Ain't No Law in California

by Christopher Davis

  “Well, Boys,” Bardwell said, breaking the silence. “Let’s get into town and get washed up. I’m looking forward to a hot bath and a good meal, maybe a few glasses of whiskey before a warm bed and a good night’s rest?”

  “You know what I’m looking forward too,” Curtis said laughing.

  The brothers kept their silence and followed the lawman down the dusty path leading into town.

  It wasn’t yet four o’clock. The daystar was still high in the sky overhead. The desert township was the same as it ever was.

  “Where are you going,” Curtis asked. Castro and his brother Ritchie were heading deeper into town. “The livery is this way.”

  “We have to get these boxes and our gear someplace secure,” Castro said, steering for the rail in front of the boardinghouse.

  Bardwell turned back. “Let’s give them a hand with that,” he said to Curtis.

  The four lawmen stepped down tying their mounts. Ritchie and Bardwell went inside to secure lodging for the night. Castro and Curtis remained outside with the drab green boxes.

  “Can I get a hand?” Castro asked, struggling with the pack boxes.

  “What in the hell do you have in here?” Curtis asked, helping to set the boxes to the ground.

  Castro smiled. “More than Satan himself would carry.”

  “I kind of figured you’d say that,” Curtis said.

  “Come on, Boys,” Bardwell said, stepping out with Silas Ritchie following. “They’ve only two rooms, so we’ll be doubling up tonight.”

  “Grab a side,” Castro said.

  Curtis lifted his end and they started up the rough wood steps to the open door. Bardwell and Ritchie did the same following across the lobby to the carpeted stairs inside.

  None of the hotel guests could imagine what the four lawmen carried up the stairs to neighboring rooms.

  “One box in each of the rooms,” Castro said. “If anyone should find one, we’ll have the other to fall back on.”

  Bardwell nodded pushing back his room door. Curtis stepped forward to help get the heavy green box inside.

  Ritchie peered inside of the room with two beds and one small window. “Place it in the closet and use the bed coverings to hide it.” He paused, looking about the room. “Slide the window closed bolting it if you can?”

  “We’ll do,” Bardwell said.

  “There’s a livery down the street,” Curtis said. “We can meet downstairs in five minutes?”

  The sun was nearly down when the four lawmen met up in street right out front of the town’s saloon. The horses had been cared for along with their riders, the latter having had a bath and supper.

  “First rounds on me, gentlemen,” Curtis said, smiling behind his cigar.

  Ritchie and Castro nodded.

  “It might be a good idea,” Bardwell said. “To keep our identity hidden while we’re here, keep your sleeves down and them tin stars in your pockets.”

  All three understood what it was the lawman was after. Given enough time and enough whiskey, someone would be willing to talk just the other side of those batwing doors.

  Bardwell pushed back the door. Inside smoke from the long grass and oil lamps hung thick against the ceiling. A rather skinny gentleman hammered out-of-tune chords on an old piano in the corner. Sporting gals and others—employed in the horizontal trades—plied their age-old business. Out of work, cowboys sat the round tables playing Baccarat and Pai Gow with the Mexican vaqueros. Rotgut whiskey and homespun beer flowed freely about the place. The residents of the southern outpost town, Tulare, seemed happy enough tonight.

  Curtis struck a sulfur match against the rough wood door frame to place the flame against a new cigar from his shirt pocket. Several of the house guests stopped to have a look at the four cowboys standing at the door. A rough-looking lot, some of those would have said if asked.

  No truer words could have been said just then. Although they’d bathed and dressed in clean clothes, the four lawmen stood out from the normal patrons the place was accustomed to seeing, three young men, one old. Silas Ritchie with yellow hair under his black hat and youthful appearance was tall and handsome with a 1911 at his side and another slung under his arm in a shoulder rig. His brother Jaxen Castro, of Hispanic descent, a touch shorter and a bit on the stocky side, stood next to Ritchie with his trousers tucked into his tall leather boots. Castro had a pair of long barreled Dragoon pistols at his sides and a bandolier crossing his chest. Franklin Curtis, the Negro lawman was tall and just as slim as a rail. Under his long canvas coat was a pair of polished steel Colt Peacemakers. Although the young lawman smoked a hand rolled cigar, he flashed a million dollar smile that wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

  Next to the piano stood Bardwell behind piercing blue eyes, searching the room under a black hat. Graying hair flowed nearly to his shoulders. The tails of his coat were pulled back exposing the blue Navy Colts—the Sacramento lawman—was known for.

  “You play cards?” Curtis asked Castro standing next to him at the door.

  Castro smiled. “Yes, Sir.”

  The two young lawmen started for the back room looking for a table and a game they could join.

  Although Bardwell wasn’t much of a gambling man, he didn’t mind if the boys decided to blow off a little steam in town tonight. Before long, he reckoned, Curtis would be upstairs with one of the whores. He wasn’t real sure if the other two wouldn’t be found there also.

  “What can I get for you boys?” A pretty young barmaiden asked as Bardwell drew closer to a stool at the far end of the crowded saloon.

  “Whiskey for me,” he said, turning for a look over his shoulder.

  Ritchie smiled. “I’ll have the same,” he said, taking a seat next to Bardwell.

  The barmaiden reached out a pair of glasses and wiped them clean before tipping a bottle. She looked up at Bardwell and smiled. The lawman smiled back. There was something oddly familiar about the young woman behind the bar.

  “Here you are, Gentlemen,” she said flashing a smile. Her eyes were as clear and blue as a bright morning sky.

  “Thank you, Dearie,” Bardwell said, pushing a large piece of silver across the polished wood of the bar.

  The young woman’s yellow hair was pulled back simple and her skin was fair and clear unlike most down south here on the border. If asked, the lawman would have said that she was beautiful but somehow familiar in a way that he couldn’t place.

  She winked at the lawman but concentrated most of her effort on Ritchie seated next to him.

  Ritchie did his best not to stare, but couldn’t help gazing into the soft blue eyes. He sipped from his glass.

  Bardwell noticed and smiled. Young love, he figured. In three hours’ time, these two would be out back in the dark alley between the buildings locked in a lovers’ embrace.

  “Karsyn Faye,” the young barmaiden said, reaching out a hand. “And who do I have the pleasure of serving this fine evening?”

  The lawman took the fair-skinned hand before him in his. “Dan Bardwell, Miss,” he said.

  “Ma’am,” Ritchie said, blushing.

  “What is it that has you gentlemen in town tonight,” Karsyn asked. “Is it business or pleasure that has you cowboys in these parts?”

  “A little of both,” Bardwell replied, pushing the now empty glass back across the wood. As he spoke, he noticed Richie looking the young woman over. From Bardwell’s perspective, he could see both the young woman and the young man in the same instant.

  “Listen, Miss,” he asked. “Are you from around these parts?”

  “No, Sir,” the barmaiden answered, smiling. “Carson City,” she said. “That’s how I came about the name.”

  Ritchie was staring intently now. If the young woman would have stepped away, Bardwell would have reminded him that he was a lawman and his behavior was unacceptable.

  “Was your father’s name Townsend by any chance,” Ritchie asked. “Stewart Townsend?”

  The barmaiden lit up like a
n Independence Day firework celebration. “Yes,” she smiled. “Do you know him?”

  “The same Stewart Townsend that worked for the telegraph office?” he continued.

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “He still works there.”

  Ritchie smiled, “How about a hug cousin?”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Bardwell said. The young woman had seemed oddly familiar due to the fact that when he looked at her, he looked at Ritchie. They looked so much alike that they could have been siblings.

  “Are you, Silas,” she asked, in a surprised voice, hoping.

  “One in the same,” he said, standing now. “How have you been, Honey?” he asked. “God, it’s been a long time.”

  “It has,” she said. “The last time I saw you, we must have been five years old?”

  There was another gentleman behind the bar pouring drinks as fast as he could. He looked in her direction.

  “Excuse me,” she said stepping away. “Duty calls.”

  Ritchie sipped from his glass smiling. Bardwell had thought that he’d seen everything this big old world could throw at him.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, starting in the direction of the card tables in the next room. “Keep my seat, huh?”

  Bardwell watched as the young lawman cut his way through the crowd. The young woman made her way back to refill their glasses.

  “So how do you know my cousin there?” she asked. Her resemblance to Ritchie was uncanny.

  “Oh,” Bardwell said. “We do a little work together now and then.”

  From over his shoulder, Ritchie could be heard shouting as he neared. Bardwell turned. Ritchie was returning with his brother in tow.

  “Cousin Karsyn,” he said. “I’ve got someone that I want you to meet.”

  The young woman stopped what she was doing. “Jaxen,” she said. “Is that you?” The barmaiden began to ramble. “Oh, my God,” she went on. “I would have never imagined that I’d see the two of you boy’s way down here. You still live up north?”

  “Sacramento,” Castro said, making his way behind the bar. Brother Ritchie followed. The lawman looked on as the three cousins stood hugging behind the polished wood bar.

  “So what are all of you doing down here on the Godforsaken border at that?” she asked.

  Ritchie and Castro both turned to Bardwell who nodded his approval.

  “Look, Cousin,” Ritchie said. “We’re Sacramento lawmen and we’re down this way to see about some bad fellows that have been raising hell.”

  “Lawmen,” she gasped.

  Castro raised a hand then lowered it implying that he wanted her to keep it down. No one nearby noticed the comment.

  The boys’ unbuttoned their shirtsleeves exposing the ink of the five-pointed star on their wrists.

  She looked over to Bardwell who nodded holding one finger to his lips. The barmaiden understood and nodded her agreement.

  “I can’t believe that you are real lawmen,” she said, in a hushed voice. “Oh, my God, I bet your momma’s proud of the both of you?”

  “She is,” Castro said.

  “Look, Karsyn,” Ritchie added. “We don’t want anyone to know that we’re the law okay?”

  “Oh,” she said. “I won’t say a thing. I’m just so happy to see the both of you. I’ve often wondered what happened to you.”

  “We’ve spoken of you also,” Castro said, pointing at an empty glass.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “Where are my manners?”

  No sooner, than she had poured three glasses full, Curtis was pushing his way to the bar.

  “What the hell?” he asked, seeing his three partners and the young blonde woman, talking back and forth across the polished wood.

  “Franklin Curtis,” Castro said. “We’d like you to meet our cousin, Karsyn Faye.”

  Curtis stepped closer, nearly floored like a drunken cowboy’s right hand in an after-hours bar fight. “It’s my pleasure Ma’am,” he said, taking the young woman’s hand in his.

  The young barmaiden blushed. “Karsyn would be fine,” she said.

  A seat at the bar had opened up. Curtis climbed aboard. The barmaiden poured a fourth glass of whiskey.

  “You give up on the tables?” Castro asked.

  Curtis nodded. “Hell,” he said. “I wasn’t doing so well.”

  “Do you ever?” Bardwell asked, laughing. Folks were starting to leave the saloon at this hour. The gentleman barkeep was busy pouring the remains from the empty glasses and bottles into a bucket behind the bar.

  “Ebert,” the barmaiden asked. “Would you mind closing up for me tonight?”

  The gentleman barkeep nodded his agreement. “Anything for you, Honey,” he said continuing in his chore.

  She stepped up on the balls of her feet and planted an innocent kiss on the man’s cheek. “Thank you, Ebert,” she said. “I hate to ask, but these two handsome young men are kinfolk and I’d like to spend some time with them before they leave out in the next day or so.”

  Karsyn was already stripping away her apron for the night. “Come on, Boys,” she said. “I’ve got a place where we can talk.”

  Bardwell settled up with the barkeep and grabbed for his hat. Outside of the batwing doors, the night was cool as a breeze was blowing down from the north. The night sky was clear again as it had been the night previous. He bit off a chew and remained for a moment longer looking up into the night sky.

  “What are you doing, Sir?” Curtis asked, walking back in the direction of the saloon. The others were well ahead now down the dirt lane that accounted for the one road through town.

  “Just wondering what it looked like with a bright silver moon high overhead,” he said. Bardwell spit on the dirt but continued looking skyward.

  Back when mankind had done its best to completely annihilate any thoughts of life on earth, great quakes were felt around the globe. During the few minutes of frozen white contrails crossing the northern pole as the ground shook violently, the Earth’s rotation skipped a beat losing its longtime neighbor in the process.

  Bardwell had seen the object the elders had referred to as the Moon as recently as thirty years ago, but it was nothing more than a bright star in the dark nighttime sky by then. In the aftermath of the great quakes, the earth shifted violently off its axis and spun like a misshapen ball making its way around the sun.

  “Yeah,” Curtis said. “That gal said that they’d wait on the porch for the two of us.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “So who are the four of you riding after?” Karsyn asked. “I figured that the saloon wasn’t the place to ask.”

  “You’re right,” Castro said, leaning back on the porch railing at a little house down the street.

  Bardwell and Curtis walked out of the darkness and into the light arc from the gas lamps at each side of the doorway.

  “There you are,” she said. “Let’s get inside and out of this cold. There’s a chill in the air tonight.”

  Ritchie and Castro placed their hats on the only two pegs inside the door, Bardwell and Curtis settled for laying theirs on the floor next to the door. They removed their long coats as it was plenty warm enough inside the small dwelling.

  “I’m sorry, Boys,” she said. “I don’t keep any liquor in the house, but I can make us a pot of coffee if you like?”

  “That would be nice, young lady,” Bardwell said.

  “Are you boys hungry?” she asked, drawing water from the tap to fill the pot. She opened the oven door and stoked the fire burning inside with a few sticks of wood.

  “We’re good cousin,” Ritchie said, taking one of the two chairs at the little round kitchen table.

  “Jaxen,” she said, looking back at the three men standing in the kitchen, “Would you be a dear and fetch two chairs from the parlor?”

  Castro nodded with Curtis following into the next room.

  Karsyn Faye busied herself with the coffee while arranging a platter of cookies for the men to snack on.

/>   “This sure is nice of you, Miss,” Bardwell said.

  The young woman smiled, “Well, you all just look so skinny. I can’t imagine the four of you riding the roads eating nothing more than you can find along the way.”

  Castro and Curtis each returned with a chair placing them at either side of the table.

  “Thanks, Boys,” she said. “Now tell me why it is that you’re here.” Karsyn Faye paused, “That is if you can tell me?”

  “We’re looking for Nathan Butterfield,” Castro said. “We plan to do some harm while we’re down this way.”

  The young woman gasped.

  “It would probably be good for your safety,” Ritchie said. “If you didn’t let on that you know us. There isn’t anyone on earth that can put us together as a family and there sure isn’t anyone around here that will know it.”

  “I did tell Ebert that you fellows were family?” she said, to no one in particular. Karsyn got up to pour five cups full of bitter black brew.

  “So we’re kinfolk on your mother’s side,” Castro said. “Rode over from the New Mexico territories on our way up north?”

  “You’re quick,” Curtis said laughing, “kinfolk from your mother’s side.”

  “What do you know of the old Ironwood Penitentiary,” Bardwell asked, blowing the steam from his cup. He watched the young woman over the top of the white China.

  “Folks just call it Ironwood anymore,” she said. “It’s just a half days ride from here on a good horse.”

  “Have you seen it?” Curtis asked.

  The young woman smiled. “Yes, Sir,” she said. “I rode out that way a calendar or two past.”

  “Was anyone living there at that time?” Ritchie asked.

  “Oh, heavens no,” she said. “The place was overgrown by a hundred years of vines and trees.”

  “So they’ve moved in over the last year or so?” Bardwell asked no one in particular. He continued to sip from the white cup lost in thought.

  “What do you think, Sir?” Curtis asked.