Man Called Ty

by Dicksion, William Wayne

“I’m sorry, I’m not a drinker,” Ty replied, “but I can make you a cup of coffee.”

  “Don’t bother; I don’t want coffee now, and I won’t be here tomorrow morning. I’d appreciate it if, when you leave, you’d take mine and my partner’s horses with you. I hate to think of them starving to death because they’re still wearing bridles and saddles. Now, put my gun here beside me and go take care of the horses.”

  He’s mortally wounded, Ty thought, and doesn’t want to suffer a night of hopeless pain. He placed the gun within the Reb’s reach and left to round up the horses. He removed the saddles and bridles from all the horses.

  The soldier shouted, “Don’t leave anything—anything marking the location of the gold.” So Ty threw the gear into a deep pool in the river. After he got rid of it, he spooked the Union horses away into the night, then took the Rebels’ horses and fed them oats from his saddlebags. The horses looked surprisingly good; the sorrel stallion was a fine animal and the mare looked a lot like Blaze.

  Bang! Ty heard a gunshot. The wounded man had ended his pain . . . .Using a shovel that had belonged to the Union soldiers, Ty buried all of them and covered their graves with rocks and brush, then mounted Blaze and led the horses that had belonged to the Confederates down an animal trail to the river. The stream was clear, and he saw the two bags submerged in about four feet of water. He cut a stout stick with a hook on the end and dragged the bags out. Wow! They’re heavy. I expect they’re bullion. After opening them, he found that each bag contained several hundred gold coins. He put the coins in his saddlebags and made careful note of the terrain. I’ll come back for the rest later.

  Riding Blaze and leading the other horses, Ty rode on. It was getting late, but he wanted to get as far away from this place of death as possible. I have a stallion and two mares. That’s a good start for a horse ranch, if I can find a place to start one. But first, I gotta shake Pothman off my tail.

  Ty continued southwest until he found and crossed the Red River. The nights turned cold, and grass was getting sparse. The horses needed grain. Ty decided to stop in a small cow town and put the horses in a stable to rest them. He, too, needed rest, a hot bath, and a good sleep. He rode on for another day and found a town. But before he went into town, he took a handful of twenty-dollar gold pieces from one of the bags, and then buried the bags.

  Afterward, he went to the stable and paid the stable master with a couple of the Yankee dollars he’d been carrying ever since he left Georgia. The stable master was a grizzled old man with a scruffy beard, stooped at the shoulders, with bright eyes and an easy smile.

  “What’s the name of this town, and do you have a hotel?” Ty asked, returning the old man’s smile.

  Chapter 6

  “Town’s called ‘Cross Fork,’” the old timer replied, “but there’s no hotel. We don’t get many travelers. We’re a little too far off the beaten path. You can rent a room by the night over the saloon. A few girls work there. They’ll keep you company if you’re afraid to sleep by yourself.”

  “I’m old enough to sleep by myself,” Ty grinned, “and young enough to not want to. But I’ll pass on sleeping over the saloon if there’s an option.”

  “If you’re looking to stay longer, Mrs. Gaither runs a rooming house down at the end of the street. The war killed her husband, and she has to make a living, so she rents rooms in her home. She may have a room vacant. How long will you be staying?”

  “I’m looking for a place to get in outta the cold for a spell—I’ll try the rooming house.”

  “Ma Gaither serves good food. You’ll like it there. They run an honest table at the saloon, if you’d like to gamble.”

  “I’m not a gambler, but I’ll check the place out after I get settled.”

  “Now, let’s see—you don’t drink, you don’t gamble, and you don’t sleep with girls—what kind of man are you?” the stable master asked with a grin.

  “My manhood is intact. I’m just a little choosey about who I sleep with,” Ty chuckled. “I’ll see if I can get a room at the rooming house. I need a bath and fresh clothes.”

  “There’s a general store down the street, but they may not have your size. You are a mite taller than most.”

  Ty checked his horses. Their stalls looked warm and they had plenty of hay.

  “Don’t worry about your horses,” the stable master said. “I’ll take good care of them. Come by anytime; they’ll be ready.”

  Ty walked down the street and felt eyes watching him from the windows. It looks like they’re not used to strangers. I’ll buy some clothes—I’m going to need a new outfit after I take a bath. He saw a barbershop and walked in.

  A man was in the barber’s chair. The barber, a baldheaded man, glanced at Ty and said, “I’ll be with you in just a minute, if you’ll wait.”

  Ty nodded and sat in a cane-bottomed chair, shielding his eyes under the brim of his hat as he examined the man in the barber’s chair. The man looked to be about thirty-five, six-feet tall with dark hair and eyes. His hair was graying at the temples. While Ty was examining the customer, the customer was examining him.

  “You’re new here. Are you just passing through?” the customer asked.

  “Yeah, but I thought I’d stay for a few days, if the town’s friendly.”

  “I’m rounding up a herd for a drive north, if you’re looking for work.”

  “I’m no cowboy, but I’ve worked with animals, and I can learn. I might be interested in a job in a couple of days.”

  “Can you use that gun you’re wearing?” the man asked.

  “I can shoot, but I’m no gunfighter, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  The barber shook the cape, and the man got up from the chair. While putting on his hat, the customer said, “I’ll still be needing a man in a couple of days. Look me up.”

  As the customer walked away, Ty noticed that he was a big man, heavy through the shoulders, wearing a brace of six shooters in well-worn holsters. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Ty replied, as he sat in the now empty chair.

  “How do you want it cut?” the barber asked, as he threw the cape over Ty’s shoulders.

  “Just a regular haircut and shave, nothing fancy.”

  “Shall I leave you a mustache? It’ll make you look a little older. Most men are wearing ’em nowadays.”

  “Yeah, leave the mustache, but trim it up a bit so it won’t be getting in my soup.”

  “Okay, and I’ll leave your hair long enough to save that wave. Girls like men with wavy hair, not that we’ve got many girls around here.”

  “The stableman said there are girls in the saloon,” Ty commented.

  “There’s girls there, all right, but they won’t be interested in your hair,” the barber laughed.

  The barber finished. Ty looked at his image in the old and badly worn mirror. The mustache did make him look older. The bullet wound on his cheek had healed, leaving only a slight scar.

  He paid the barber, and as he was walking out, the barber said, “Come back anytime.”

  He walked to the General Store and found it surprisingly well stocked. They had everything from snuff to snake oil. Ty bought a hat, pants, shirts, and a pair of western boots. The bill came to twenty-two dollars. He paid with two of the twenty dollar gold pieces. The storekeeper had to dig into his reserves to give change. “Y’all come back,” he called, as Ty left the store.

  The last house on the street was a two-story building with a sign in the window that read ‘ROOM AND BOARD.’ Ty knocked. A woman, motherly type, about forty, came to the door. She sized him up quickly.

  “Good morning, Ma’am,” Ty smiled as he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “I need a room. The stable master said you might have one.”

  “I got one left. It’s in the back. Handy to the bath, though. I rent it by the week—seven dollars a week includes breakfast at six. I don’t allow tobacco chewing in the house. I don’t want people spitting all over the place.”

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p; Pleased to have found a room, Ty said, “I’ll take it.”

  “I’ll get the bathwater ready,” the woman said. “Looks like you need one.”

  “Let me help you with the water,” Ty offered. “I’ve heated a lot of water in the last few months.”

  “Thank you. I’ll let you help. People around here call me either Ma or Mrs. Gaither.” After preparing the water, she asked, “What shall I call you?”

  “I’m called Ty, that’s short for Tyree.”

  “All right, we’ll call you Ty. I guess you have a reason for not stating your last name. Many men do these days. It doesn’t matter, Ty is enough,” she said as she closed the door behind her.

  Ty undressed, cast aside his soiled clothes, and climbed into the tub. He had forgotten how good a hot bath could feel. He went to bed and was soon asleep. He was up before sunrise, walked to the stables, curried, fed, and petted the horses. After they settled down, he returned to the boarding house. His new clothes felt stiff and strange. He saw his image in the mirror. With his mustache and new clothes, he no longer looked like the man who had left the Cumberland Valley only a few months ago. I’ve never seen Major Pothman and Pothman has never seen me. He’s looking for a man riding a blaze-faced mare. That’s not much to go on in a country full of men riding horses with blazed faces. If I stay inconspicuous, I’ll probably remain unnoticed.

  He made sure he had everything he needed and walked into the dining room. Two men and a plain-looking young woman were seated at the table. The men’s clothes looked inappropriate for farming or working cattle. The woman was tall, pale, and thin, with light-brown hair pulled back and tied in a bun. They all looked up and smiled.

  Mrs. Gaither entered the room wearing an apron and carrying a platter of hot biscuits. “Good morning, Ty,” she said. “Have a seat. How do you like your eggs?”

  “Good morning, Mrs. Gaither, I like my eggs over hard, thank you.”

  She responded by saying, “Folks, this is Ty. He’ll be staying with us for a while. I’ll let y’all get acquainted while I finish cooking breakfast.”

  The man sitting next to Ty extended his hand and said, “I’m Joe, and this is Max. We work at the courthouse.” Introducing the woman seated across from him, Joe said, “This fair lady is Wilma. She’s our school teacher.”

  Ty shook hands all around. The men’s hands were nearly as soft as the schoolteacher’s, and the softness of their hands made Ty uncomfortable. Wilma looked up at him with pale gray eyes, from beneath her almost white eyebrows. Her smile was shy and innocent. She seemed nice, but Ty could see why the stable master hadn’t mentioned her when he told him about the girls in town.

  “What do you do, Ty?” the teacher asked.

  “I’m just riding through and thought I’d like a rest for me and my animals. I’m looking for grassland to raise horses,” Ty answered. “A big man wearing a black hat and two guns offered me a job yesterday. He said he was rounding up a herd to drive north.”

  “That would be Sam Harmony,” Joe remarked. “He took a herd north last year and lost most of them to Indians and rustlers. He didn’t have enough men with guns to protect his herd. He’s looking for men who are good with guns. Are you good with a gun? I see you’re wearing a nice piece on your hip.”

  “Nah, I use this to shoot animals for food and to protect my horses from predators. I don’t shoot people,” Ty replied.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Wilma responded with a relieved look.

  “If you wear that gun in town, some rowdy cowboy is going to want to test you to see how good you are,” Max told him.

  “I’ll try to avoid that,” Ty said.

  Mrs. Gaither returned with a tray of hot food. The stableman was right; the food was delicious. After breakfast, Ty whiled away his time by walking around Cross Fork. He met a few people. They were slow to warm up to strangers, as was normal in small country towns.

  Ty was at the General Store when two men rode in on horses that had an “H” branded on their flanks. They tied the horses in front of the saloon and went in.

  Mr. Moser, the proprietor said, “That’s Pete and Curly. If they get drunk, they’ll start shooting up the town.”

  “Why don’t you notify the sheriff?” Ty asked.

  “Ain’t got no sheriff,” he answered. “A bunch of rowdies killed him about two weeks ago. We need a sheriff, but nobody wants the job. I think I’ll send my boy out to the Bar-H ranch and tell Sam Harmony to come in and keep Curly and Pete in line. They work for him. I hate to ask him. He’s a good man, and he can handle them one at a time, but when they get drunk, they get kinda crazy. If they both start shooting at him at the same time, they could kill him.”

  “Why doesn’t Mr. Harmony fire them?” Ty asked.

  “They’re good with their guns, and Sam needs gunmen to get his herd through,” Moser said.

  “Maybe they’ll be on good behavior today. Where can I get something to eat?”

  “They serve a good barbeque at the saloon. But if I was you, I wouldn’t go in there right now,” Moser cautioned.

  “I think I’ll chance it,” Ty replied.

  “It’s your funeral.”

  They served good barbeque, all right. By the time Ty finished eating, Pete and Curly were drunk. The bartender didn’t want to serve them more whiskey and was trying to get them to leave.

  Ty paid his bill and as he walked down the street, he saw Wilma leaving the schoolhouse carrying an armload of books. The drunken cowboys came out of the saloon, mounted their horses, and rode toward her at a gallop shouting obscene remarks. They crowded her into a muddy rut; she stumbled, fell, and dropped her books. Ty picked the books up, and helped her to her feet.

  “May I walk you home?” he asked, smiling.

  A look of relief came over Wilma’s frightened face. “That would be nice, Ty, but I’m afraid you’ll get into trouble. They’ll be back.”

  “We’ll try to ignore them,” he said, but when he looked up, he saw the drunks coming back, riding their horses at a walk this time, wallowing in their saddles, almost too drunk to ride.

  “Go get your own whore, stranger,” one of them, yelled. “This one’s ours.”

  Ty handed the books back to Wilma, reached up, grabbed the front of one of the drunk’s shirt, and pulled him off his horse. The rowdy reached for his gun. Ty backhanded him across the mouth and took the gun out of his hand. The other drunk had already drawn his gun and was trying to shoot.

  Using the gun he had taken from the first drunk, Ty shot the gun out of the hand of the second, and said in a commanding voice, “You men go on back to the ranch. I’ll leave your guns with the bartender. You can pick them up when you’re sober.”

  At Mr. Moser’s request, Sam Harmony had come to get Curly and Pete, and was watching the action from the saloon.

  Sam joined Ty and Wilma as the drunks rode away.

  Looking at Ty he remarked, “I thought I had you pegged right at the barbershop yesterday. I saw what you just did. You could have killed those men and no one would have faulted you for it, but you didn’t. You have a head on your shoulders. I like that. I’ll pay you top wages to ride for me.”

  “Mr. Harmony, people say you’re a good man to ride for, so I’ll take you up on that offer, if you’ll let me bring my three horses along, and give me a couple of days to rest them. I have some stuff in a packsaddle that I’d like to put in the chuck wagon. I can’t carry it with me while I’m chasing cows.”

  “You’ve got it, son. How are you called?” Mr. Harmony asked.

  “The name’s Tyree, they call me Ty.”

  “I’ll be back in town tomorrow afternoon. I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll settle up the details,” the rancher remarked.

  “See you at the saloon tomorrow,” Ty agreed.

  Wilma listened, her eyes wide with astonishment. Ty took the books from her and said, “Shall we continue our walk?”

  Dumbfounded, she just nodded . . . . No man had ever shown her thi
s kind of consideration, especially one this handsome. After walking Wilma home, Ty went to the General Store and bought a packsaddle. Leading the mare to where he had buried the gold, he dug it up and placed the gold and his extra clothes in the packsaddle, and then returned to the stable.

  Chapter 7

  The following day Ty said goodbye to Mrs. Gaither, walked to the stables, paid the stableman and asked him to get his horses ready. “I’ll ride the stallion, so please put the packsaddle on one of the mares.” Then he walked to the saloon to meet Sam Harmony. Unknown to Ty, four men—a major and three Union soldiers—were riding into town from the east. Sam was already at the saloon when Ty arrived. He had ordered whisky and motioned for Ty to join him.

  “Mr. Harmony,” Ty explained, “I’m not a drinker, but I’ll have a short one with a chaser to keep you company. There’s something else I gotta explain if I’m going to be riding with you.”

  “If you’re going to tell me that you’re on the run, I already know that,” he remarked.

  “How did you know?” Ty asked.

  “Hell, man, half the men in this part of the country are running from something. When you didn’t give your last name, it didn’t take a lot of figuring to come to that conclusion. You don’t have to tell me anything—I’m not looking for a saint. I’m looking for a man who’s willing to help me get a herd of cattle to the railhead in Kansas. But I’ll listen to your story if you want to tell it.”

  “Well, if I’m going to be drawing your pay, I think you have a right to know who you’re riding with.”

  “I’ll listen,” Sam said.

  Ty told him the whole story, leaving out the part about the gold.

  “Men are hunting me, but I won’t be taken alive. I don’t want to harm anyone, but I’ll kill them before I let the men responsible for killing my family take me. They’ve never seen me, and I’ve never seen them. The only way they can identify me is that they’re looking for a young man riding a mare with a blazed face. I could sell the mare, but she’s the only thing I’ve got to remind me of my home and family. I raised her from a colt, and I don’t want to give her up.”