by Arch Gallen
*Payroll Killers, Western Settler Saga Book IV
After a swallow of coffee, Adam noted, “Getting natural curious, I leafed through all papers they had on land actions here finding of course the filings of your Pa and late husband but could see nowhere that Tresh bought or filed claim to any land in the county. Caused me to be confused some on what was really happening but see now his thinking had more to do with taking than earning.”
Raising a brow and giving a small smirk, Adam added, “For that, seems all turned out the way it was meant to be.”
“It seems to, Marshall.”Rachel agreed, sipping from her mug, “But there’s some understanding I don’t quite have.”
Puzzled, Pike gestured with his bread, a look at Deacon giving no hint. “Pretty much as was told outside, ma’am.”
The woman shook her head slightly, smiling. “Deputy Chance?” she inquired with a prideful eye toward the man, her gaze dropping again to his bandaged arm still wishing to tend to it immediately but liking Deacon’s suggestion to wait, him adding a notion she understood without more words spoken.
Adam laughed. “There is that.” he admitted, before explaining, “See, a Marshall, even a retired one as I now am, can deputize any man when needful. Now, custom has it to ask agreement before so doing and give an oath but as our situation was a mite sudden, passing on formality seemed sensible so I gave those men some thinking contrary to what they held.”
Chance guffawed, a sound delightful to Rachel’s hearing. “Must be the shortest length of service any deputy ever had.” he chortled.
“Likely so.”Pike agreed with a chuckle, finishing off his jellied bread.
Rachel took a small bite of hers then commented, “But you say you’re retired from Marshall.”
Adam’s eyes widened brightly. “Well, ma’am, one thing never told when they pin on a badge is there’s no real retiring unless the government wants it so. Most any time Marshall Eckert is wishful, he calls me out for some doing or other and knowing I was headed for Cheyenne on other matters, he saw fit to hand me your letter, asking I poke around for useful purpose we could serve while in the area.”
Chance and the woman exchanged glances, concerned wrinkles forming on his forehead when Mrs. Loftin turned her face to the table.
“You said the man wanted back east was dead, Marshall.” she said sadly, repeating what to her seemed to be a lie.
Pike pursed his lips, catching Deacon’s face from the corner of his eye, and leaned forward on thick forearms.
“And believe that’s honest, ma’am.” he replied, “Truth of what happened back there I do not have but can say if a least part of what I’m knowing is right, what was done then comes to a smallest part of what I’d have done in answer. Either way, the man who acted against injustice back then is no longer. The man living today is a different fellow entirely and one we’re proud to call a friend, truth be spoken.”
Rachel’s eyes moistened as she looked away, her palm opening on the table before grasping Deacon’s as he laid fingers gently in it. Looking directly at Adam, he reminded, “You said, Marshall, back at Lambertson’s, that I have no trouble with the law.” Eyes shifting nervously, he added, “Am needing to know that’s so.”
Shrugging uncomfortably, Pike hesitated, drinking his coffee while preparing words in answer, a pleasant thanks to Rachel when she rose and refilled their cups. Clearing his throat, he glanced over the room and out the window before resting his gaze on the man.
“Speaking honest” he began, “all I can represent is the US Marshall’s office. A note I’ll send after my return will go out telling of your help in settling this matter so all is known and none of our men will trouble you.”
With a quick peek at Rachel, her relief obvious, Adam downed a quick gulp of hot liquid. Toying with his cup, he added, “Now if a lawman traipses up here from the Texas panhandle or down from the Black Hills, I can’t tell what might be done. Best I can suggest should that occur, knowing it’s an unlikely event in any case, is to tell they’ve made a mistake and send them to the Marshall’s office in Cheyenne or Denver where ours will back your claim.”
The couple swapped warm looks, smiles breaking out on both faces. Standing, Pike drained his cup and grinned at them, feeling good.
“About the horses and gear we brought up,” he said absent-mindedly, “practice is for such to be held by the Marshall’s office until a man’s found guilty then be auctioned off to support our work. As I have little desire to haul all back to Morale, I’d be grateful to have it held here until after the trial and we will consider the auction complete allowing you to sell off or keep however you choose.”
Doubt flickered over Rachel’s face. “We’ve little cash money to pay, Marshall.” she objected.
Adam chortled. “Reckon a big slap of jam on bread with good coffee is ample exchange, ma’am, if you’re agreeable.”
Quickly accepting Pike’s offer, the two inhaled deeply, well understanding what price saddles and gear might bring in Cheyenne even if the horses were held on their ranch. Bobbing his head, Adam took up his hat and gestured toward the kitchen.
“If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’ll leave by the back and bring my prisoner around to my horse.” he suggested, Rachel agreeing as she and Deacon rose, neither fully believing all they’d heard. Taking a step away, Pike turned back, blue eyes sparkling.
“Seems to me” he commented quietly, “since Tresh never filed proper on that land, any wishful of doing so should move prompt.”
Meeting Deacon’s surprised look, Adam added, “If Mr. Chance claims the west side of your river, Mrs. Loftin, and you were to file on the east side before any got busy opening that rock slide, after water started flowing again, the whole outfit added to what’s already titled off claims of Mr. Loftin and your Pa would be sizable, making any rancher proud.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Pike beamed. “’Course, will need doing before you two are hitched” he smirked, “so to abide what our law requires.”
As the two stared at him, Adam nodded lightly then turned and exited, gathering up Lambertson tied over his saddle and walked them around to the front where he loosened his own mount and fussed with his gear a moment while Deacon came through the door then down the steps next to him.
Looking up, Pike saw gratitude on the man’s face, bringing pleasantness to him, offering a hand for a firm shake as Chance said, “Can’t quite find words, Marshall, for how we’re feeling.”
Adam tossed his head a mite, releasing the man’s grip. “Have a notion of it, sir, and no more is needful.” he answered before scuffing the ground then fixing the man with a kindly look.
“When I was a youngster” Pike said, “happened time to time that Ma would make a supper less than her usual good ones. ‘Course, she’d be knowing it was so and would make up some special eating for after, telling us four to finish all the meal then have other which would be pleasing. We always knew when hearing that our first portion would be less tasty but would still eat all to allow us to enjoy those second helpings.”
Stepping into his saddle, Adam looked at Deacon. “Not many times, Mr. Chance, that men get second helpings in their lives. Hoping you enjoy yours.” he finished, throwing a wave as he trotted off, prisoner in tow.
Eyes wide, Deacon watched the receding lawman overwhelmed by emotions before returning inside and sitting beside Rachel.
“What did the Marshall say?” she asked curiously.
Chance waggled his head a moment then, grinning widely at her, replied. “Not all sure, Rachel, but am thinking I’ll be ready for second helpings at supper tonight.”
Epilog
Pike hopped off the boardwalk of Kate’s Hotel toward the Marshall’s office dodging puddles left by spring and summer rains gratefully received after two brutal years of drought, sad in thinking after this day it would be vacant, the Wyoming Territorial Governor finally successful in convincing officials in Washington it should be located in Cheyenne. He studied the building
which he’d help build, liking what other brother Step had done to blend his town Sheriff office with the other. Freshly painted with new designs on clean windows and expanded jail behind allowed Morale to boast the largest of its kind north of Denver while having less need than most any town in the West.
Stepping through the door, he spotted Eckert in his customary seat behind the desk slated to move later in the day, the morose Marshall reviewing a new batch of wanted notices and other mail just dropped by the stage. Giving a wave, Adam glided to the stove, pouring coffee for himself and Deputy Marshal Santiago who occupied a seat in the far corner, Eckert waving off a refill. Grinning at Ramon, the last of Pike’s three hires as a new Marshall years before, he was wishful of asking about a bullet hole in the man’s hat not present at their last meeting but held, whatever story that emerged certain to be long in telling and short in truth if heavy in humor.
Snaking a chair out from the table, he began to sit when Eckert waved an envelope, a curious glint in his eyes. Handing it to Pike, he returned to sorting mail as Adam lowered himself to the chair, looking over the address printed by a hand unfamiliar. Slitting it open with a finger, he extracted a short, folded page and spread it before him, sipping coffee as he read.
Dear Marshall Pike
Wanted to write and tell all is good here. We did like you said and claimed up on Lambertson’s place, Rachel claiming another section in her name like you told she could with no trouble. Opened the river from the rockslide and have a long run of range now fat with cattle doing well.
She’s wishing me to tell too that we wedded up not long after meeting you and had our first. She and the boy are doing good. My idea naming him Second Helping didn’t work so much for her but liked me suggesting we call him Adam so that’s how he was named.
We hoping you be coming this way again and stop to see us both and the son and all is good for you in Morale.
Yours,
Deacon and Rachel Chance.
Adam grinned broadly as he folded the letter, returning it to the envelope and slipping it in his pocket. Glancing up, Eckert cast an amused, crooked glance at him.
“What’s it about?” the Marshall asked.
“Nothing much, Eck.” he laughed, “Just changing the world one lost soul at a time.”
Eckert bobbed his head approvingly, knowing that was the best and only one way to do it.
Acknowledgements
The first and most important acknowledgement has to be given my loving wife Robin who, for so many years, has been supportive, helpful and a bedrock of sanity in a world seemingly less sane by the day. In addition to interminable hours listening to chattering, winding stories which became the Western Settler Saga, she served most capably as our editor-in-chief, researcher-in-chief, good-idea-person-in-chief and, critically, encourager-in-chief. Without her endless help, Adam Pike and Western Settler Saga might still have been written but would have been incredibly less fun to do.
As well, no writer can succeed without capable, competent and focused editing assistance. In that role none would believe, I recognize Scott Steinmetz, the Wasatch Wizard. His corrections, suggestions and lightning bolt wisdom delivered from on-high in the Utah peaks are central to our shared success.
Attentive readers, also, will note certain dialogue woven through Western Settler Saga episodes evoke memories from a number of outstanding lyricists and songwriters our era produced. Throughout most of human history, grand composers were in one world and brilliant wordsmiths in another, coexisting but never crossing. It was not until the latter half of the 20th century, after a forty year gestation period, did these two universes unite into one, evolving into one of the universes most powerful forces for change and progress transmitted by radio, record albums and, later CD’s. The influences of these grand artists on my thinking, behavior and beliefs has been profound and nearly immeasurable so they receive in the Saga a sincere, if humble, thank you for the many ways their work improved our quality of life.
Among those honored here, in no particular order except at the end, are Neil Diamond; Woody Guthrie; Stephen Stills and Crosby, Stills, Nash; Carole King; Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel; Pete Seeger; Eagles; The Kingston Trio; Earth, Wind and Fire; Steve Winwood through all his many incarnations; The Grateful Dead; America; Joni Mitchell; Jim Morrison; Melanie; Pete Townshend and The Who; Billy Joel; Yes; the incomparable Boss, Bruce Springsteen; and the greatest non-violent revolutionary voice of reason in our times, Mr. Bob Dylan. To all, I express intense gratitude and unending appreciation for many ways you made our lives better.
…son of a South Dakota farm boy and a Tennessee lady lives with his wife and two dogs on a 34 acre farm in Lapeer, Michigan. While feeding good people with corn, soybeans and wheat, he shares life with rabbits, groundhogs, raccoons, chipmunk and deer, flocks of wild turkeys both feathered and not, hawks, doves, vultures, and odd varieties of fish (including pike) occupying a small 38 acre lake adjoining their land.
Raised in rural Michigan on our traditional American principles of honesty, thrift, hard work and self-reliance, he brings these time honored values to life through the words and deeds of Adam Pike and the cast of Western Settler Saga.
