The Taylor County War (3 page)

The shorter fellow said, “Tell you
what. We’ll dump ’em over there by the side yard and you can pick
and choose all you want. We’re selling the whole load, not just the
cream.”

“How much?”

“Twenty dollars,” Henderson said
right off as if he’d already given the matter considerable
thought.

“Twenty dollars!” Marcus’s heart
thumped hard his chest. That skull was unlike any he’d seen, he was
sure of it. But twenty dollars was nearly a month’s salary! He
steeled himself and pulled the cover back over the bones. He had to
play this close to the vest. “I’m afraid I’m not that interested.”
Would they call his bluff?

He stepped away from. “Thank you
for the opportunity to see them.” He turned back on the wagon with
its thrilling collection of bones and started back to the
schoolhouse, his head beading with sweat, his breath practically
frozen in his chest.

“Fifteen,” Henderson said.

Marcus stopped. He started
breathing again. He had to keep a cool head. The bones were of no
use to these two, and they knew it. He turned back and spent a long
time pondering . . . for their benefit. “You have a
couple of interesting specimens, but the rest are quite common.
Bison, most likely.

“So, what would you pay for them?”
the shorter man asked, and now his tone was not so certain.

“I’ll give you three dollars for
the whole lot.”

Henderson looked at his friend. “I
don’t want them, Harry.”

“Buffalo bones?” Harry sighed and
shook his head. “Five dollars and they’re yours.”

Marcus stuck out a hand and shook
on it before they could change their minds. When they had left,
Miss Sloane looked at him.

“What?” he asked when her stare
stretched out uncomfortably long.

“Bison bones?”

“I didn’t say for sure that’s what
they were.”

“Remind me never to play poker with
you, Mr. Sublette.”

He laughed, and she did too.

***

Marcus looked up from the thin
sheaf of student work papers to find Frank Miller standing in front
of his desk.

“Yes?”

“I come for my pistol, Mr.
Sublette.”

He’d forgotten about the earlier
incident. “Of course.” He took the Derringer from a desk drawer. “I
would prefer you leave this at home from now on.”

“Yes sir.” Frank slipped it into a
pocket and turned.

“Mr. Miller.”

“Sir?” Frank’s black eye had grown
darker, and must have hurt badly, but he wasn’t going to let anyone
know it. Marcus admired the boy’s grit. It reminded the teacher of
himself at the same age.

“You show little interest in your
school work, Mr. Miller. I understand you think it’s time to step
out in the world, and perhaps for you it is.” Marcus cringed at the
words he heard himself saying, but sometimes the truth has to be
faced head on. “Have you given any thought as to what you want to
do for the rest of your life?”

Frank’s face brightened,
threatening to wash away the ugly black and blue bruise about his
eye. “I want to be a lawman –like Sheriff Satterlee, or Marshal
Gardner.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed it. That’s
an admirable goal.”

Frank looked pleased to hear him
say that.

“Being a lawman isn’t only about
finding criminals, you know. You’ll have to read and understand
many legal documents. And like Sheriff Satterlee, you’ll have to
manage the money the city council appropriates. That’s called
budgeting, and requires a good knowledge of arithmetic and even
mathematics . . . algebra, for instance.”

“Why?”

“Well, say someone robs the Wolf
Creek Savings and Loan, and Mr. Lohorn offers a reward of twenty
percent of whatever money is recovered. And let’s say further that
Mr. Gravely captures the thief --”

“Mr. Gravely?” Frank sounded
incredulous.

“Yes, Mr. Gravely captures the
thief and Mr. Lohorn recovers $465.75. How much would you pay Mr.
Gravely?

“That’s easy.” He thought a moment.
“I’d owe the undertaker something right around ninety dollars.”

“You’re close.”

“I’d gotten closer if I’d used my
slate.”

“I’m sure you would have.” Frank
was a bright boy. He’d go far in the world if he’d only apply
himself. Marcus glanced out the door where Obie and Ethan waited.
“I won’t keep you from your friends any longer. Think over what I
said, Mr. Miller.”

“I will.” Frank slung his book
strap over his shoulder and hurried out to his chums.

Miss Sloane had been listening from
her desk. “It’s all academic to them at this age.”

He drew in a long breath and let it
out. “Frank has so much potential.”

She stood and looked at the map the
surveyors had drawn before leaving. “What are you going to do about
this?”

He glanced at the map. “I’ll
investigate the site of course, first chance I get.”

She didn’t say anything at once,
mulling something over in her mind. “The weather has been
lovely.”

“Yes, late summer, early autumn are
my favorite seasons.”

“Perfect weather for a
paleontological expedition.”

“I suppose.”

She looked at him, waiting for him
to make the connection.

“The boys?”

“Why not? A field trip might be
just the thing to spark their interest.”

It could possibly work. “But my
responsibilities here?” he protested. “It’ll take hours to drive
out to the site, a minimum three days hunting, and another day
home.”

“I can manage the class while
you’re away. I think it would be good for the boys.”

Miss Sloane was right. It was the
sort of outing any boy would enjoy, and, just maybe, it would
rekindle that fading spark of interest in things academic. “Thank
you, Miss Sloane. It’s a brilliant idea! I’ll arrange it with the
parents immediately.” He gave her a sudden, concerned look. “Are
you up to the challenge of going it alone while I’m away?”

“Challenge?” She laughed. “The
challenge will be you handling those three boys all by yourself for
a week.”

He grinned. “If I don’t come back,
send out a search party.”

***

Notes were written. Permission
granted. Arrangements made. Mr. Breedlove was delighted to give
permission to poke around on his land, and even invited the
“scientific expedition” to dinner at the ranch headquarters
Thursday night.

On a bright, Monday morning a week
and a half later, Marcus Sublette was at the livery, loading a
rented mud wagon with tents and food, chairs, shovels, picks,
portable camp kitchen, shifter, and a dozen different size brushes.
He’d purchased forty pounds of plaster of Paris from Birdie’s
General Store and had wheedled Ben Tolliver out of a pile of old
burlap feed sacks that were just getting in the way. Ben lent a
hand loading the supplies and then hitched the horses in their
harnesses.

Ethan was the first to arrive, at
nine-thirty. His father and mother John and Virginia Hartman drove
him into town in the family spring wagon. “You mind Mr. Sublette
now, Ethan,” John Hartman advised sternly.

“I will.” Ethan tossed his canvas
sack into the wagon bed along with all the other supplies.

“Ethan will be fine,” Marcus
said.

Obie Wilkins showed up next, his
mother, Leta, with him. Between them they carried a bulging sea bag
that had seen better days. Mr. Tolliver hurried over to relieve the
pair of the burden. “Whatcha got in here? A peck of horse
shoes?”

Obie looked embarrassed. Leta, a
thin woman with graying hair and a pocked complexion said, “Just
some food. Extra blankets, his pillow, rubber boot in case it
rains.” She would have continued except that Obie said, “Ma, I
don’t need all that stuff.”

“You do,” she said sternly, turning
worried gray eyes on Marcus. “You will take good care of my
son?”

“Of course I will, Mrs. Wilkins.”
Marcus suspected a week out from under Mrs. Wilkins’ watchful eyes
might do Obie a lot of good.

She looked uncertain, but gave him
a brave smile just the same. “I hope he won’t be no bother.”

“Ma.” Obie’s face reddened.

“Well, well, what have we here?”
David Appleford said, striding up to the wagon. The newspaper
editor wore a gray suit, a gray bowler hat, and carried a pad of
paper. “The Wolf Creek Paleontological expedition is about to get
underway?” He grinned. “Mr. Sublette, will you give the readers of
the Expositor a few words on what you hope to discover?”

Marcus sighed to himself. A simple
school field trip was hardly newsworthy, but then, Appleford was
forever snooping around town trying to fill column inches of
newsprint, and in Wolf Creek, sometimes that was a challenge.
Marcus grimaced –sometimes it wasn’t. The Danby gang had shot up
Wolf Creek a few months earlier. His co-worker Ann Haselton had
perished in that raid, and so had the Li’s youngest son.

“Of course, Mr. Appleford.” He
tried to sound pleased to be asked. A teacher — a headmaster — had
to show proper respect for the press if he didn’t want rumors to
start. “Mr. Wilkins, Mr. Hartman—” he spied Frank and Josephine
Miller coming around the corner of Washington Street and pointed,
“— and Mr. Miller and I will be investigating a recent discovery of
ancient bones on the T-Bar-B Ranch.”

“Yes, I heard. The surveyors who
were in town last week. Professor Marsh’s famous dinosaur bones
that we’ve been reading about lately in the press.”

Marcus tasted a bit of irritation
at the back of his throat. “And don’t forget Professor Cope.”

“Oh, yes, him too.”

He let the slight to his mentor
pass. “We hope to discover a new species. It will be a time of
learning for the young gentlemen.”

“And a little adventure, perhaps?”
Appleford gave a wink.

“Perhaps. One never can tell. But I
intend this to be a working field trip.”

“Marc,” Ben Tolliver called holding
a long leather hard-sided case in the air. “Want this in back with
the supplies or up front with you?”

“With the supplies will be
fine.”

Appleford shifted his view back to
Marcus. “That’s a mighty fine-looking rifle case, Mr.
Sublette.”

“I thought we might get in a little
hunting while we were out.” Marcus saw at once Appleford intended
to twist that all out of shape.

“And you say this is a—” he glanced
at his notes. “—‘working field trip’?”

Marcus frowned at the insinuation
in Appleford’s voice. He should have stated it differently.
“Hunting for food, you understand.”

“Of course. For food.” The
newspaper man’s cynical grin grated. “And I take it you’ll still be
earning your full salary while on this, er, ‘working field
trip’?”

Fortunately, at that moment
Josephine Miller and Frank arrived, giving Marcus the opportunity
to cut the interview short.

“Ah, Mr. Miller. We were just
waiting for you.” He smiled at Mrs. Miller. “Good of you to bring
him.” Josephine Miller was an attractive widow woman, and he’d be
lying to deny that she hadn’t caught his eye, but so far there had
been no convenient or proper way to court her. That would come, he
promised himself.

She smiled back. Was that a glint
of interest in her eyes, too? “I couldn’t let him get away for a
week without seeing him off.”

He cleared his throat, forcing his
eyes away from her –or else he might have stood there all morning
with a silly look on his face. “All right, gentlemen, climb aboard.
Mr. Miller, just toss your kit in the back with the others.” He was
anxious to be away. Mrs. Miller was distracting, and Mr. Appleford
was an annoyance he could do without.

Up on the front seat, he unwrapped
the reins from the brake lever. Ben Tolliver came over. “Have a
safe trip, Marc. Keep an eye out for Kiowas. They’ve settled down
some now, but you never can tell with them. I gave you two good
animals there, so go easy on their mouths.”

“Will do on all counts, Ben.”
Marcus sometimes felt that he shared a special bond with the
liveryman. Ann Haselton had not just been a colleague, but a close
friend –and to Tolliver she had been even more.

Marcus turned the rig from the
livery. Boys and parents waved goodbye until the mud wagon rounded
the corner onto North Street. Half a mile beyond the Wolf Creek
Bridge, Marcus took the Breedlove Ranch Road north toward the
sprawling T-Bar-B spread.

The boys were excited. Marcus
smiled inwardly. This just might be what they needed to stimulate
their academic interests. A week away from the schoolhouse, yet
still under his instruction, could be the ticket. At the very
least, he’d get a look at the dinosaur bones the surveyors had
discovered. That excited him the most. He had attempted to identify
the partial skull but had found no reference to it in any of his
books. He tried not to get too excited over that. Like any new
field of science, paleontology was exploding with new discoveries.
What appeared in a book was often out of date before the book came
off the printing press.

“Think we’ll see any Kiowas?” Ethan
Hartman, who sat in the seat beside him, asked. When Marcus looked
over at him, he couldn’t tell if the boy was eager or worried.

“I expect not. If we do we’ll
ignore them and hope they do the same to us.”

“What if they don’t?” Frank asked.
He and Obie were in the back seat.

Marcus glanced over his shoulder
and grinned. “I guess if they don’t, we’ll see just how swift these
two horses are.”

Obie chuckled, but Frank wore a
serious face. “I should’ve brought Gramp’s Sharps fifty.”

“I dare say a Sharps fifty will set
you on your bottom right quick, Mr. Miller.”

“I shot it already and done
okay.”

Marcus smiled. Frank did carry a
burden for other folks’ safety. An admirable trait. Perhaps the boy
was destined to be a lawman.

The boys went back to chatting
about things other than Indians. After awhile they stopped talking.
Ethan’s comment about Kiowas lingered on Marcus’s mind, and all
that morning he kept an eye out for trouble. Happily, he saw no
signs of the warriors who had raised so much Cain a few months
earlier –on the very day Miss Sloane had been traveling to Wolf
Creek.