Haxan (7 page)

The tree was scarred where I had pulled out the railroad spikes last night. One remained embedded in the trunk, driven deep and caked with dried blood.

“I did what I could for him, Magra. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“No, I want to thank you.” She squatted beside the grave and rested her brown hands on one of the stones. She looked very small and frail inside her big coat with its jumbled carpetbag patches.

“You did more than enough,” she said softly. “When I put my ear to the ground I listened to the desert speak. My mother taught me how to do this. The land is at peace and my father is resting.”

“I hope so.” I didn’t know what else to say.

She regarded me. Her hair was braided tight on either side of her face. “Papa can still night-walk me if he has a mind. Mother did it when I was back east, long after she died on the Long Walk to Fort Sumner. Yet I haven’t heard from her in many, many years. Maybe she lost her way in the Everywhere Land and can’t find a spiritual path back to our world. It happens sometimes when you night-walk.”

“I hope they both visit you soon, Magra.”

“I carry much grief inside. I should cut my hair and knife the tip of my little finger off.”

“I know it’s your custom, and it’s not my place to say, but I don’t think you should. I don’t want you to mutilate yourself. It’s not right.”

“Papa would not like it, either. He loved Mother, yet he did not believe in all of her ways. So I will continue as he would have wished and not do those things to myself.” She sighed. “I am ready to go home now.”

I helped her back on my horse. We rode around, looking to see if we could cut the trail of the wagon. We couldn’t follow it far. The ground was too hard. As we rode toward town she put her chin back on my shoulder.

We listened to coyotes calling across the flat.

“The season has been very dry,” she remarked. “They will come to the ranches and kill cattle if we don’t get rain.”

“I’ve heard they already started. What’s that big butte off to the north?”

“That’s Cottonwood Butte. Many of the largest ranches surround it like spokes on a wheel.”

“Ranches like the Lazy X?”

“Yes. John, stop by Papa’s old place.”

“No.” There was nothing for her to see there.

“Please? I want to look around.”

I tugged the reins and we set out across flat, weathered stones. We followed a thin, meandering creek between the black boulders and their shining white symbols of mystical power.

I pulled short. Magra stared at the blackened and charred remains of her father’s home. Her entire life lay in ruin.

“All right,” she said, releasing a pent up breath. “Let’s go.”

W
hen I reached the office I had to head right back out to deliver government papers to Fort Providence. It was a long, hot ride. When hours later I returned to Haxan I discovered my packages from the mercantile emporium had arrived. I opened them and was putting things where I thought they belonged when Jake sidled through the door, a bundle of mail in his arms.

“Hello, Marshal. How was the ride to Fort Providence?”

“Damned hot and dry.”

“We’re hurting for rain,” he agreed. “While you were gone I thought I would run down to the depot to see if there was mail. Most of this stuff is addressed to Sheriff Cawley—circulars and other letters marked with an official stamp.”

“Did you meet Mayor Polgar?”

“Yes, sir, I took care of that. The men are in the dead house.”

“Have a seat, Jake, and we’ll discuss your appointment.”

He doffed his hat and folded himself into a straight-back chair against the ’dobe wall. Sam Beetle owned a feed store next door to us. You could smell it plain.

“You ever done lawman work before?” I asked him.

“No, sir.” He had a lopsided grin. “Got chased by a town marshal once for stealing apples as a kid. That’s about it.”

“Where you from?”

“Austin, Texas, sir.”

“You can call me Marshal, Jake. Or Marwood, if you prefer.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Marwood.”

“What brought you to Haxan?”

“I was a rider for the Circle C Ranch. We pushed one of the first big herds up from Brownsville to Haxan. I rode swing.”

“At least it wasn’t bobtail.” That was a thankless job held by the man who watched the cattle while everyone else ate supper.

Jake had a funny way of laughing. It was a series of suppressed sneezes through his hawk-like nose. “I’ve done that, too. But since I made this run to Haxan twice’t I got moved up in job order.”

“You’ve been to Haxan before?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, Mr. Marwood. I ran into a spot of trouble this go. Lost all my wages in a crooked faro game first night in.”

He quickly amended, “That was before you took over, Mr. Marwood. I expect they’ll watch themselves a sight more closely now.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

“Anyway, I lost all I had but kept enough back to get my horse out of hock. I was thinking I had to pull out of Haxan and look for work before I landed this here job.”

“Well, long as you work for the Marshal’s office you can keep your horse in the livery stable. The U.S. government will foot the bill.”

“I’ll go for that. What’s the pay?”

“Job pays twenty-two dollars a month.”

Jake circled the hat brim through his skinny hands. “I was getting thirty-three with Circle C, sir.”

“You’ll also receive two dollars for every arrest you make, fifty cents for every stray dog you shoot, and a dime for every rat you kill in town. In a normal month you should be able to bring in another twenty or forty dollars on top of your salary.”

“I can make out on that right enough.”

“Fine. You can sleep in the office if you want. There’s a cot in back. Spread your bedroll there. We’ll trade off when we have prisoners, anyway, to give the other man a break.”

“Okay, Marshal.”

“There are other things I want you to be responsible for, Jake. Grab the mail every morning from the train and stage depots. Send wires to all the big territorial newspapers and have them delivered to our office. I want to read them every day.”

“I understand.” His face cleared. “That’s smart, keeping up on things.”

“This is a federal appointment, Jake. Our jurisdiction isn’t only local, even though that’s what the Haxan Peace Commission expects.” I told him about the commission. He didn’t know anything about it or appear to care. “Can you read and write?”

“I know most of my alphabet.”

“Most?”

“Except for two or three letters near the end. I never use them much when I have to write.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “Sounds okay.” I opened a drawer and tossed him a badge. “I’ll submit the paperwork to the Marshal’s office in St. Louis, but as of now you’re on payroll. Best put that on and we’ll make this official.”

He pinned the badge to one of his suspenders and I swore him in.

Jake sported a knife with buckhorn handle on his belt and a pistol in a Mexican loop holster. “May I see your gun, Jake?”

Without hesitation he drew it and handed it to me, butt first. It was a Schofield .44-40 top-break revolver.

You can tell a lot about a man by his gun. Jake’s six-gun was clean and in good working order. He had the hammer seated on an empty chamber. He was a cautious man and knew basic gun safety.

I handed the weapon back to him. “Brand new Schofield. Where’d you get that?”

“My Uncle Henry got me this here pre-production model.”

He was being evasive. I decided not to push it. A lot of men had secrets, big and little, out on the frontier.

“Know how to use it?” I asked.

“I can hit something if I have time to aim.”

“Let’s go out back and try it out. Do you mind?”

“Not at all, Mr. Marwood. I guess you need to know if I can shoot.”

We exited the office through the back door and found ourselves in an empty sandlot with broken crates, discarded bottles, and wild bunches of purple cactus growing along a ragged fence line made from ocotillo.

“Let’s see you plink that tin can.” I pointed to a can lying against the fence twenty yards away.

He set himself, pulled his gun from the Mexican holster, and fired. He was much too quick. The bullet ploughed dirt a foot in front of the can.

“This job doesn’t call for quick draw tricks, Jake,” I cautioned. “The man who keeps his cool and takes his time, even under fire, can beat the faster gun.”

“Sorry, Marshal. I guess I was trying to show off.” He holstered his gun, relaxed, and pulled iron. He thumbed the hammer back, took careful aim, and fired. The tin can jumped.

I clapped him on the back. “Good enough for government work, Jake.”

He flushed at the compliment. I got the idea he wasn’t the kind of man who heard a lot of them in his life.

“How about you, Marshal?” he questioned with a glint. “Can you hit it?”

I drew my gun and fired. The can jumped a foot in the air. Jake aimed and kicked it forward once it landed. We knocked it around the yard two or three times until he missed.

“You’re awful good, Mr. Marwood,” he admitted. His eyes were shining. “Fast, too. Why do you use a cap and ball?”

“Comfortable with the feel of the iron, I guess. Anyway, it’s what I got used to when I learned to shoot. Too old a dog to change now.”

“I heard Hickok uses a cap and baller.”

I knew what he wanted to talk about. You could see the curiosity building in his face. No wonder he lost at cards, with a readable face like that.

“You ever kill a man, Jake?”

He pursed his lips and thought. “Don’t rightly know. In Laredo we were set upon by Mexican bandits who had crossed the Bravo. They were out to steal our remuda. Me and my pards fired into them and two men fell into the river. The others ran hell for leather back across the border. I don’t know if I killed one of those men or not. I don’t like dwelling on it.”

“No man does if he’s honest.”

“I heard about that trouble you cleared up in Montana Territory,” he prompted. “Once you hit this town people started talking in whispers. There are other stories, too, about your reputation. They say you ran with a hard bunch in south Texas. There’s even stories you spent time with the Mandans up north. I hope you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Marwood.”

“When your back is against a wall, Jake, you do what you can to get out of it. When it’s you or the other man, that’s an easy decision.”

“Yes, sir,” he answered in earnest. “I will remember.”

Back inside the office I told him everything I knew about Connie Rand and his gang.

“I want to run this man down, Jake. If Rand is
comanchero
then he might also be the one who killed Breggmann. Keep your eyes and ears open when you move about town. Don’t try to take Rand yourself. Come and get me first.”

“Yes, sir, Marshal.”

We finished setting up the office. Jake tacked the circulars up and put the important ones outside on the flat board.

He came back in. “Marshal, I remembered something I ought should tell you. After I brought Fancer to the Doc’s I went back to the Texas Star for another beer.”

“Trouble?”

“It was Pate Nichols. He and Coffer Danby liked to crossed guns while you were in one of the other saloons.”

“Nichols. I keep hearing that name. He’s that big rancher who owns the Lazy X. He’s on the commission, too.”

“He’s sewn up Larsen Valley. They say he’s worth half a million if he’s worth a dollar.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“No, sir. Jonah Hake took a bung starter to them and broke it up before it got serious.”

My warning must have made a mark with Hake. “What brought on the argument?”

“Danby came in drunk and accused Nichols of cutting fences and killing his flock.”

“Danby doesn’t run cattle?”

“No, sheep on Shadow Bend. Nichols swore he didn’t do it but claimed Danby was chasing his cattle away from water. You know how dry it’s been lately.”

“Magra and I heard the coyotes, and maybe a few wolves, wailing out on the flat. Anything else happen between this Danby and Nichols? You seem to know quite a lot about them.”

“Only high talk. They say Danby’s wife is what they call a ‘stunner’ back east. Danby promised he’d kill Nichols if he lost more ewes.” Jake shook his head in wonder. “You would think in this whole big territory two men could learn to live with one another.”

“When you get down to it, it’s not human nature, Jake, despite how we like to pretend otherwise. Mayor Polgar told me about Nichols the first day I rode into town. Apparently the man carries some weight around town. Where can I find him?”

“I believe he’s staying at the Haxan Hotel. I heard he wanted to have words with the new marshal about Coffer Danby so he’s been waiting there.”

“And I expect Danby wants to buck me about Nichols.” I sighed. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Those men are going to keep pushing each other until someone gets hurt. Where are you going?“

“To buy penny candy for Piebald. I want to hire him to help Patch Wallet take care of my horse. He can exercise our animals and brush them down. Stuff like that.”

“He’ll like that.”

“Might keep the kid out of trouble. Acts kind of wild. Hold down the fort, Jake. Tonight we’ll patrol the town and I’ll show you the ropes.”

“I’ll make coffee, Marshal. Break in that new pot.”

I strode outside. The sun was low, slanting rays across the plaza with a washed-out amber glare.

Right on cue coyotes started howling on the desert flat. It was a keening, plaintive sound. I could smell cooking fires up and down Front Street: mule deer backstrap, chili peppers, and fresh tortillas fried on a clay comal. A snatch of fandango from one of the Mexican cantinas tripped between the weathered boards of the sidewalk and ran back inside to hide.

I was on my way to the Haxan Hotel to scare up Magra when a gaunt man with intense blue eyes and long brown hair blocked my way. His face was drawn, as if the skin was stretched too tight across the bones. His eyes had a distant, lonely gleam to them, like hollow caverns at the edge of a sea.

“Are you Marshal John Marwood?” he asked.

“I am. Help you?”

“I’m Pate Nichols. I suspect you’ve heard ’bout me. I’m a member of the peace commission. I also own the Lazy X ranch.” He made a vague gesture off to the north, which encompassed most of Larsen Valley and the better grassland beyond.

“I’ve been meaning to have a jaw when you hit town, Marshal,” he added.

“I’m on my way to find something to eat.”

“I’ve been waiting for the law to handle my problem. I’m through waiting.”

“Can’t we talk about this after I’ve had supper?”

“No, we can’t.” He interposed his body between the street and me. His hard, whiskered face was closed. He was a man used to having his own way.

“I have life and death business with you,” he said. “I’m not waiting another minute.”