The Green River Trail

by Ralph Compton

  “Let’s check out the saloons,” said Sandy Orr.

  “You heard what Lonnie said about the saloons,” Justin said.

  “I heard,” said Sandy, “and I ain’t goin’ there to drink. It’s been years since I had a few dollars to set in on a poker game. I won’t risk more than twenty. When I lose that, we’ll go.”

  “You don’t seem very confident,” Benjamin Raines said.

  “I got no reason to,” said Sandy. “I’ve always loved the game, but I never seem to draw a good hand.”

  “You ought to be more careful who you set in with,” Waco said. “Somebody may have been slick dealing you.”

  “If we can find a saloon with a game goin’ on,” said Sandy, “why don’t the rest of you have a beer and watch? Maybe you can give me some advice.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” Waco said. “If we’re limiting it to twenty dollars, I’ll sit in with you. I’m no expert, but I win more than I lose.”

  The Pecos appeared to be the largest saloon in town, as well as the most affluent. It was still early, but already the place was doing a thriving business. The mahogany bar was a good fifty feet in length, and men were backed up three-deep waiting to be served. Two poker games were in progress. A young man stood up at one of the tables and shouted at one of the bartenders.

  “More whiskey over here, and make it quick.”

  One of the sweating bartenders hurried to the table with a full quart bottle. The kid with the big mouth said something, and his companions laughed. It was at this table that two men folded, withdrawing from the game.

  “We’ll set in for a few hands, gents,” said Waco, as he and Sandy took chairs across the table from the noisy kid.

  “Set in as long as you like,” the kid said. “Just so you don’t mind me takin’ all your money.”

  “Take it if you can,” Waco said, without a smile.

  “That’s Billy, the son of Sheriff Al Singleton,” one of the others whispered to Waco.

  That explained the huge pile of chips Singleton had before him, and likely his arrogant shouting at the bartenders. Nobody wished to bring down on himself the wrath of the sheriff by putting the man’s loudmouth son in his place. The cards were dealt around the table, Billy Singleton dealing. To Waco’s surprise, he had three aces.

  “Damn,” Sandy whispered, “it’s time to raise.”

  “I’m standing pat,” Waco said.

  Billy Singleton won the pot with four kings. He also had the fourth ace, making his hand virtually unbeatable.

  Waco and Sandy lost five straight pots, while Singleton won four of them.

  “Barkeep,” Waco shouted, “a new deck.”

  “What the hell’s wrong with this deck?” snarled Singleton.

  “I didn’t say anything was wrong with it,” Waco said mildly. “I just asked for a new deck. Does it bother you?”

  Some of the onlookers laughed, and it didn’t help Singleton’s disposition. The seal was broken on the new deck, and Sandy Orr won the first pot. Waco took the second and the third, and a pair of townsmen the fourth and fifth. As the game continued, Singleton’s stack of chips diminished. When he finally won a pot after losing ten, he got to his feet and glared across the table at Waco.

  “You been cheatin’, you bastard, and I’m calling you.”

  13

  Except for Sandy Orr and Waco, the men at the table turned over their chairs getting out of the way.

  “Nobody’s been cheating since we opened a new deck,” Waco said. “Gus, get that last deck from the bartender.”

  “Leave that damn deck out of it,” shouted Singleton. “This is the deck we’re usin’ now.”

  But the barkeep surrendered the old deck, and Gus brought it to the table. With considerable skill, he fanned the cards out, flowing from one hand to the other. Then, knowing where every jack, queen, king, and ace was, he placed them on the table.

  “If anybody cares to look at those cards,” Gus said, “you’ll find the edges have been shaved. Any cheating was done with this deck, not the new one.”

  Billy Singleton’s face went red and he leaped to his feet. Waco waited until he had his Colt halfway out of the holster. Waco then drew his own Colt and shoved it under Singleton’s nose.

  “Everybody stand back,” Gus ordered, his Colt in his hand. Nobody at the bar moved.

  “Now,” said Waco, “I’m willing to forget you tried to draw on me, if you’ll turn and walk out of here.”

  “I’m goin’, damn you,” Singleton said, “but you ain’t seen the end of this.”

  As Waco kicked back his chair to get up, his companions were watching Singleton as he started for the door. Suddenly Singleton turned, dropping to one knee, a Colt in his hand.

  “Waco,” Gus shouted.

  Waco seemed to fall sideways, drawing his Colt as he went. Singleton fired twice, his lead splintering two of the slats in the ladder-back chair where Waco had been sitting. But Waco fired only once. The force of the slug flung Singleton backward, his head striking one of the saloon’s batwing doors.

  “My God,” said one of the onlookers, “now you’ve done it.”

  “I defended myself,” Waco replied. “I have plenty of witnesses. Somebody go after the sheriff and let’s settle this.”

  When Sheriff Al Singleton entered the saloon, he paused for a long moment, looking into the dead face of his son. Billy Singleton still clutched the Colt in his hand.

  “Billy started it, Sheriff,” said one of the bartenders. “He shot twice before the other gent pulled a gun.”

  “Shut up, Rufe,” Singleton snapped. “I want anything from you, I’ll ask for it.”

  Waco had reloaded his Colt and had returned it to its holster. He stood with his foot on the rung of the chair whose back had taken the force of Billy Singleton’s slugs. He was calm, and his eyes met those of Sheriff Singleton.

  “I reckon you done the murdering,” said Singleton.

  “Wrong,” Waco said. “I killed a man who was trying to kill me. He fired first. See the back of this chair?”

  “So you provoked him,” said Singleton.

  “I did not,” Waco said. “I called for a new deck of cards, and he took it personal.”

  “That’s the same as calling a man a cheat,” said Singleton.

  “He was a cheat,” Gus said. “Aces, kings, queens, and jacks in the old deck had shaved edges.”

  “Just who the hell are you?” the sheriff demanded.

  “Gus Wilder. Waco here’s a lifelong pard of mine.”

  “Then I’ll lock the both of you in the same cell,” Singleton snarled.

  “I don’t think so,” said Gus. “There’s five of us with Waco, and we saw it all. So did the rest of these hombres. It was self-defense. That young coyote was called a cheat only because he was. Now stand aside. We’ve had enough of your town.”

  “You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Singleton said. “There’ll be an inquest in the morning. Then we’ll find out just what these witnesses have to say. You and your gunslinging friend are going to spend the night in jail. Unbuckle your gunbelts and drop them on the floor.”

  Sandy Orr, Benjamin Raines, Elliot Graves, and Justin Irwin had their hands near the butts of their Colts. But when they caught Waco’s eye, he shook his head. They would have to do as Sheriff Singleton demanded.

  “Sheriff,” Elliot Graves asked, “what time’s the inquest?”

  “Nine o’clock,” said the lawman shortly.

  “Waco,” Justin said, “we’ll see you and Gus in the morning.”

  Waco and Gus were marched out of the saloon ahead of Sheriff Singleton. Justin Irwin turned to the men who had witnessed the shooting.

  “You gents saw what happened,” said Justin. “Will you testify in court tomorrow?”

  There was an uncomfortable silence as men looked away. Several began inching toward the door.

  “You, barkeep,” Justin said. “You told the sheriff that Singleton drew first. Will you testify t
o that in court?”

  The barkeep opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. In his eyes was the look of a trapped animal. Without responding, he sank down on a stool behind the bar. Without another word, Sandy, Benjamin, Elliot, and Justin left the saloon. There was but one thing they could do, and they did it. They rode back to the herd and told the rest of the outfit of the injustice done Gus and Waco.

  “We’ll be there in the morning, and free them,” Becky shouted angrily.

  “I wish the whole damn bunch of you had stayed out of the saloons,” said Lonnie. “It’s always a risk, gambling with strangers. I’m afraid this is a situation where the sheriff’s son has been getting by with cheating because the town’s been buffaloed by his pa. It’s a bitter pill for a man to swallow, having his son branded a cheat, and then gunned down after shooting first, trying to shoot his opponent in the back.”

  “I think we’re in big trouble,” Justin Irwin said. “None of the bunch that was there in the saloon offered to tell the court what really happened.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Lonnie. “The town’s been enduring the cheating of Billy Singleton because he’s the son of the sheriff. Now, for the same reason, we may not be able to get an honest testimony.”

  “This ain’t a trial,” Dallas said. “This is to prove or disprove the need for one. I believe I could drag the truth out of one of those hombres that saw the shooting.”

  “Maybe we should have a lawyer,” said Becky.

  “Why bother?” Lonnie said. “In a town intimidated by a sheriff, how many lawyers are going to defeat him in court?”

  “Such a strong sheriff might also buffalo the judge,” said Justin.

  “I don’t want to get on the bad side of the law,” Lonnie said, “but Gus and Waco are not going to be victims of a prejudiced court. Tomorrow we’ll leave Wovoka, Becky, Mindy, April, and Laura with the herd. The rest of us are going to be at that inquest in town. Waco and Gus will be riding back with us, if we have to shoot our way out.”

  There were shouts of approval from the rest of the outfit. When the watches changed at midnight, Becky still hadn’t slept. She and Mindy saddled their horses, prepared to ride with the second watch. Becky trotted her horse alongside Lonnie’s. Finally she spoke.

  “If you have to shoot your way out, you’ll be outlawed, won’t you.”

  It was more a statement of fact than a question, and Lonnie didn’t seek to avoid it.

  “Many a man has been outlawed when confronted by unjust lawmen. There has to be a way out of this, if only we can find it. I think it’s all going to depend on the judge.”

  In the Santa Fe jail, Gus and Waco stood looking out the small barred window.

  “I reckon Lonnie’s cussing us up one side and down the other,” said Gus.

  “It’s likely he may be put out some, us gettin’ into this mess, but I’m looking for him and all the others at that inquest in the morning,” Waco said. “We’re a Texas outfit, and right or wrong, none of us will ever stand alone.”

  Santa Fe. August 11, 1853.

  Gus and Waco were brought their breakfast at half-past seven. Despite the forthcoming inquest, they were hungry. A waiter from a nearby cafe had brought their breakfast, and he returned for the empty dishes.

  “Pardner,” said Waco, “where’s the courthouse? Can we see it from here?”

  “Yeah,” the waiter said. “It’s half a block down, on the far side of the street.”

  Somewhere in town, a tower clock struck eight times. At eight-thirty, when it struck the half hour, eight horsemen rode up before the courthouse.

  “I told you,” Waco shouted. “They’re here.”

  At the courthouse, Lonnie and his companions dismounted, looping the reins of their horses about the hitch rail. Then they all sat down on the courthouse steps. Gus and Waco, hearing the door to the cell block open, turned to face their barred door.

  “Time to go,” said Sheriff Singleton. Reaching through the bars, he handcuffed Waco’s wrists. He then secured Gus’s wrists in the same manner. He unlocked the cell door and, standing back, allowed the two prisoners to emerge. In his hand was a cocked Colt.

  “Here they come,” Dallas said, getting to his feet.

  The rest of the outfit stood up, facing the approaching lawman and his captives. Lonnie stepped out, confronting the sheriff.

  “Sheriff,” Lonnie said, “I’m Lonnie Kilgore, trail boss, and these men are part of my outfit. I hope you have no objection to us attending this inquest.”

  “None,” said Singleton, “as long as there is no disturbance. Disrupt the proceedings, and the judge will clear the courtroom.”

  Sheriff Singleton marched Waco and Gus in ahead of him. Lonnie and his companions followed. There weren’t more than a dozen people in the courtroom, and the judge had not yet taken the bench.

  Sheriff Singleton led Waco and Gus directly to a narrow table facing the bench. Lonnie, Dallas, Dirk, Kirby, Sandy, Benjamin, Elliot, and Justin took the row of chairs directly behind them. Waco and Gus looked around the room. Leaning back as far as he could, Waco whispered to Lonnie.

  “That gent in the derby hat was the house dealer last night, and beside him is Rufe, one of the barkeeps.”

  “No talking,” said Singleton. “All stand.”

  Judge Elias Guerdon entered the courtroom and took his seat. He immediately spoke.

  “This is an inquest, not a trial. Whether or not there is a trial will depend on how the defense pleads and on the evidence presented. What are the charges?”

  “Gus Wilder and Waco Talley provoked my son during a poker game. Talley shot and killed my son, Billy.”

  “Ah,” said Judge Guerdon, “and how does the defense plead?”

  “Not guilty, sir,” Waco said, getting to his feet. “I fired only in self-defense after the Singleton gent had shot at me twice.”

  “I suppose you have witnesses,” said Judge Guerdon.

  “I do,” Waco replied. “The four friends who were with me and Gus.”

  “I object to that,” shouted Sheriff Singleton. “They are prejudiced. They’ll each repeat what the prior witness said.”

  “Overruled,” Judge Guerdon said. “None shall hear the testimony of the others. Those four men the defense calls as witnesses, please stand.”

  Sandy Orr, Benjamin Raines, Elliot Graves, and Justin Irwin all stood.

  “You will testify first,” said Judge Guerdon, pointing to Sandy Orr. “The other three of you will wait in the corridor, each of you testifying in turn. Bailiff, remove those three men. “You,” he said, pointing to Sandy, “mount the box and take the oath.”

  Sandy stated his name, took the oath, and repeated the incident of the night before, as it had happened. Sandy was dismissed, and one by one, Benjamin, Justin, and Elliot took the stand and repeated the same story. The judge wiped his brow. It was highly unlikely—perhaps even impossible—that four men could relate the same story, with none of them having heard the testimony of the others. Judge Guerdon took the only possible door that was open to him.

  “I understand that this whole thing happened after one Waco Talley asked for a new deck of cards?”

  “That’s what it amounts to,” Waco said. “Gus got the old deck, and after he had taken out the jacks, kings, queens, and aces, we could see those cards had been shaved. Billy Singleton drew on me then, but I was ahead of him. I offered to forget the whole thing if he would leave peaceful. Before he reached the door, he turned and fired twice. I was saved only because one of my pards yelled at me.”

  “So you shot him,” said Judge Guerdon.

  “I did,” Waco said. “It was my life or his. I didn’t do a thing any other man wouldn’t have done.”

  “I see,” said Judge Guerdon. “Does the defense have other witnesses?”

  “Judge,” Gus said, “I see last night’s house dealer and one of the bartenders are here. “I’d like for you to hear what they have to say. Rufe is the bartender, but I don’
t know the dealer’s name.”

  “Rufe Elkins and Ernie Gordon,” Sheriff Singleton said, “but I object to their being called. Rufe was a considerable distance away. When I arrived, Ernie Gordon’s spectacles were lying on the table, and he can’t see without them.”

  “Overruled,” Judge Guerdon said. “The court wishes to hear the testimony of these unprejudiced witnesses. Mr. Gordon, will you take the stand?”

  Gordon did so, looking into the stormy eyes of Sheriff Al Singleton.

  “Now,” Judge Guerdon said, after the house dealer had been sworn in, “suppose you tell the court what you saw last night.”

  “I saw a man who had been branded a cheat try to shoot his accuser in the back,” said the house dealer. “I can’t add anything to what those who have testified have already said.”

  “You lying son-of-a-bitch,” Sheriff Singleton roared, “you’ll never work in this town again.”

  “Nor will you, Sheriff Singleton,” said Judge Guerdon coldly. “It’s becoming more and more evident that Billy Singleton—your son—was shot and killed while trying to do some killing on his own, and you’re attempting to cover up his wrongdoing. Mr. Gordon,” he said to the house dealer, “do you have that doctored deck of cards?”

  “I do,” Gordon said, placing them on the podium before the judge.

  Every eye was on Judge Guerdon as he fanned out the cards, separating jacks, queens, kings, and aces. His cold eyes on Sheriff Singleton, the judge spoke.

  “These cards speak for themselves, Sheriff. Would you care to look at them?”

  “No,” said Singleton in a choked voice.

  “Are there more witnesses for the defense?” Judge Guerden asked.

  “Elkins, the barkeep,” said Waco.

  “Rufe Elkins, take the stand,” Judge Guerdon said.

  Nervously, his eyes on Sheriff Singleton, Elkins made his way to the stand and quickly was sworn in. He spoke reluctantly, stumbling along, but he told the same story the judge had already heard repeatedly.

  “Does the prosecution want to question this witness or any of the others?” the judge asked. “If not, the witness may step down.”