Scratch looked at Brubaker and asked with newfound respect in his voice, “You went after fifteen of the varmints by yourself?”
“I never figured on being able to capture all of them at once,” Brubaker explained stiffly. “But I thought if I was smart enough, I might be able to whittle ’em down a few at a time.”
“Marshal Brubaker is extremely intelligent,” Parker said, “and one of the toughest officers I know. His only flaw is an occasional tendency toward overconfidence.”
“Guilty as charged, Your Honor,” Brubaker said, looking straight ahead.
“The point of what I just told you, gentlemen,” Parker went on to Bo and Scratch, “is that not only are these three prisoners quite dangerous in their own right, they have friends still at large who represent a grave threat.”
“You said there are a dozen more in the gang, Judge?” Bo asked.
“That’s right.”
Bo shook his head and said, “I don’t think even that many men would dare to attack the courthouse right here in Fort Smith, if you’re worried about them trying to break those three out of jail.”
Parker leaned back in his chair.
“I agree with you, Mr. Creel, but that’s not what I’m worried about. You see, the State of Texas has a prior claim on the prisoners. Before the Gentry gang fled northward into the Territory, they operated quite successfully south of the Red River, holding up numerous trains and banks in Texas and murdering a considerable number of innocent people.”
Bo said, “I figured a federal court would trump a state court when it came to such things, Your Honor.”
“It’s actually a federal court that wants them, the one that covers the eastern district of Texas,” Parker explained. “Gentry and his gang looted the mail bags in the express cars of those trains they held up, which makes their crimes fall under federal jurisdiction. Because those offenses were committed before their crimes in the Territory and elsewhere were carried out, it’s the federal court in Texas that has first claim on them.” A faint tone of dislike came into Parker’s voice as he added, “Judge Josiah Southwick.”
“Bigfoot Southwick’s a federal judge now?” Scratch exclaimed in astonishment.
Parker’s eyebrows rose. “You’re acquainted with Judge Southwick?”
“We knew him in our younger days,” Bo said. “He was a lawyer then.”
“Part lawyer, part snake oil salesman,” Scratch added. “Mostly snake oil salesman.”
Brubaker snapped, “Keep a civil tongue in your head. That’s a federal judge you’re talkin’ about.”
“I’m sure I’ve been called worse than a snake oil salesman,” Parker said. “At any rate, Judge Southwick has requested that any members of Gentry’s gang who are captured be transferred to his jurisdiction for trial, and a short time ago I received a telegram from the Justice Department directing me to comply with that request.”
“You’ve got to send the prisoners to Texas,” Bo said.
Parker nodded. “To Tyler, to be precise. Judge Southwick’s court is located there.”
“That’s a shame,” Scratch said. “You were probably lookin’ forward to droppin’ ’em through the traps out yonder on that big gallows o’ yours.”
“I don’t look forward to men being hanged,” Parker said with a frown. “But I am dedicated to seeing justice carried out. In this case, that justice will have to be dispensed in another court. The matter was decided in Washington and is out of my hands. My responsibility is to see to it that the prisoners are safely transported to their destination. To that end, I’ve charged Marshal Brubaker with delivering them. Despite what happened earlier, I remain convinced that he’s the best man for the job.”
“I expect you’ll be sending a number of deputies with him,” Bo said. “You have to be concerned that the rest of the gang will try to rescue those three.”
Parker laced his fingers together on the desk and nodded gravely.
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” he said. “Unfortunately, you overestimate the manpower I have available to me at the moment, Mr. Creel. All my deputies are engaged on other chores.”
Bo was good at reading sign, and he had already figured out where this trail was leading. But he wasn’t going to make it easy for Parker.
“What’s that got to do with us, Your Honor?” he asked the judge.
“I think you know very well what I’m getting at, Mr. Creel. I can’t afford to hire more full-time deputies, but I do have a small amount of funds that can be used at my discretion. I want to hire you and Mr. Morton temporarily to help Marshal Brubaker take those prisoners to Tyler. What do you say? How would the two of you like to go home to Texas?”
CHAPTER 5
Bo and Scratch looked at each other. It wasn’t that they were opposed to returning to their home state. They had been back to Texas a number of times over the years, most recently to El Paso before a dangerous sojourn down into Mexico, to a place called Cutthroat Canyon. They had even returned to the area where they had grown up on a few occasions, but the last time had been about a decade earlier.
“Been a while since we’ve been home,” Scratch commented. “If we was to go to Tyler, it wouldn’t be that hard to drift on down to Victoria.”
“It’s still quite a ways,” Bo pointed out.
“Yeah, but we’d be closer than we are now.”
Bo shrugged in acknowledgment of that undeniable fact.
Brubaker said, “I want you to know, I didn’t ask the judge to hire you fellas. I figure I can deliver those prisoners to Judge Southwick without any help.”
“That’s certainly a possibility,” Parker said, “especially if Gentry doesn’t get wind that we’re moving them until it’s too late to go after them. But I don’t think we can count on that, Jake. Gentry has a number of friends among the criminal element here in Fort Smith.”
Brubaker shrugged and said, “I’ll go along with whatever you decide, Your Honor.”
His tone made it clear that he might not like or agree with the decision, though.
“It’s not my decision to make,” Parker said. He nodded across the desk toward Bo and Scratch. “That lies in the hands of these gentlemen.”
“How much money are we talkin’ about, Judge?” Scratch asked.
“Forty dollars apiece, plus ten cents per mile. One way, of course. Where you go after you reach Tyler with the prisoners is your own affair.”
“That’s as good as we could make cowboyin’,” Scratch said to his old friend.
“Probably a little better, once you throw in the mileage,” Bo said. “How do you intend to pay us, Your Honor?”
“I’ll give you the forty dollars when you’re ready to ride out with Marshal Brubaker,” Parker replied.
Scratch grinned. “Afraid to give us the dinero ahead of time because we might take it and run off or fritter it away on whiskey and wild women, eh?” he asked.
“A federal judge must be prudent,” Parker said.
“What about the mileage?” Bo asked.
“Judge Southwick will pay you that portion of your fee when you deliver the prisoners to his court.’
“Does Bigfoot ... I mean His Honor Judge Southwick. . . know about that?”
“I’ll send him a telegram advising him of our arrangement, once we’ve actually reached agreement on the particulars.”
Scratch grimaced and shook his head.
“So he’s liable to tell us to go climb a stump and suck eggs instead of givin’ us the money,” he said.
Parker clenched one hand into a fist that he thumped on the desk.
“Blast it! I’ll guarantee the payment out of my own pocket if Judge Southwick refuses to abide by the terms I’ve laid out.”
“Well, I suppose that’s fair,” Bo said. He’d had a strong hunch all along that he and Scratch would agree to go with Brubaker, but it never hurt to jaw a little first. “I’ll say yes. How about you, Scratch?”
“Reckon I’ll go along wit
h the deal, too,” the silver-haired Texan drawled. “Be mighty good to see some of the Lone Star State again.”
“Then we have an agreement,” Parker said with an emphatic nod. He came to his feet. “Shake on it?”
“Sure thing,” Bo said as he stood and reached across the desk to shake hands with Parker. Scratch did likewise.
“Marshal Brubaker will give you all the details,” Parker went on. “I’ll just say good luck, gentlemen.”
“You reckon we’re gonna need it?” Scratch asked with a grin.
Parker’s expression was solemn as he nodded and said, “Knowing Hank Gentry’s reputation, I’m absolutely certain that you will.”
After leaving Parker’s office, the three men paused just outside the courthouse.
“I’ll say again, this wasn’t my idea,” Brubaker told the Texans. “And not to mince words about it, I don’t appreciate the judge saddlin’ me with a couple of amateurs.”
“You’d rather go it alone, is that it?” Bo asked.
“I’ll have enough to do just keepin’ up with those prisoners, without havin’ to look after a couple of old pelicans like you two.”
“Old pelicans, are we?” Scratch asked hotly. “Let me tell you, sonny boy—”
“Don’t make the marshal’s case for him, Scratch,” Bo said. “And as for you, Marshal, Scratch and I may not be young anymore, but trust me, we’ve still got some bark on us. You won’t have to look after us. You just worry about the prisoners.”
Brubaker snorted and said, “Fine by me. You’re on your own, then if there’s trouble. My only concern is gettin’ those three varmints to Tyler.”
Bo nodded. “That’s a deal. When are we leaving?”
“First thing tomorrow mornin’. I want to be on the road by sunup.”
“That’s fine. You plan to carry them in the same wagon you used to bring them here?”
“I figured I would,” Brubaker said. “You got any objection to that?”
“Not at all. It looked pretty sturdy. What about supplies?”
“There’s a boot under the driver’s seat we can fill up with provisions. If we run low, there are settlements between here and there where we can buy what we need.”
“Are you taking along a saddle horse?”
Brubaker frowned and asked, “What business is that of yours?”
“Just curious,” Bo said with a shrug.
“Yeah, I’m takin’ a horse. I’ll tie it on behind the wagon. Do the two of you have good mounts?”
“We do. We won’t have any trouble keeping up.”
“Well, good,” Brubaker said, although he didn’t sound all that pleased by the prospect. “You can meet me here at the courthouse at ... let’s call it six o’clock tomorrow mornin’. Be ready to ride.”
“We will be,” Bo promised.
Brubaker gave them a curt nod and stalked off toward the stairs that led down to the basement jail. From the looks of it, he intended to pay a visit to the prisoners.
“That little banty rooster don’t like us,” Scratch said as he watched Brubaker walk away.
“He doesn’t appear to like much of anybody,” Bo said. “I wonder why not.” He shook his head and clapped a hand on Scratch’s shoulder. “Let’s go see if Corrigan kept that stew warm for us like he said he would.”
The tavern keeper had kept his promise. He set steaming bowls of Irish stew in front of the Texans, along with fresh cups of coffee. Then he surprised them by pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table with them.
“Why don’t you join us?” Bo asked dryly.
“Don’t mind if I do, seein’ as ’tis my place and all,” Corrigan said, grinning under his red mustache. “What did Forty-two Brubaker want with you?”
“It wasn’t Brubaker who wanted us,” Scratch said. “It was that durned judge.”
Bo considered how much they ought to tell Corrigan, then decided that the Irishman could be trusted. Corrigan had been running this tavern for a long time and had a good reputation.
“You heard about the ruckus with the prisoners who tried to escape earlier, I suppose,” Bo said.
Corrigan nodded. “Aye. Some of my customers have been talkin’ about it. Quite a brouhaha from the sound of it.”
“We kept a couple of them from getting away, and that brought us to Judge Parker’s attention. He wanted to hire us as temporary deputy marshals.”
“He’s sendin’ ye into the Territory after badmen, then?”
Bo shook his head.
“We’re going to Texas with Marshal Brubaker. He has to deliver the prisoners he brought in today to another federal judge down in Tyler.”
Corrigan let out a surprised whistle.
“I’m bettin’ Parker don’t care much for that,” he said. “Once he gets a lawbreaker in that Hell on the Border jail o’ his, most of ’em don’t come out again unless it’s to make the acquaintance of George Maledon.”
Bo knew that was the name of the hangman who conducted the executions for Parker.
“In this case, the judge didn’t have any choice. He got a telegram from Washington telling him to go along with what the judge down in Texas wants.”
“Bigfoot Southwick,” Scratch muttered. “I still can’t believe that galoot and those big clodhoppers of his wound up bein’ a federal judge. When we knowed him, I always figured he was more likely to wind up behind bars his own self.”
“And that’d be a good place for a bunch o’ them judges, if ye ask me,” Corrigan declared.
Bo was enjoying the stew. After he washed down another mouthful with a sip of coffee, he asked, “How well do you know Brubaker, Mike?”
“Tolerably well,” the tavern keeper replied. “We’ve been acquainted for four or five years, I’d say.”
Scratch commented, “He’s sure got a burr up his backside, don’t he?”
“He’s not a man who’s easy to warm up to, I’ll admit,” Corrigan said. “Ye can’t question his dedication to the law, though. It cost him his marriage.”
“How’s that?” Bo asked.
“Well, it cost him his engagement, I should say. He never did make it to the altar. But he’d be married to a mighty pretty girl with a rich daddy by now if he’d agreed to give up packin’ a badge. She and her da wanted him to go to work for the old man in his lumber business. The way I heard the story, Forty-two agreed, but then he changed his mind. I reckon he just couldn’t bear the thought o’ sleepin’ in a nice warm bed with a nice warm wife and collectin’ wages for a cushy job, instead of spendin’ his days blisterin’ under a hot sun and freezin’ in a cold rain and gettin’ shot at by some o’ the worst rapscallions west of the Mississippi. The man’s daft, if ye ask me, but don’t ever question how he feels about doin’ his job.”
Bo nodded slowly and said, “That’s good to know, since we’ll be traveling with him for a while.”
“Well, there’s dedication, and then there’s sheer pigheadedness, and Forty-two’s capable of that, too,” Corrigan said. “Have a care, lads, that he don’t get both of ye killed.”
CHAPTER 6
Bo and Scratch were sitting on their horses in front of the courthouse the next morning when Brubaker drove up in the wagon. The air was cold enough that the breath of men and horses alike turned into plumes of steam.
The Texans’ saddlebags were full. Despite what Brubaker had said about taking along plenty of supplies, the Texans had decided that it wouldn’t hurt anything to bring extra provisions.
The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon, but it would be doing so soon. The heavens to the east were full of yellow, gold, and red light, and that brilliance turned the fleecy clouds floating in the sky pastel shades of those same colors, creating a spectacular view.
It was a view those locked up in the basement jail couldn’t see, except maybe for tiny bits visible through the small, ground-level, iron-barred holes used for ventilation. For the most part, Hell on the Border would be dark, cold, and clammy.
; All the more reason not to behave like an owlhoot and get locked up, Bo thought as he shifted and eased his weight in his saddle.
He knew that not everybody who wound up behind bars had only themselves to blame for it. Genuine mix-ups could occur, and some of the things that had happened to him and Scratch were proof of that. But most people who wound up in jail or prison were there because they had it coming for something they had done.
From the sound of it, Cara LaChance, Dayton Lowe, and Jim Elam deserved to be right where they were, locked up so they couldn’t hurt anybody else.
Brubaker brought the wagon to a halt and looped the reins around the brake lever.
“I wasn’t sure you fellas would be here this mornin’,” he said. “I thought you might’ve decided to back out.”
“Once we’ve shook on somethin’, we don’t back out,” Scratch said.
“And you’re not going to get rid of us that easily, Marshal,” Bo added.
Brubaker climbed down from the wagon seat.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll go get the prisoners. The jailers are supposed to have them ready to travel.”
He went down the stairs to the basement. While Bo and Scratch waited for him to return, they rubbed their gloved hands together for warmth.
A few minutes later, a whole mob of people came up the stairs, led by Brubaker, who had his revolver in his hand. Behind him came a couple of guards carrying shotguns as they backed up the steps so they could point the Greeners down into the dark basement.
Jim Elam, the skinny hombre with long black hair who Bo had scuffled with the day before, emerged next, wincing at the light. He shuffled along carefully because his hands were cuffed behind his back and a chain ran from those manacles down to the shackles on his ankles. Those shackles had just enough play in them to allow him to move up the steps.
Burly, bearded, glowering Dayton Lowe was next. He was chained up the same way. He resembled a bear, and Bo wouldn’t have been surprised to hear him growl.
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