The Marshal of Denver

by Judge Rodriguez

  John seats himself at the table and nods. “So. It would seem I didn’t have much choice about that. That’s something I will have to talk to my doctor about, though.” He gives David a pointed look. “Speaking of which, what in the devil did you give me?”

  David finishes his cup of coffee in one long draught. “Laudanum mixed with a little brandy. I don’t normally use medicine, but I like to keep some on hand for emergencies.”

  “Well, I feel like I could sleep another day away.” John shivers, now scared his young friend would be so carefree with something so dangerous. “Should we come by in the morning to our depositions?”

  “The judge won’t be by until early afternoon. He’ll be coming in on the one o’clock train.”

  “So, we will be giving our statements in the afternoon?” Lyttle nods. “Do we have any word on the reward yet?”

  “I’ve wired the marshal’s office in Guthrie, but that is quite a tidy sum. It may take some time yet to get that much in gold together. I take it you don’t want payment vouchers?” Lyttle asks mischievously.

  “So I can get gouged like I did by the army? Not likely.” John shakes his head and David chuckles.

  Lyttle sighs and nods. “I figured. Thus why I took the liberty to wire the Marshal’s office asking them to rush things.”

  Sean walks up. “Hello, Marshal. Is t’her anyt’hin’ I kin get ya for some supper?”

  John shrugs. “Roast beef I guess.”

  “It’ll be right out. Glad ta see ya today.”

  A few moments later, Sean brings out a heavily laden plate and another cup of coffee. John greedily tears into his food and downs two cups of coffee without a word. Less than ten minutes after being dropped off at the table, John’s plate is clean and he is chewing on a slice of bread. Sean comes up, and pulls the plate away.

  “No Guinness tonight?” John asks archly.

  Sean motions toward David. “Doctor’s orders. No alcohol, plenty o’ rest. Sorry about t’hat.”

  John looks at David and levels a flat gaze at his young friend’s impudent look. “And, why did my doctor make those orders?”

  David’s face takes a serious look. “Could kill you. Too much laudanum and alcohol will do it faster than a bullet will.”

  John shakes his head. “Well, it is what it is. Speaking of sleeping in.” John’s yawn splits his face wide open, showing all his teeth.

  “I’m surprised you woke when you did. I didn’t expect you to wake up until tomorrow morning at the earliest. You must have a cast iron constitution.” David‘s tone was of amazement.

  “I’ve always rebounded back quickly, but I think I may need to sleep the rest of this off.” John stands, and says, “Gentlemen”, then heads off to the necessities chamber.

  By the time he is back in his room, he is completely out of energy. Barely remembering to take off his boots, John falls into his bed, deeply asleep by the time his head hits the pillow.

  IT HAS BEEN TWO WEEKS since the ambush. They have been on the trail for three days and the smell of the battlefield has been pervasive for more than an hour.

  John is glad for his army-issued bandanna. A little water from his canteen and the stench doesn’t completely go away, but it isn’t quite as strong. As they ride into the mission, the first thing John notices, is the bodies have not really been moved. Scavengers have been at them, of course, but the Apache haven’t come to reclaim their dead. The next thing is how very few dead horses there are. Capt. Lonargan calls a halt and orders the troops to start gathering the dead. John goes to where he saw Josh fall. He sees Josh’s horse, body badly mangled by the ravages of the scavengers. He goes to try and recover his brother’s saddle. The Sheridan saddle is in pieces. There aren’t any weapons close by.

  John goes to Josh’s body, less than five feet away. It is mangled beyond identification. There are arrows stabbed into the eyes, and heart. His body is nude. His gun, gun-belt, and military issued holster are all missing.

  John reaches down to try and move his brother’s body, when Josh’s hand reaches up and grabs his forearm.

  “Why did you leave me?” Josh growls, “Why, brother? Don’t leave me alone in the ground!”

  Chapter 44

  John wakes up screaming, “No!” His clothing is bathed in sweat. He looks outside. First light. How is it possible to have slept throughout the late evening and all night? He looks at the dresser. There is a fiddle-back spider, again, sitting there, just looking at him. John knows it. He doesn’t understand why or what it is doing. More importantly, he doesn’t understand why he keeps seeing them.

  John sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He glances to the dresser. Yup, still there. He shakes out his boots. Okay, good. He glances back at the dresser. Why is that stupid thing just sitting there, staring at me? I should kill it.

  As if it can hear his thoughts, the spider skitters down the back of the dresser and disappears into the darkness.

  John stands there a moment, stunned. Not sure what else to do, he heads down the stairs. As he goes downstairs, he hears, “G’Mornin, Marshal. How might ya be, this fine mornin’?”

  John looks to the desk to see an older man standing there, working on something in a ledger. The man is of an average build and his features peg him as a Mallory. John looks at the gentleman a moment and says, “Well enough, I guess. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we have been introduced?”

  “Joseph Mallory. I’m Sean’s Da. He tolt me abou’ ya.”

  “Well, good morning, Mr. Mallory. Are you serving breakfast as yet?” John looks toward the dining room meaningfully.

  “Aye. We started about an hour ago.”

  “I appreciate it. Have a good day.” John goes into the dining room and sees that it appears to be about half full. He’s surprised that this early in the day, there are so many people in here.

  Sean sees John come in and motions toward an empty table. John makes his way past the busy tables and seats himself. About a minute after he gets seated, Sean comes over with a glass of water, a coffee cup, and a pot of coffee.

  “I’m glad ta see ya lookin much better, Marshal. Last night ya were lookin a bit pea-ked.”

  “Yeah. Normally, sleep works wonders, but I don’t think I wanna sleep that much again. At least not for quite awhile, yet.”

  “I’m sorry ta hear t’hat. What would ya like for breakfast?”

  “Well, whaddya have?”

  “Biscuits, gravy, flap-jacks, potatoes, eggs, ham, steak, an’ jus’ about anyt’hin else ya kin t’hink of.”

  John nods and smiles. “Then I think I will go with whatever you will recommend.”

  “Well, if ya’re gonna say it t’hat way, I t’hink a good bit o’ loaded hashed potatoes will be good for ya. T’hat’s what I recommend for a rough hangover.”

  “Sounds good.” John sips at his coffee. He wonders how it is that Sean figures he has a nasty hangover. He doesn’t really have a heavy hangover, but, John admits to himself, there is a touch of one.

  It isn’t very long before Sean is back with a steaming bowl of fried potatoes. John is able to smell a number of interesting ingredients. Over the smell of potatoes, onion, several spices and God-only-knows-what, John can detect the smell of bacon fat.

  The bowl is in front of him for just a few seconds before he tears into it. While being heavy, the food doesn’t hit his stomach like a ton of bricks. It does, however, satisfy his taste for something sweet, salty, and greasy.

  While he is stuffing his face, David comes up, seats himself, and asks, “So, whatcha havin’?”

  John tells him.

  David motions to Sean for another order of the same and soon is shoveling his breakfast in as well.

  Six hours later, John is sitting in a chair in Lyttle’s office, chatting with the older lawman. Both men are relaxing to cups of coffee, swapping histories.

  During the chat, Lyttle asks John about David, to which John replied that David was chatting with a doctor fri
end, a Dr. Lopez.

  When a strong knock rasps on the door, Lyttle looks at the clock. “Hrm. Right on time.” He stands and opens the door. “Hello, your honor.”

  A powerfully built older man walks in. Right behind him, a small man enters as well. The small man is wearing all black.

  Lyttle says, “Well, hello there, Marshal. C’mon in. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He motions both men further into the office.

  He turns to John and says, “So, John this is Judge William Henry Logan. He’s the circuit judge for these parts. And this,” he motions the man in black forward, “is U.S. Marshal Joe Blackwolf.”

  Lyttle motions to John and says, “Gentlemen, this is John Cardwell, Marshal of the town of Denver.”

  All three men step forward and shake hands. John notes the judge’s hands are soft, but the man has a powerful, crushing grip. While the marshal’s hands are rougher, they aren’t quite as crushing but still powerful. As he shakes the hands of each man, he repeats their title as a way of greeting. Each man follows suit. The judge’s voice is rough, gravelly. The marshal’s is considerably smoother. The judge, John can tell is in his sixties; the marshal, in his early twenties.

  John is surprised by the marshal. He seems small and young to his sensibilities. John’s five foot six height towers over Marshal Blackwolf’s hint of just over five foot. As the two men enter the office proper, John notices the marshal’s gun. It has a pearl grip.

  Lyttle motions for everyone to be seated. He starts off the discussions of what has transpired.

  The judge asks John about how he was able to manage becoming a town marshal in the midst of the allegations, to which John sardonically replies, “They blackmailed me into it.”

  Blackwolf chokes out a quick laugh at the response.

  John leans back and explains his “sentence”. The judge’s eyebrows raise at Lyttle, who doesn’t meet the older man’s eyes.

  When John finishes his explanation, the judge crosses his arms, sighs, then leans back in his chair. “I see. So it really isn’t your choice to accept the badge then?”

  “I accepted the badge, expecting it will be a temporary move. Denver needs a marshal and I wasn’t really doing anything anyway, other than keeping people from being too ornery.”

  The judge looks to Blackwolf and asks, “Do you think his appointment is legitimate?”

  Blackwolf looks thoughtful, while considering the question. He answers, “Unusual, but legitimate.”

  The judge's expression turns serious and looks at Blackwolf intently. "Will the marshals accept him as a law-keeper?"

  Blackwolf scrutinizes John a moment, before answering,“Yes. I will make sure of it.”

  “His deputy as well?”

  Blackwolf nods.

  Lyttle smiles in response.

  John sighs in relief, prompting a grin from Blackwolf.

  Blackwolf asks, “So, why am I carrying twenty five hundred dollars in gold again?”

  John sighs. “I captured those prisoners before I accepted the badge. I plan to use the money to buy materials for things there in Denver. Not just the jail, but also a doctor’s office. The doctor is a part of the reason I was able to get all the information I wanted as well.”

  Blackwolf considers John a moment. “We will have to verify their identity, before you get any of the reward money after all.”

  “Aww. Don’t you trust me?” John replies, smile wide.

  “Well, you are smart enough to wear your badge right. There’s always that chance you could be trying to pull the wool over our eyes, though. Plus, we just need to play by the rules,” Blackwolf responds seriously.

  This is going to be one of those conversations, apparently. John sighs. “Yeah, I could be, but I’m not. Otherwise I wouldn’t be cooling my heels here in Norman. I would be out fleecing the people of Denver. Or, more to the point, I could have joined Jacobson’s people rather than fighting them,” he says pointedly and then shrugs, emphasizing his point.

  Blackwolf smiles. “We could debate this for days. Easiest way is proof. Lyttle and I can go to the garrison, you gentlemen can stay out of trouble here, right?”

  The judge makes a shooing motion towards the small federal agent. “Go on. That’s fine.”

  Lyttle reaches in his desk, takes out the wanted posters and motions Blackwolf to go with him.

  When the judge asks John about his days in the cavalry, John asks why he’s so interested.

  “I’m former cav myself. I served with Custer back before the Little Bighorn. I left to go in to law. We met once, oh about fifteen years ago or so, you know.”

  John tries to think back that far. He can’t recall the man, but so much has happened lately, John is surprised he can remember his own name.

  Apparently, John’s confusion shows on his face, as Judge Logan’s face splits into a smile. “I don’t doubt you don’t remember me. I was only a blacksmith at the time, after all.”

  John looks quizzically at the older man. “Well, I’m surprised you remember me at all then. We were in different armies after all.”

  “I remember you, because you saved my life.” The older man leans back in his chair once again. “It was back during the Red River War. The Fourth and the Seventh had been having joint operations for about two months. We had gotten into a scrap with the Arapaho and were being hard pressed against the river. My Springfield jammed on me, yet again, and you threw me your revolver.”

  John thinks back on the event. He vaguely remembers tossing his gun to another trooper, but that is all. The revolver he kept losing was his ‘75 troopers model. He hated that stupid gun. He had one issued to him four separate times, each time, he found a way to rid himself of it. He much rather preferred his ‘69 conversion. “I remember the incident, vaguely. I’m glad I helped you out in a pinch.”

  “You don’t understand. I owe you my life. You giving me your revolver allowed me to not only survive that battle, but since I couldn’t return it to you, it saved my life on many other occasions.” He strokes his jaw thoughtfully. “I still carry it. I was allowed to keep it, since no one really knew I had it. See?” He opens his overcoat to expose a low-slung daisy holster with an Army-issued ‘75 peacemaker trooper revolver.

  John is impressed that he’s been able to keep it this long. That gun was notorious for breaking down constantly. “Wow. You’ve kept that gun for all this time, huh? Well, I’m glad you haven’t come to return it to me. I have one I prefer to use myself.”

  “You mean you still have the one you were using during that battle? The conversion?”

  John nods.

  “When I found you later, you told me to keep the gun you threw me. I wouldn’t dream of giving it up. It’s my oldest friend. She’s saved my hide more times than I care to count. You don’t know how many times having a back up piece made a difference in a firefight.”

  “Oh, don’t I know it,” John agrees.

  “I remember your gun is very unique. Might I see it again please?”

  John pulls his gun out of his holster, empties it of the rounds and hands it over. The judge turns it over a few times and says, “I thought so.”

  John looks sharply at the older man. “You thought so, what?”

  “I’ve seen this exact same gun recently. Have you recently gotten it back or something?”

  “No. My brother’s gun was identical to mine. His was lost during the Red-River War, when he was killed. When did you see it and who was carrying it?” John suddenly becomes considerably more attentive to the conversation.

  “Oh, about a month ago, and it was being carried by a U.S. Marshal’s deputy. I can’t recall his name, though. Maybe Blackwolf will know.”

  “Okay. I’ve been trying to recover that gun for the better part of twenty years. I am definitely interested in whoever is carrying it now.”

  “I can understand that. We’ll see if Blackwolf knows anything. Let’s go ahead and get your sworn statement down.”

  John nods, then proce
eds to tell everything that has happened over the last several months, starting with finding the property just after the landrun. It takes the better part of two hours to go through the whole narrative.

  When he gets done, the judge asks, “Are you willing to put all that in writing and swear to the validity of the statements?”

  John nods in agreement. “It won’t be the first time I’ve written it out. Think we should wait for Lyttle to come back?”

  “It is his office after all. I would recommend waiting until they get back.”

  John nods, rises, and gets himself a cup of coffee. He holds up the cup towards the judge in an unspoken question. The judge nods in agreement and John hands him the cup, then makes a new one for himself.

  They chat for the next half hour, over their coffee, in matters of no real importance. It is close to supper time when Lyttle and Blackwolf enter. They are discussing something heatedly when they enter.

  Lyttle says, “I doubt it’s him. It’s your call, though.”

  Blackwolf motions to the desk. “Check your wanted posters. I’m telling you, it’s him.”

  Lyttle walks over to the desk and pulls out a stack of papers. He flips through it until he pulls one out. It’s labelled “Nancy Boy Croix.”

  John recognizes the picture at a glance. It’s the prisoner that got choked out. John silently agrees with Blackwolf, he’s a dead-ringer all right.

  Lyttle strokes his jaw. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Do you think you can send off for more gold?”

  John sees the reward amount. It is an additional five thousand dollars. John is stunned. It is for his capture alive. John sees the list of crimes the man is wanted for. It is quite staggering, not that he committed those crimes, but that he got away with doing all that stuff.

  Blackwolf looks at the wanted poster. “It says here he has to be turned over, alive. That means we have to deliver him to Dallas before the reward can be received. He seems to be a bit of an escape artist as well.”