy? How long you been settin’ out here?”

  “I doan rightly know,” I tolt him. “I got to where I couldn’t sleep last night, so I come out to set on the porch for a spell an’ my brain kindly run off with me, I guess. I warn’t sleepin’ or nothin’ like that, but it was some strange. I seen Addriss layin’ dead agin, an’ met Harmony for the first time down at the livery. I got shot by Pete, seen Litt
le Bill when he got born, durn near got chopped by Charlie Redhorse’s sidekick Youngblood, an’ I doan know what all. I didn’t let no ghosts loose or nothin’ like that, but I shore come to be tangled up with a mess a memories. I ain’t exactly fearful from it or nothin’, but I do feel kindly concerned or somethin’ from it.”

  Marion studied on me for a spell, then turned toward the door.

  “Stay set,” he said, an’ went back inside.

  It warn’t very long afore he come back out to the porch with two cups a coffee. He give me one an’ took a chair.

  “How ya feelin’ now?” he asked me.

  “Kindly like I’m settin’ in the outhouse an’ cain’t git the door open ta leave,” I said.

  Marion laughed a little bit.

  “By God, Ruben,” he said, “that there sounds some awful. I hate ta see ya like this. Mebbe a doctor oughta take a peek at ya.”

  “There’s a doctor in the outhouse?” I asked.

  Marion kindly let out a little snort. That tickled me some an’ I stood up to ketch more a what little breeze they was an’ tilted my hat back about as far as it could go so I could wipe some sweat offa my forehead with my kerchief. I was in the middle a that when Marion jumped to his feet.

  “Watch out, boy!” he hollerd, an’ pulled his right-hand Colt.

  A shot come from the other side a the road then, an’ Marion’s Colt went off right behind it. He fired agin’ an’ struck off down them steps an’ across the street on a dead run toward a little shed over that way. It took me by surprise some. I pulled a Remington an’ chased him.

  I was a short ways behind him when Marion come to a stop beside that little shed, lookn’ down at the ground.

  “It’s alright, Ruben,” he hollerd. “He’s down. Ain’t no danger gonna come from him now.”