by Edward Gates
“I’m delivering the truth! And yes, the Lord works in people’s minds and hearts. His message will change people’s thinking! And I am the Lord’s messenger!”
“You’re not going to win any souls here, Reverend. The fact that we’re two years into a war that will go down in history as one of the bloodiest conflicts ever attests to that fact. If your Lord was going to change any minds, I think he would have done it by now.
“I suggest you get your entourage together and get out of Fort Smith. Max Weatherby is not a man to play with, and if he finds out you’re still here, you may never leave. And there won’t be anything I can do to stop him.” The abolitionist stared at him for a moment and then turned and walked away, leaving Charlie standing in the deserted cotton warehouse lot.
“Well, this didn’t turn out very well. I guess my choice has been made. Looks like I’m a lawman… and now on Max’s shit list.”
Charlie walked back to the sheriff’s office and set the gun belt and ax handles on the table. Suddenly he felt tired and worn out; the ordeal had drained him. Deputy O’Shea came back into the office from the jail cells.
“Are they all locked up?” Charlie asked.
“Aye. And none too happy about it, I can say.”
Charlie took a deep breath and sat on the stool next to the table.
“Ye did fine tonight, lad. Real fine. Ye should be proud of y’self,” the deputy said.
Charlie looked at O’Shea, smiled and nodded. “It was you. I froze. If you hadn’t prodded me along, I may have fled.”
“Just the same, ‘twas yourself what backed them all down.”
Charlie thought about the confrontation. The deputy was right. He did well facing Max’s henchmen, the crowd, the reverend and even Max. Once he got past his fear, everything seemed to go like clockwork. His actions and the things he said seemed to come natural to him. He thought about the dead stranger.
“No, it was you. You took out that fella with the shotgun. How’d you know that man was going to try something?”
The deputy shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. More gut than knowing, I suppose. There was something in his eyes - a wildness, I guess, ye know? It wasn’t in the other’s, just his.”
Charlie shook his head. “I didn’t notice it. I didn’t even look at their faces.”
“Don’t bang y’self about, lad. It’s not easy to see. Ye got to know to look.” The deputy sat at the sheriff’s desk. “I spent me a number of years with Pinkerton larnin’ it. Just remember to always look in the eyes of the ones ye be facin’. Eventually you’ll be able to pick out the ones with fear in their eyes -- and the ones that are just plain loco.”
Charlie stood up and looked at Michael. “I think I’m going to head over to Doc Levine’s and check on the sheriff.”
As he walked down Walnut to Third Street, he thought about this evening. He seemed to be a natural at this job. Once the deputy urged him on, he had no fear and no anxiety. Next time he wouldn’t need to be prodded into action. Now that it was over, he was calm, confident and pleased with his actions this evening. Even when he faced down Max.
Charlie stopped walking. Max! I wonder where I stand with Max.
53
Max’s Future
Doctor Henry Levine was a crusty, old, self-taught frontier doctor. Self-taught because the only medical education and training he received was working alongside some military doctors during the Texas Revolution and Indian wars. Charlie was appalled at some of the medical practices of the day, but kept quiet about it for fear of divulging medical knowledge unknown at the time and possibly keeping someone alive who historically should have died.
“How’s Sheriff Hart?” he asked as he entered the doctor’s house.
“Man’s beat all to hell. I don’t think he’s gonna make it. Fellas that brought him in said two boys jumped him.”
“They weren’t boys. They were two large men wielding ax handles.”
“Well that explains it, then. I ain’t seen a beating like this in a long time.”
“Is he awake?”
“Nope. Been unconscious since he got here. Too many head wounds. I washed them up and wrapped them. One arm’s broke for sure. I set that best I could and put a splint on it. I know a few ribs are busted, maybe more. I’ll be surprised if he wakes up at all.”
Stunned by the severity of the sheriff’s injuries, Charlie didn’t know what to say. He had thought of Sheriff George Hart as an honest and honorable man. It was hard for him to control his anger and sadness. “Well, let me know if anything changes.”
Charlie left the doctor’s home and began a slow walk back to his room. Something didn’t feel right to him. The severe beating of Sheriff Hart made no sense. One hit from an ax handle would have been enough to knock him out; why keep pounding on him unless they really were trying to kill him?
Charlie pieced together the evening’s events as he walked along. Doc said the sheriff was jumped, which would mean they were waiting to ambush Hart. But how would they know the sheriff would even be there? Unless Max had this planned all along. It was no secret that Hart and Max didn’t get along. Maybe this was Max’s way of getting rid of the lawman once and for all.
As he walked, Charlie realized Max had used him to get the sheriff to go to the warehouse. He would have known Charlie would tell Hart about Max’s plans to block entrances and that the sheriff would try and stop it. Charlie became convinced he was used to set a trap to ambush Sheriff Hart. Charlie was angry at himself. Why didn’t I see this?
Deep in thought, he kept blindly walking through town, crossing one street after another. Oblivious to his surroundings, he stopped at a street corner underneath an oil lamp perched atop a pole. Charlie was certain of Max’s involvement in this evening’s happenings; proving it would be difficult, to say the least. Before he got involved, though, he’d have to jump forward in time to see what history had been recorded regarding Max Weatherby.
“Hi, sugar. Want some company tonight? Why don’t you come on in and have a drink with me?” came a soft voice behind Charlie.
He turned and saw a barefoot young lady with long, coal-black hair standing in the doorway of a two-story home. She wore a wrinkled long white nightshirt that draped off one shoulder, exposing most of her breast. The light from inside the house shone through her thin nightgown, creating a cameo of her slender body. Charlie smiled at the girl and then looked around. He heard the tinkling sounds of an out-of-tune piano along with boisterous shouting and laughter that spilled into the streets from establishments in the area. Several large Victorian homes lined the street and light poured from just about every window in every home. Charlie was in The Row.
“How ‘bout it, mister?” the girl continued. “I can take away all your troubles for a little while.”
Charlie stepped closer to the porch. He guessed her to be in her late teens and somewhat attractive… in a rough sort of way. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Lyla.”
“What’s it going to be tomorrow?”
The girl’s smile abruptly left her and she gave him a stern look. “Look, mister, I’m working tonight. You want my story, it’ll cost you the same.”
“No offense intended, miss.” Charlie tipped his hat. “I just like to get to know a little bit about the lady I spend some time with; in particular, her real name. Maybe some other time, then?” As he turned away the girl came out onto the porch and leaned over the porch rail.
“My real name’s Leslie Ann. But don’t you go tellin’ nobody.”
Charlie stopped. “Well, Leslie Ann, it’s a real pleasure to meet you. Is it always Lyla here?”
The girl nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. Sometimes we get some drunk fella looking for a gal with a certain name. I can be that name too. But most everyone knows me as Lyla.”
“Lyla, your real name is safe with me. Unfortunately, I have some things to take care of right now, but maybe I could come see you another time?”
Lyla smiled an
d stepped back into the doorway. Charlie tipped his hat again and then asked, “By the way, do you know Max Weatherby?”
“Oh, sure. Everybody knows Mr. Weatherby. He owns this house. Comes by once or twice a week. He owns that house across the street, too, and two more down the block. Somebody says he owns a couple of saloons around here, but I don’t know nothing about that. How do you know Max?”
“I guess I sort of work for him,” Charlie answered. “Kind of puts us in the same business, doesn’t it?” He walked off.
Lyla hollered after him, “You be sure to come back and see me!”
Charlie waved, walked up Garrison Street and climbed the stairs to his room. In the dim light of the lantern on his dresser, he sat on his bed holding the time belt. He knew he would be talking with Max about this evening, probably sooner than later. But first, he had to see what history had recorded about the Weatherby dynasty. The last thing he wanted to do was alter history, especially if it involved such a prominent figure as Max.
Charlie strapped on the belt, turned on the switch, and placed his finger on the small detection pad. A blue-green translucent light spilled out of the small gold and silver cylinders that lined the belt and surrounded him like a cocoon. An interactive virtual panel displayed in front of him. He set his destination for a mile or so outside of Little Rock in the middle of the night in the year 1885, twenty-two years in the future. He watched the counter descend, three… two… one, then closed his eyes. There was a loud electronic snap, a blinding flash of light, and he was gone.
Charlie woke up in a heavily forested area. It was cloudy and moonless, making the forest look pitch black. It took a moment before he regained the memory that told him where he was and why he was there. He let out a deep sigh. “No sense trying to stumble my way through this forest in the dark.” He untucked his shirt to cover the time belt, sat on the ground and leaned against a tree to wait for dawn.
The sound of a horse and wagon passing by woke Charlie. It was daylight. He had fallen asleep propped against a tree. The road was about fifty yards away from him. When the wagon was out of sight, he made his way through the forest to the road and began his trek into the city of Little Rock to check the Arkansas archives for any and all information regarding Max.
Charlie spent hours reviewing records regarding Max, his family and his businesses. His eldest son, Edmund, was one of the twenty-nine thousand troops General Pemberton surrendered to Grant at Vicksburg. Edmund spent the rest of the war as a prisoner. He was eventually released but was so ill from his captivity that he never recovered and died in 1867. Max’s middle son, Thomas, eventually fulfilled his desire by running off and joining the war at age fifteen. He was killed in one of the last battles of the war at Saylor Creek.
Max lived until 1882, when he died from an unspecified illness at the age of seventy-four. Like a lot of other Southern businessmen, he lost most of his real-estate holdings and a considerable amount of his wealth once the war ended. He lost the rest during the so-called Reconstruction.
Charlie looked up Sheriff Hart and found that the doctor guessed right. George Hart died in 1863 from the wounds he suffered. Doc Levine signed the death notice. Charlie assumed the Mitchells would have been tried for the sheriff’s murder. He checked court cases on file and found that the Mitchell brothers were convicted of murder but sentenced to only two years in prison. The third man was acquitted. Charlie reckoned that Max did his best to fix the trial, but a light sentence was the best he could do.
Every cell in Charlie’s body screamed for him to get involved and correct this obvious miscarriage of justice. But, as much as he hated it, he knew he had to preserve this recorded history. He couldn’t touch Max.
Charlie had been in Little Rock most of the day. It was getting close to dusk when he walked out of town and deep into the forest on the outskirts of the city. With a flash of light and a loud snap, he was back in his room in Fort Smith an instant after he had left.
He stretched out on his bed and mulled over what he learned in Little Rock. The Mitchell brothers and that henchman would go to trial. Max obviously fixed the trial. The war would claim Max’s fortune and his sons. The question now was how best to use what he learned about the future… if at all?
54
Confrontation
It was a restless sleep for Charlie. All night long he couldn’t stop thinking about his deteriorating relationship with Max and the inevitable death of Sheriff Hart. Since the sky was becoming lighter with the approaching dawn, he thought it pointless to try to find any more sleep. He dressed and went to the sheriff’s office.
Frank Bell, the third-shift deputy, looked surprised to see him. “What brings you in here so early?”
“Couldn’t sleep. Did you hear anything from Doc Levine about the sheriff?”
“Nah. Haven’t heard a thing at all. Been a real quiet night. I guess people is a little squirrely after that ruckus at the warehouse.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.” Charlie paused and then announced, “I’m going to go get some breakfast. Then I’m going to see the doctor. Will you stay around for a while until I get back?”
Deputy Bell nodded. “Sure. I like to stay ‘til Irene brings in breakfast for the prisoners. She always brings me coffee and some sugar biscuits.” The deputy smiled.
Charlie grinned back at him. “Maybe I’ll stop by her café and have one of those sugar biscuits myself. I’ll be back soon.”
After a quick breakfast he headed toward the doctor’s office on Third Street. As he walked by Max’s warehouse he noticed two wagons with teams in the yard being loaded with cargo. Ed Bass was on top of one of the wagons securing the load. Charlie hadn’t seen Ed since they got back and decided to pay him a visit.
“You must really love being on the road,” he said as he got close to the wagons.
Ed turned. “Well I’ll be damned. Are you going on this trip?”
“No, I think I had enough of that to last me for a while. I’m surprised you’re going again so soon, though.”
“Bored.” Ed climbed down from the wagon and shook hands. “How you been, Charlie?”
Charlie showed his badge. “I’ve been good. Max made me a deputy. How ‘bout you? I haven’t seen you since we got back. You live near town?”
“Nope. I got me a small cabin by the river about an hour south of here. Real peaceful. I ain’t got no kin or family. I do a lot of fishin’ and huntin’ and…” He pointed to the wagons. “…When I get tired of all that, I do some driving.”
They were catching up and sharing stories when Max came out of the warehouse into the yard.
“Look what drifted into the yard here, Max.” Ed said, smiling. “I’m trying to talk Charlie into signing on for another haul.”
“He’s got a job right now,” Max said sharply. “And he seems to be havin’ trouble doin’ it.”
“I just stopped by to say hello to Ed,” Charlie replied.
“I’m glad you did. Saved me the trouble of coming to find you,” Max said. “I think you and I need to talk in my office.”
“I was on my way to see the doc about Sheriff Hart.”
“It’ll keep. You can see him later.”
“Sure. I’ll be right there,” Charlie said. Max headed back to his office and Charlie turned toward Ed. “Is Dave or Walter going with you?”
“No. Haven’t seen either of them since we all got back. This is a short haul to Kansas City and back. Dave won’t waste his time on short trips. He says there ain’t enough money in them. I’m sure Walter will be stayin’ close to his daughter. She’s the only family he’s got left alive. I doubt he’ll ever take another trip.”
“You take care, then.” Charlie shook Ed’s hand and headed toward Max’s office. He dreaded this meeting. He didn’t have much time to prepare, but, then again, what could he possibly prepare for? Outside Max’s office door, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He remembered the fearless eyes of Deputy O’Shea and thought to himself, Be strong, do
n’t let him intimidate you, and stay in control. He opened the door, walked in and closed the door behind him.
“Sit down,” Max ordered, pointing to the leather chairs across from his desk. Charlie could see that Max was not very happy. He moved to the sofa across the room from Max and sat down. “You want to tell me what that was all about last night?”
“You want to tell me why those two animals beat Hart to death?” Charlie shot back.
“Hart ain’t dead. Just a little roughed up, is all. I want you to let those boys out of jail. Put them in my custody, if you have to.”
“I don’t think I can do that, Max. Hart’s going to die. He won’t recover.”
“How do you know? Did that old sawbones tell you that? Hell, Levine can’t tell a dog bite from a bullet wound. He don’t know nothing,”
“I saw Hart. Those two gorillas beat all hell out of him. Trust me, he’ll die. And when he does, the Mitchell brothers will go to trial for his murder.”
Max looked stunned. Charlie wasn’t sure whether it was because of the news he just delivered or because he was being more assertive.
He continued. “You’re lucky you’re not sitting in jail with them. If you’d have kept shooting your mouth off last night, I would have had no choice but to lock you up, too. I had to keep you from incriminating yourself in front of half the town. Sorry if I ruffled your feathers.”
Max smirked. “I suppose you want me to thank you for that?”
Charlie shook his head. “No, I don’t want your thanks. I’m just doing the job you gave me to do and trying to keep you out of trouble at the same time.”
“You didn’t do what I told you to do. I wanted you to stand with the Mitchells and to stay out of their way.”
“You told me you wanted that meeting stopped. I stopped it!” Charlie fired back.