Servant of the Law

by Dusty Richards

“We’ve got pen and ink and some paper here in the desk,” Neal said helpfully. He searched for the supplies and put them out for John. “Anything else you need, just ask.”

  “Neal, you ever heard of the Coyote Kid?”

  “Well sure, Mr. Michaels. Who ain’t heard of him? He’s the one who shot that little Arnold boy.”

  John sat down behind the desk, then raised his head and smiled at the young deputy. “You can call me John. Now listen, Neal, I want to ask your opinion.” He had carefully chosen his words so as to get the deputy’s complete cooperation and attention. “Do you think the Kid’s come through Snowflake?”

  Neal looked down at his dusty boot toes and shifted uncomfortably. “If I said no, I might be lying, ’cause to tell you the truth, Mr. Michaels—er, John—I don’t really know what he looks like. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” John had his answer. He dipped the pen in the inkwell and began the painstaking task of writing an arrest report. “Don’t worry about it, Neal. Just keep your ears open, and if you hear anything about the Kid let me know.” He didn’t doubt this young deputy was honest, but he worried about what little chance he would stand against the Coyote Kid.

  “You need any more light?”

  “No, Neal, the light’s fine. I detest paperwork. I’ll be a while so you might as well get on with whatever you were doing.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go over to Claire’s and get some breakfast, if you don’t mind watching the jail while I’m gone. Can I bring you back something?”

  “No, thanks, I’ve eaten.”

  After Neal left, John continued with his carefully worded testimony. He wrote:

  Your Honor:

  The three men that I arrested—Gar Doe, John Doe, and the younger one who has refused to give me his first name—were in possession of a large store of untaxed whiskey at a cabin two days’ ride north of Snowflake. They did fire upon my person and that of a person assisting me. Although the arrested men intended to kill us, I and my assistant were unharmed. I destroyed the store of whiskey with the exception of two bottles preserved as evidence for the court. If I am not available at the time of the trial, please accept this letter as my sworn testimony.

  Your servant,

  John Wesley Michaels

  Arizona Territorial Marshal Commission

  John laid down the pen and blew on the ink to dry.it. Then he searched for another piece of stationery to write to the major. After locating a clean sheet, he picked up the pen and wrote:

  Dear Major,

  I spoke to the parents of the youth who was murdered. I arrested three whiskey peddlers and destroyed a large stock of whiskey. The criminals are in the Apache County Jail awaiting trial. The Kid’s trail is dim but I will follow whatever leads that I have. Mrs. Arnold is accompanying me.

  John stopped writing and reread the letter. He felt concerned about mentioning Mrs. Arnold’s presence, but decided in the end that he had said enough. He signed his name, folded the letter and pushed it in an envelope, then sealed it with some wax from a candle. Carefully he wrote the major’s name and address on the outside.

  His task complete, John began tidying up the sheriff’s desk, and his gaze fell on an opened letter that was addressed to the sheriff. He quickly glanced around, then reassured that Neal was not returning, he drew the envelope toward him and removed the letter. Purposefully he read the contents.

  To: Sheriff Rogers of Apache County

  There are numerous reports circulating in the Capitol here in Prescott concerning Governor Sterling’s secret police force. I know how serious this matter is to our rightfully elected law enforcement officers such as yourself. Please keep me informed of any news or information on this executive move to usurp the territorial legislature and elected law enforcement officers.

  Sandford Tucker

  Legislative Clerk

  John pushed the letter back inside the envelope. The major would need to know about this new development. Sounds of approaching leather soles caused John to hurriedly place the letter on the desk and turn with a bland face.

  “Did you find everything you needed, John?” Neal asked.

  John nodded then stood. “My letter to the circuit judge is here.” He indicated where it lay on the paper-strewn desktop. “Tell Sheriff Rogers that I was sorry I missed him but I must get on the trail of the Kid.”

  “Oh, I will, sir. The sheriff is a very busy man,” he said hastily as if in apology.

  “Yes, I’m sure he is.” It was difficult to keep the dryness out of his voice. Then looking at the young man’s earnest face, he recalled his concern for Neal’s safety and cautioned him. “Neal, watch those three men in there. They’d stop at nothing to escape.”

  “Oh yes, sir. I’ll watch them.” Neal glanced at the door as a woman suddenly appeared, bearing a tray of food. “Oh, come this way, Claire.” She seemed a pleasant woman, but her face was scarred with pockmarks.

  “Claire, this is John Wesley Michaels.” Neal made the introductions. “He is an officer of the court. He brought in those three back there.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” John said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going.”

  “Ride careful, John,” Neal said. “And good luck in capturing the Coyote Kid.”

  John smiled and lifted his fingers to his hat in farewell. He pulled the wide brim of the hat over his forehead and left the jail. The post office was directly across the dirt-packed street and he headed for the open door. The clerk inside appeared very efficient, but looked at the address on John’s letter with critical eyes.

  “It’ll take a few days to get to Prescott.”

  “That’s fine.” John studied the man’s thin face for a moment, then decided it was an honest one. “Say, do you have a general delivery letter for Bobby Budd?”

  “No, why?”

  “I’m a lawman, and I’m looking for this Bobby Budd.” There was only a slim chance that the Kid might have received a letter here, but as he had told Dolly, he could not afford to leave any stone unturned.

  “If one comes by, I’ll be sure and let you know, Mr.—”

  “John Wesley Michaels. I’ll check back with you,” he assured the man.

  Next he went to the store beside the post office. A congenial woman waited on him and assured him that a few Indians and freighters were all the strangers that she had seen lately. He took his purchases of beans, bacon, and hard candy with him in a cotton sack when he left.

  Outside on the boardwalk again, he glanced quickly at the saloon. It had not yet opened for the day. John hung the sack of provisions on his saddle then mounted and rode leisurely back to the campsite by the stream.

  “Any news?” Dolly asked when he was near enough to hear her. She was sitting on her bedroll. He immediately noticed that her hair was brushed into a shiny wave of chestnut silk, and the dress she wore looked very fresh and feminine. Obviously, the morning’s layover had been good for her. For the first time, she appeared rested.

  At the sight of him, her heart lifted in relief. “Well, did you learn anything?” she repeated with a frown.

  “No. No sign of the Kid. The deputy on duty admitted that he wouldn’t recognize him if he saw him. But I didn’t learn anything else either in Snowflake.”

  “Where do we go next?” She took the sack from his outstretched hand:

  He uncinched his saddle. “According to the map that the major gave me there is a place or two south of here. We can start checking them tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? What’s the matter with today?”

  He frowned in annoyance at her nagging persistence. “Mrs. Arnold, if the man is in the territory, he’s not racing away. Please allow me to know my own business.”

  “How do you know he’s not hurrying out of the territory?” she asked, feeling slightly taken aback by his fatherly words.

  “Trust me.”

  “Trust you?” she repeated like a small explosion. “You sit on your rump all day and I’m suppose—”

&
nbsp; “Yes?” he asked in a dangerously quiet tone.

  “I … I … do you accept apologies, John Wesley?” she asked, suddenly subdued.

  “It’s not necessary. Did you renail the loose shoe on the packhorse?” he asked abruptly.

  She blinked her eyes, trying to follow his quicksilver mind. Trust him to remember that Thomas’s shoe had made a ringing noise on the road to Snowflake. Wordlessly she shook her head.

  From the pannier, he removed a small hammer and a few nails. She followed him over to the packhorse. He caught the hobbled horse, tied a lead rope on his halter and hitched him to a small pine. She stood back, arms folded. When he squatted down to remove the hobbles, she came closer.

  “About that apology. I really am sorry. By the way, what did you tell your employ … er … the major about me?”

  John stood up and put the buckskin’s hind foot on his knee. He removed the nails from his mouth so he could answer her. “I simply wrote that Mrs. Arnold is accompanying me.”

  “Oh well, that’s all right, then. It sounds just like what I said, your grandmother or someone equally staid.”

  “No, you are not—” John stopped abruptly and tried again. “Now, what I mean to say is that you are not old.” Then he busied himself shoeing, deciding there was no good way to verbally escape the matter.

  “So there was no Coyote Kid in Snowflake?” she asked in disappointment, ignoring his comment on her age.

  He set the horse’s hoof down. “I did see a letter to the sheriff from a legislative clerk in Prescott. It warned the sheriff that a secret police force might take over his job. That might explain the sheriff’s attitude.”

  “Secret?”

  “Yes, the governor’s secret force.”

  “Oh!” Her eyes widened in understanding. “That means you!”

  “Yes, Mrs. Arnold.” He smiled at her in genuine amusement. “I’ll have to write the major about the matter, though. Would you hand me a few more nails? They’re in my saddlebags.”

  “Yes, John Wesley Michaels,” she said sharply.

  He frowned after her, watching her stalk over to his saddle. What had he done now?

  She muttered under her breath as she searched in the saddlebags for the nails. That stiff-necked man was never going to unbend long enough to call her Dolly. Mrs. Arnold! The very idea of his stubborn ways made her fume. She’d show him. She needed some way to take the wind out of John Wesley’s sails.

  13

  The Kid was jubilant over regaining his sight. It was as if he had been reborn and had his whole life to relive. The light that crept in from the edges of his bandages continued to build his confidence.

  Satisfied that Beth was out milking the cow, he began to question Leo. “Is that lawman and the woman still around?”

  “He was in town this morning. It seems strange for a woman to be traveling with him.”

  The Kid was pondering the situation when he realized that Leo had grown unusually silent. “What’s wrong, Leo?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit! Something’s wrong, I can tell.”

  “Well, Kid,” Leo finally said, sounding reluctant. “The woman with that lawman is the Arnold boy’s mother.”

  “I see.” The Kid fidgeted restlessly in the rocker. “And you’re sure that ain’t Ben Arnold who’s with her?”

  “No, the word’s out that this guy with her is a special agent. Arnold was the one with the rifle who came out of the store. No, it ain’t him.”

  Special agent? He’d never heard of one of them in Arizona before. Must be a Pinkerton man or a U.S. Marshal. No matter, he and Leo really needed to ride now. If his sight continued to improve as swiftly as it had been, they could slip across into Mexico and be beyond the grasp of the law until things settled down. Right now he desperately needed a drink. It had been several days since he had had any whiskey, which brought back the irritating thought of those whiskey peddlers. He was not sure he would get a chance to settle with them while they were in jail.

  “At sunup, we’re riding south,” he abruptly informed Leo.

  “Where to?”

  The Kid grunted impatiently. “Just south, damnit! I may be blind, but I can still decide what we do.”

  “Sure, Kid,” Leo quickly agreed. “She’s coming back.”

  The Kid heard her enter the room. He wasn’t eager to leave Beth, but he knew there were always more females to be found. He thought about the Arnold woman who was accompanying the lawman. The whole idea of her and this so-called agent made him uncomfortable, and for some inexplicable reason the notion ate at him.

  At dawn he and Leo struck out for the south. Their horses were well rested and frisky. The pair covered several miles before midday. The Kid frequently lifted his blindfold to peek at the bright world of rolling grass and pines.

  “How far are we going?” Leo asked.

  “Oh, a good ways yet. We need some whiskey. Wonder how far it is to the next town?”

  “Beth said there was a little community called Poker Town,” Leo said. “Maybe we can get us some there.”

  “Sure.” The Kid peered again from beneath his bandages.

  By late afternoon they rode into Poker Town, an assortment of rough lumber and log buildings. Leo guided the horses to the front of a low-eaved log saloon. “We going in?”

  “Why not? Nobody knows us.” The Kid began to untie his blindfold, then squinted against the harsh sunlight.

  “You sure you should do that, Bobby?”

  He frowned at Leo. “Yeah. I got to start sometime. Come on, let’s go in the saloon.”

  Once they were inside the sour-smelling interior, the shadowy light made Bobby’s eyes water, but he was thoroughly grateful that he could see. He sauntered to the bar and smiled at the grim-faced, bearded bartender. “A bottle of good whiskey for me and my friend.”

  Although Bobby’s vision was not completely clear, he could still detect the tough, ice-cold glare of the bartender.

  “Good whiskey’s five dollars a bottle. You can use tin cups for free, but glasses cost fifty cents, so if you break them I can buy some more.”

  “We’ll try one shot in a glass and see how good it is,” the Kid said, enjoying the eye-to-eye contact with the man.

  “It’s good.”

  “I’ll be the judge,” the Kid said He lifted the glass containing a finger of the liquor. It was good whiskey.

  He nodded his approval and slapped the money down. The man was still as antagonistic as before, but he drew out the second glass from beneath the bar. Then he picked up the money. The Kid expected him to sink his teeth into the coin, but to his surprise the man merely dropped the money in a metal box behind the bar. Shrugging, he took the bottle and both glasses and moved to the corner table where Leo was already seated.

  He and Leo drank easily at first. The whiskey on their empty stomachs mellowed their mood. “It sure feels good to be on the move again,” Leo said, smiling. “I get kinda itchy anymore if we stay in one place too long.”

  The Kid nodded more in understanding than agreement. “Yeah, I know how you feel. But I could have stayed back there with Beth a lot longer. What was her place like? I didn’t get to see the layout.”

  Leo shrugged. “Hell, it was just a two-bit outfit. Had a stream and some pine trees and a barn. I don’t know; it was just a regular place.”

  The Kid raised his glass to eye level. “Leo, if there was a way to change my face so nobody knew who I was, I’d go back there and stay for a long time.”

  “You mean forever, Kid?” Leo whispered in shock. He set his glass down.

  “What’s so bad about that?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” Leo said quickly. “Hell, I was just bored. You know there’s women like her all over, Kid?”

  “Maybe. But hell, Leo, I really could have stayed there and grown to like it.”

  Leo poured himself another glass of whiskey. “Me, I’m glad we got the hell out of there. Now, where’s this rancher’s place? You
know, the one who wants us to do a job for him?”

  “Oh yeah, I almost forget about him. Guess he’s east of here. We’ll go look him up.”

  “Say, this is good whiskey,” Leo commented after taking a long swallow.

  “Real good. We’ll buy us a stock of it.” The Kid was pleased with his steadily improving eyesight. Things were getting back to normal, and in a moment of honesty, he silently admitted that he was anxious to be working again. Tomorrow, they’d go look up Cyrus Edgar. He doubted Cy had solved his problem. Men in his line of work weren’t that plentiful.

  That night he and Leo slept in an old barn filled with the pungent odor of horse manure and urine. Not even the strong fumes of the whiskey completely obliterated those powerful smells.

  At first light, the pair rode east. Edgar’s place turned out to be a smattering of log corrals, haystacks, and a low-sided set of buildings. A dog barked a welcome. A grim-mouthed woman in her fifties came out on the porch.

  “Is Cy Edgar here?” the Kid shouted.

  “Not now. He’ll be back directly. But he don’t need any hired hands,” the pinched-mouth woman said.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” the Kid said with an amused smile. The woman’s hard eyes indicated her disapproval of their obvious inebriated state. Hell, her opinion didn’t bother him. She might look down her beaky nose at them, but she wasn’t the one that was going to pay them. The Kid deliberately reined his horse around and tipped the bottle to his lips. He motioned to Leo and they began riding away from the house. When they were a hundred feet up, he reined up Buster.

  “This is far enough to wait for him.”

  When Cy arrived a few hours later, the two of them were sitting cross-legged on the ground, empty whiskey bottles scattered about them. Both men rose to greet their potential employer.

  “Cy Edgar?” The Kid squinted up at the man, who was on horseback. He was a tall lean man with a frown beneath his beaver hat.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m the Coyote Kid. You got a problem?”

  “I sure do.” The man smiled broadly and dismounted. “I’ve got a real problem. Are you who you say you are?”