by Easy Jackson
He had white hair and a white mustache, and when he saw Tennie, he rose, removing a new gray hat and throwing it casually onto a bookshelf to one side of the window. He wasn’t a heavy man, neither was he a long slender bag of sinew and bones like so many of the men in Texas. He bowed his head slightly to Tennie. She nodded and took the chair he indicated while Hawkshaw took another. The sheriff sat back down. Standing with hat in hand, his fingers kneading the brim, Gid had never stopped talking.
“They’s trying to cheat us, Sheriff,” he said. “They got Nab and them grandsons hostage. You know Nab ain’t got nobody but them grandsons. Her old man and her boys done got kilt in the war. And Ma left that place to us, Sheriff. She done made a will and everything.”
“Gid,” the sheriff said. “Who are these people?”
Gid stopped with his mouth hung open, his brain working to get back on another track. “This here is Miss Tennie and her stepsons, Sheriff,” he said when his jaws functioned once again. “And this here is Mr. Hawkshaw. Miss Tennie done got a letter of introduction to the judge from some friends of hers back in Texas.”
The sheriff leaned forward in his chair. “May I see the letter, Miss Tennie?”
Tennie dug in her pocket and brought out the letter, placing it in the sheriff’s hand.
He examined it without opening it while she sat back down. He turned to the window. “Hey, boy,” he called, and a little black head poked up. The sheriff handed the letter to him through the open window. “Here now, take this letter on up to the judge’s chambers and ask him if he wants us to come up yonder or if he wants to come here, but we need to speak to him. Hurry up now, and don’t dawdle.”
“Yessir,” the boy said, stretching the words into a long drawl. He jumped up and ran around the side of the building.
Tennie looked through the window at the jailhouse next door, thinking the county was wealthy enough to hire a jailor so its sheriff could have a nice office in the courthouse.
The sheriff leaned back in his chair. “You run that will through probate, Gid?”
“Probate?” Gid said with a blank look on his face. “I don’t know. Nab’s got it. And they done got Nab hostage wanting her to sign some no-account paper.”
The sheriff rose heavily from his chair, letting Gid trail off as he exited the room.
Gid swallowed. “I don’t know nothing about no probate.”
Before Tennie could say anything, the sheriff returned with a ledger, setting it down on his desk. He got back in his chair and opened the heavy book, running his finger down the pages.
“Gid, taxes haven’t been paid on that place in years. The county is going to sell it as soon as it can get a buyer.”
“Taxes?” Gid said, thunderstruck. “But Ma wrote to me in prison and said not to worry, everything had been taken care of.”
The sheriff grimaced. “Gid, she told you that so you wouldn’t break out of jail and try to rob another train. And I can’t get Nab to understand it ain’t like the old days. These taxes have to be paid.”
“How much is they? I ain’t got that much money on me.”
The sheriff looked down at the ledger and read off a figure that made Gid’s eyes roll back in his head.
To Tennie’s surprise, Hawkshaw spoke. “How come nobody’s come in here before now to pay those taxes to get that farm? That land and those horses must be worth quite a bit of money.”
The sheriff looked at Hawkshaw as if deciding how much to tell him. Gid, realizing that, assured the sheriff Hawkshaw was indeed a friend of his.
“People expected Gid’s cousin Raiford Beauregard to pay them to get the property for himself. The Beauregards are still a powerful family in this here county, and nobody wants to get crossways with them. But perhaps you know that?”
“Then why hasn’t Beauregard come in here and paid them?” Hawkshaw asked.
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him yourself,” the sheriff said.
A small old man wearing a black robe came in. Tennie noticed an immediate change in Gid. An attitude of respect came over him, and he stood up straighter. Tennie turned back to the judge. He had sharp blue eyes and longish white hair. She thought how odd it was that young men kept their hair so short, and old men wanted theirs long. Gid remained standing, while Hawkshaw stayed seated.
Glancing out the window, Tennie saw a little black head slide down and out of sight. He would listen, later telling his people about what the white folks had said, and they in turn would share it with every other person of color they came into contact with until Gid’s business became known all over the county in black circles. The sheriff must have known he was still there, but he did not appear to care.
The judge greeted Gid.
“Judge, this here is Miss Tennie and Hawkshaw,” the sheriff said. “Miss Tennie, Judge LeRoy.”
“How do you do, Judge?” Tennie said as politely as she could, wondering if her penchant for always sucking up to the most powerful person in the room was based on self-preservation or just a disgusting habit.
The judge smiled, his face kind. “Proceed,” he ordered the sheriff as he sat down to one side to observe.
“I was just telling Gid here somebody’s got to pay the back taxes on the Coltrane farm or nobody’s selling anything,” the sheriff said.
“I’ll pay them,” Hawkshaw said. He looked at Gid. “And sell the farm back to you for two studs and two mares of my choosing.”
Gid gulped and looked from face to face. “I don’t know about that.” He shuttered. “Nab, she always takes care of the business end. I can’t go agin Nab.”
“Gid,” the sheriff said. “You are in a tight spot, boy. You better take this here fellow’s offer because you ain’t gonna get a better one today.”
Gid moved from one foot to the other, his eyes darting about in agony.
Tennie felt sorry for him. “Mr. Gid, how much is the most money you and Nab made selling a horse?”
Gid grew even more flustered and unwilling to part with information. It appeared that while he could understand the formula to figure explosives, when it came to business, calculations fled his head.
“Tell Rusty and let Rusty multiply it by four,” Tennie said. “Rusty can tell you if Mr. Hawkshaw’s offer is fair or not.”
Gid swallowed hard, and out of the side of his mouth, he mumbled an amount to Rusty. Rusty knew the answer immediately, but he paused, unwilling to make a mistake in front of adults. By his eyes, Tennie could tell he was refiguring.
“It’s purt near the same amount,” Rusty told Gid. “Maybe just a little bit in your favor.”
“See there, Mr. Gid.” Tennie said. “It’s fair.”
“It ain’t just that!” Gid blurted. “Nab, she’s awful particular about what horses she keeps and what horses she sells. I can’t give Mr. Hawkshaw permission to take any horse he wants. Nab would skin me alive.”
Hawkshaw stretched his legs out and examined his hands. “Oh well. I don’t have a pasture for them in Texas anyway.”
Rusty opened his mouth and leaned forward. He didn’t say anything but stared at Tennie with beseeching eyes. She nodded her head.
“Mr. Hawkshaw, we’ve got a ranch we lease for cattle grazing,” Rusty said, “but I don’t imagine they’d mind if you put your horses up there for a while till you found a place of your own.”
“That’s mighty kind of you,” Hawkshaw said, so nicely that Tennie wondered what he was playing at. “But I don’t know how we’d get them back to Texas, anyhow. They have to ride the rails and stop halfway for a rest. Nab probably doesn’t know anything about shipping horses, anyhow.”
“That ain’t true!” Gid roared. “Nab knows more about shipping horses than any man in these here parts. She sends a couple of them grandsons of hers to ride in the stock car with them horses. That’s part of the deal. She don’t let nobody ship her horses unlessen they agrees to pay for a couple of her boys to ride as hostlers. And that’s a fact. You ask anybody around here.”
He stopped, looking miserable.
The judge stirred. “Take his offer, Gid.”
Gid nodded, relieved to have the decision out of his hands. He could tell Nab the judge made him do it.
“Now then,” the judge said, looking at Hawkshaw and Tennie. “What’s your real business? You didn’t come all this way to save Gid’s horse farm.”
Tennie wasn’t sure what Winn Payton had written in his letter. He had sealed it, and she hadn’t opened it.
The sheriff eyed Hawkshaw. “Haven’t we seen you around here before? Here while back?”
Hawkshaw nodded but did not elaborate.
The sheriff, however, continued to study him under half-closed eyes. “You the Hawkshaw gunman from Kentucky?”
“That’s right,” Hawkshaw said.
“How come you buying horses here then, boy, instead of Kentucky?” the sheriff asked.
Tennie tensed. Hawkshaw was anything but a boy, and she knew the word in this case had been meant to insult.
Hawkshaw answered even enough. “Because they won’t let me back in Kentucky,” he said, staring the sheriff in the eye for so long, the sheriff turned to Tennie.
“What’s your story, young lady?”
“I’m engaged to a Texas Ranger. He goes by the name of Wash Jones, but Jones is his mother’s maiden name,” she said, stumbling over words. “Mr. Beauregard sent Mr. Hawkshaw to instigate a fight with Wash’s brother Lafayette and kill him. Mr. Hawkshaw, after assessing the situation, declined to do so and wants to return the money. I’m here to convince Mr. Beauregard to stop this insanity.”
Tennie stopped to gasp. She knew her explanation was garbled.
“Why didn’t your fiancé or his brother come? Why send you halfway across the country with two strangers?” the judge asked.
Tennie thought perhaps Mr. Payton’s letter had spelled all that out, but the judge wanted to hear it from her lips. “Wash is in South Texas chasing bandits and knows nothing of this. And I convinced Mr. Lafayette not to come for fear it would just provoke more trouble. Mr. Gid and Mr. Hawkshaw are not strangers. Mr. Gid works for Mr. Lafayette, and Mr. Hawkshaw saved my life.”
“Miss Tennie is the law in Ring Bit, Judge,” Gid said.
“Really?” the judge’s eyebrows went up.
The sheriff’s eyebrows were up, too. “I heared they did things different down in Texas, but I didn’t realize they were so savage they made their womenfolk manhandle criminals.”
“I don’t manhandle criminals,” Tennie said as fast as she could. “Mr. Gid and other men like him do that. I just feed the prisoners and clean up after them.”
“Don’t you be so bashful, Miss Tennie,” said Gid, her staunch friend. He turned to the judge. “This little gal got more gumption than a porcupine got quills, Your Honor. Yes, sir, Miss Tennie ain’t a-feared of facing the devil hisself.”
“Gid,” Tennie pleaded. The first time the U.S. deputy marshal met her, he said he had been expecting a drunken, sometimes prostitute, dressed in men’s clothes and chomping on a cigar. She wanted to disassociate herself from that image as far as she could.
“You are embarrassing the young lady, Gid,” the judge chided with a trace of a smile on his lips. “And what is your plan for convincing Raiford Beauregard to leave your future brother-in-law be, young lady?”
Tennie flushed. “I don’t have one.”
The judge gave another small smile and looked at the sheriff. The sheriff picked up the hint and sat up straighter, leaning forward in the chair. “Well, let’s get this tax business straightened out, Gid.”
“But Sheriff, we got to go rescue Nab,” Gid said. “She’s being held prisoner. The boys is locked up in the barn. I don’t know how many days they done been in there.”
“They’ll survive,” the sheriff said. “I’m not riding out and getting there roundabout midnight in the pitch dark. Nab can wait until morning.”
“Gid,” the judge said, “you best leave yourself just enough money to get back to Texas and give the remainder to your brothers so they can go on to California and stay out of Nab’s hair. Not to mention the rest of the county’s.”
Gid swallowed hard, but he said, “Yes, sir, Judge.”
“Boy!” the judge said, throwing his voice to the window.
The little black head popped up again. “Yessir?”
“You go tell Miss Viola to expect one young lady and three hungry boys for supper,” the judge said. “Tell her to fix up some beds. They’ve been traveling and will want baths and their clothes cleaned.”
Tennie blushed again. She had tried to wash all the train dirt and soot from her face, but she was still covered in dust. “Judge, sir, we couldn’t possibly impose on you.”
“Nonsense. These here men can take care of themselves. But a friend of Winn Payton needs a clean bed to sleep in.”
Like Gid, Tennie found herself falling in line with the judge’s wishes. Gid approved, and Hawkshaw made no sign or comment whatsoever. The boys didn’t look too happy. They wanted to stay with Gid, but at the same time, they were hungry and tired of waiting for food.
The judge told Hawkshaw and Gid to continue with their business. He rose and escorted Tennie and the boys out of the courthouse, pointing to a large brick house south of the square. “I’ll have your things sent over. Viola will show you where to get cleaned up for supper. I’ll be there directly.”
Tennie felt so grateful. “Thank you, Judge LeRoy,” she said with a relieved smile. She turned and followed the boys down a respectable side street to a big house on a large lot surrounded by a thigh-high wrought-iron fence. The grounds were immaculate. The house, although old, projected stability and comfort. There was nothing like it in Ring Bit.
The four of them walked up to the shady porch on a sidewalk paved with bricks, straight and level without a dip in it. The white front door had glass on each side and a transom above the top. The black shuttered windows on the porch went all the way to the floor.
Before they could knock on the front door, it was opened by a black woman in a calico dress and long white apron. It was hard for Tennie to tell her age because her skin was so smooth and wrinkle free. But gray hair peeked from underneath the white scarf wrapped around her head, and Tennie thought she must be well past middle age.
“Miss Viola?” Tennie said. “I’m Tennessee Granger and these are my stepsons, Rusty, Lucas, and Badger. The judge sent us here.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know,” the older woman said. “Come this way, and I’ll show you where you can wash up.” She held the door open for them.
Tennie and the boys entered, all of them impressed with the polished wood floors, the gleaming staircase, the rooms with ornate trim around the doors, and the thick carpets within them. Viola shut the door, and they followed her down a long hall to a door in the back of the house that led to a porch where washbasins, soap, and towels awaited them. An expanse of wide lawn stood in front of them.
“You can sit in these chairs while you wait for the judge,” Viola said.
Tennie nodded and gave her thanks. Viola disappeared back into the house, and Tennie looked down at her stepsons. “Well, don’t just stand there gaping. Let’s get cleaned up.”
* * *
While they sat on the back porch waiting for the judge, the little messenger boy came around the back and began talking to Tennie’s stepsons. He wanted to know all about the black cowboys in the West. Before long, Tennie began seeing signs that meant only one thing. “No wrestling until after supper,” she warned.
Fortunately, the judge walked onto the porch before that could happen. He was smiling and seemed happy to see them. He held his arm to Tennie, and as he escorted her into the dining room, his other hand reached out and rubbed the top of her hand. She was a little surprised by his unexpected gesture of familiarity, but it pleased her to be so welcomed.
When they entered the dining room, she wondered if her eyes were as big around as the boys’. A silver candelabra stood on to
p of a gleaming white cloth. China, crystal, and silverware were at each place setting. When she had been loaned out by the orphanage to work in big houses for parties, Tennie had washed plenty of expensive dishes and utensils, but had never eaten off any of them. She doubted if her stepsons had ever seen them.
The judge motioned for her to sit next to him, and she could only hope she did not look as gauche as she felt. She thought of the scarred table in Ring Bit, and she was almost overcome with desire to own something much better, dazzled by the sparkling array of beautiful things.
At the supper table, however, the judge encouraged the boys to talk, asking innocent questions about hunting and fishing. Before long, in between shoveling food like there was no tomorrow, they were telling him of Tennie’s kidnapping. They weren’t shy about sharing their role in rescuing her and fighting banditos.
The judge showed the proper amount of curiosity and appreciation, although the tale sounded so fantastic, Tennie didn’t know why anyone hearing it would believe it. Urged by the judge to continue, the boys described the train ride and how Gid hung his head out the window being sick most of the time. When Rusty told how Hawkshaw didn’t like anyone sitting by him, the judge responded by rubbing his upper lip and saying, “Interesting.”
“We thought the Daring Dandies were going to rob the train, but they didn’t,” Badger informed him.
“My, what a disappointment,” the judge said, smothering a smile.
When the boys had just about run out of tummy room and words, Tennie apologized to the judge. “Most men in Texas refuse to say two words while they eat, but I’m afraid they have picked up the habit of talking too much from me.”
“Nonsense,” the judge said. “I haven’t had such an enjoyable conversation in a long time. Boys, you may go out onto the back porch, and Viola will bring you dessert. I’d like to talk to your stepmother alone for a while.”