Larkspur

by Dorothy Garlock

  “Sweetheart—I don’t deserve you.” His voice was a husky whisper.

  “Yes, you do, my love. And I deserve you.”

  He looked into her face for a long moment, then bent his head and kissed her mouth, softly and reverently.

  “If the judge doesn’t believe me when I say that I never sighed the paper selling Forsythe—if we lose the Larkspur, I’ll go with you wherever you want to go, if it’s to . . . China. Nothing is as important to me as spending the rest of my life as Mrs. Buck Lenning.”

  “If he rules against us, sweetheart, I’ll not go away like a puppy with its tail between its legs. I’ll take you to a safe place, then I’ll fight for what Moss worked for and for what he wanted you to have. The man that takes over that land will never have a peaceful night’s sleep again. I know how to fight, and I’ll fight dirty if I have to.”

  “That’s my Buck talking now.” She smiled at him, then leaned her forehead against his chest for a moment. She looked up at him and whispered, “Don’t change, my love. Don’t ever change.”

  Buck looked beyond her to where the horses were being brought up from the creek.

  “Cleve will go on ahead with Dillon and Pablo. They can get to town a couple of hours before we do by cutting across country. Bernie is going with them, but he’ll bypass town and go to Rose Gaffney’s and let her know that you and Bonnie will be staying there. I expect bringing six bodies into town and one of them the marshal will create quite a stir.”

  “Be careful. I hope the men who were scared away are in Wyoming by now.”

  “I doubt that even they were dumb enough to believe that story after they thought about it. Don’t worry. Cleve will know what we’re up against by the time we get there.”

  * * *

  Cleve and Dillon rode directly to the telegraph office, and Pablo went to the saloon to see what he could find out there.

  “Any messages for me?” Cleve stood at the end of the telegrapher’s booth.

  “Two.” He took them from beneath a thick book that lay on the desk.

  “Anybody else seen these?”

  “Nobody’s even asked.”

  “How about yesterday?”

  “I showed the one you sent to Trinity.”

  “I’m obliged to ya.”

  “Good luck.”

  Cleve and Dillon moved to the end of the waiting room and Cleve read the wire from Judge Williams.

  “He’ll be here on the 4:20. That’ll give us some time to set things up before Buck gets here.”

  The second message from Lieutenant Collier was longer.

  “The lieutenant and his men were to arrive this morning. He’ll set up headquarters. His orders from the territorial governor are to stay until Federal or territorial law can be established here.”

  “That was fast.”

  “Shows ya what an influential man like Garrick Rose can do. He went straight to the governor.” The men left the depot and mounted their horses. “I’ll go look up Lieutenant Collier,” Cleve said. “I want to be sure he and his men are on hand when Buck comes in with the bodies.”

  “I want to be on hand myself. I can’t wait to see the look on the face of that puffed-up jackass when he sees his marshal and his gunmen piled in that wagon like a load a meat goin’ to a butcher shop.”

  “Why don’t you nose around and make sure that little weasel of a lawyer is still in town. I’ll meet you back here when the train comes in.”

  Dillon left his horse at the livery and walked up the street to the building where Mark Lee had his office. He took the outside stairs two at a time and threw open the door at the top.

  Lee looked up from his desk, and a man in the rough clothes of a railroad worker turned to look at him, too.

  “Howdy,” Dillon said cheerfully.

  “What do you want?” Mark Lee’s tone made it clear that he was not pleased to see Dillon.

  “Nothin’. Nothin’ a’tall. I’m just makin’ sure the little weasel is still in town. Don’t want ya goin’ off someplace and gettin’ lost.”

  Lee’s face turned beet red and he stood. “Get out!”

  “I’d be careful about doin’ business with the little weasel.” Dillon addressed the railroad man. “He’s got more tricks than a dog’s got fleas ’bout how to get in your pockets. He’ll make it seem like he’s doin’ ya a favor to take your money.”

  “Get out, or . . . I’ll get the marshal.”

  “Now . . . that’d be quite a chore. Adios, amigos.”

  Dillon backed out the door and went down the stairs chuckling. An angry man makes mistakes . . . it’s what Cleve said, and nobody, except his pa, understood the nature of men as Cleve Stark did. On the way to the saloon, Dillon met Pablo coming toward him. He turned into the mercantile and Pablo followed.

  “Any talk of the uprising?” Dillon went straight to the cheese counter and turned the wheel. With a slab in one hand, he dipped into the cracker barrel with the other.

  “Nothin’.”

  “You reckon they don’t know that two hundred Sioux are ridin’ this way?”

  “Ain’t nobody worryin’ about it.”

  “The brave men didn’t even stop by to warn the town. Bet they were scared Forsythe’d shoot ’em.”

  “The deputy and four others are here. But not to worry, Señor. Pablo is here to take care of little brudder.” Pablo said this as two women came down the aisle toward them.

  Dillon ground his teeth in frustration and waited for the ladies to pass.

  “You little warthog! Someday I’m goin’ to shove that hat down your throat.”

  “Why you do that, Señor? This good hat.”

  Dillon went to the counter and dropped two nickels. The clerk scooped them up and put them in the till.

  “Don’t it beat all about the soldiers being in town. Lieutenant come in with a letter from the captain out at the fort. The army will pay for any supplies the lieutenant needs. Hope they’ll be here for a long time.”

  “What’er they doin’ here?”

  “Ain’t knowin’ that. Some of the town folks is glad, some not so glad. I’m hopin’ they stay and clean out that bunch that’s been hangin’ round.”

  “Wish I’d be here to see it. I purely do.”

  “You leavin’?”

  “In a day or two.”

  “Wish you’d hang around. Big Timber needs folks like you and that friend of yours.”

  “Big Timber needed folks like Yarby Anderson and Buck Lenning, but they sat by while Forsythe tried to run them off.”

  “Well that’s the way folks do at times. There wasn’t anybody who’d step up and go against the colonel.”

  “Cletus Fuller did.”

  “Yeah, well—”

  “I’ll have another hunk of cheese and be on my way.” Dillon tossed another nickel on the counter and headed for the cheese wheel.

  * * *

  Several men got off the 4:20 train and went into the depot. None of them looked like a judge. Cleve and Dillon leaned against the depot wall.

  “Might be gettin’ off the cattle car,” Dillon said.

  “Doubt that.”

  A man in worn boots, wearing a range hat and a leather vest came out of the depot, set a well-worn valise down by a bench, and watched the train pull out. When the last car passed he walked over to Cleve.

  “Howdy. You Stark?”

  “You . . . Judge Williams?”

  “Been James Williams for fifty years. Judge Williams for ten.”

  Cleve held out his hand. “Glad you’re here. This is my friend, Dillon Tallman.”

  “Tallman. That’s a name to reckon with in the West.”

  “You’ve heard of ’em, way up here! Well ain’t that somethin’?” Dillon grinned as he shook hands with the judge. “Pleased to meet you. You don’t look like any judge I’ve ever seen.”

  “Don’t look judgy enough for you, huh? Wait till I get duded up in my suit and bow tie. I’ll look judgy.”

  Dillon
decided then and there that he liked Judge Williams a lot.

  An hour later in the judge’s hotel room, Cleve stood and put on his hat. Dillon had rapped on the door and said Buck and the wagon were coming into town.

  “That’s about the size of it. Miss Anderson will be here to swear she never signed the paper or accepted any money for the Larkspur.”

  “Then what we’ve got is fraud and forgery.”

  “Is that all?”

  “All we can prove.”

  “We might scare the hell out of Mark Lee, Forsythe’s lawyer. He’ll want to save his own hide.”

  “Let’s see how it plays out.”

  “After Buck gets here with the bodies, I’ll serve notice on Forsythe that he’s to appear in your courtroom in the morning. By the way, I’ve arranged with the hotel for you to use the dinin’ room. They were glad to oblige after I threw in the governor’s name a time or two.”

  The judge put on his hat. “I think I’ll go along and see the show. I’ll keep my distance from you, but point out Forsythe if you see him.”

  * * *

  Colonel Forsythe was showing Mark Lee to the door.

  “Don’t you have any guts? You’re as nervous as a whore standing at the Pearly Gates. Can’t you stand up to that mouthy kid?”

  “He knows something—”

  “What could he know? I’m expecting the marshal and Bruza back anytime. No one knew the men were riding out there except you and me.”

  “What about Del Gomer?”

  “He was here and tossed around a few threats. He’s so lovesick he’s probably holed up in his hotel room, and tomorrow he’ll take the train to Helena. That’s where he thinks that slut and her brother headed.”

  “Not to the Larkspur?”

  “How the hell do I know? If he went there, he’s dead meat by now. Bruza’d shoot him in the back or have someone else do it.” Forsythe opened the door, hoping Lee would leave.

  “Why have the soldiers come to town now?” Lee stood in the doorway.

  “They’ve been here before from time to time. You know that.”

  “Someone could have called for them.”

  “Who? Not me, and I’m the only one in town that knows the captain at the fort or the governor well enough to ask for them.” Forsythe was becoming exasperated. “Let me tell you something, Lee. To get through this life and get what you want, you run a bluff every day. Act guilty of something, folks think you’re guilty of something. Put up a confident front, and folks think you’re a smart, upstanding fellow. Now get that hangdog look off your face and get the hell out of here.”

  Lee went down the street to Mrs. Barlett’s rooming house.

  “Supper will be ready in a little while, Mr. Lee,” the woman said as he came into the foyer.

  “I think I’ll lie down, Mrs. Bartlett. I’m not feeling so well.”

  “Sorry to hear it. I’ll save something back for later if you feel like eating.”

  Lee went up the stairs to his room, took off his coat and tie and stretched out on the bed. The feeling of doom had hovered over him since the colonel had sent his men to the Larkspur to kill Lenning and the woman. He lay staring at the ceiling, unaware of the event taking place on the main street of the town he was so anxious to leave.

  * * *

  The sun had completed its journey across the sky, but it was not dark enough for the lamps to be lit when Buck walked his horse in front of the team pulling the wagon into town. He approached from the north and came down the main street.

  He hated this place. Lord, how he hated it. The odor of rotten food and outhouses hung over the town. He wanted to get this business over so that he could get back out into the wideopen spaces where he could breathe. He was never comfortable among so many people.

  At first only a few people on the street paid attention to the rider and the wagon. Then, as if his name had been carried on the breeze, people came out of stores to stand on the boardwalk and gawk. Up ahead Buck’s sharp eyes caught sight of Dillon’s blond head, and standing not far away was the Mexican, Pablo. From a side street, Bernie fell in behind the wagon.

  Buck stopped the horses in front of the saloon. He sat for a long moment looking at the hostile faces staring back at him. No one spoke or even nodded a greeting. He had expected none.

  “Who’s the law here now?”

  A broad-chested man, dressed in a wrinkled black suit, and with a full black mustache and chin whiskers stepped off the porch. A shiny tin star was fastened to a coat with sleeves much too short for his long arms. He strutted out into the street and stood on spread legs, his coat pulled back, his thumbs hooked in his belt.

  “I’m in charge. Marshal Lyster is outta town.”

  “No, he isn’t. He’s in the back of the wagon.”

  At Buck’s calm words the deputy’s mouth dropped open, and quiet fell over the crowd.

  “You say the— Gawddamn!” The deputy went to the back of the wagon and yanked on the tarp that covered the dead men.

  “What the hell!”

  His explosive words brought the men rushing from the boardwalk. Within seconds there was not an inch of standing room around the wagon.

  “That’s Mike Bruza!”

  “By gawd! Greg Meader.”

  “Ain’t that Shorty Spinks and Squat Jones?”

  “And that ugly bastard they called Heinz? Looks like he got it in the ribs with a pigsticker.”

  “Jesus! They all been whittled on with a knife. Don’t see a gunshot on any of ’em.”

  “Ain’t no blood a’tall on the marshal.”

  “Somethin’ else is on the front of his shirt. He puked from the looks of it.”

  “Cover ’em up,” Gilly yelled over the murmur of voices. “They stink!”

  The deputy moved through the crowd to where Buck sat his horse, leaning his forearm on the saddle horn . . . waiting.

  “Mister, you better get to talkin’ . . . fast.”

  “Not to you. Where’s the undertaker?”

  “Here.” A man in a black coat stepped forward. “Who’s payin’?”

  “Forsythe. They’re his men.”

  “Now see here.” The deputy puffed out his chest and tried to speak with authority. “Yo’re actin’ mighty high-handed. Yo’re that Lenning feller from the Larkspur, ain’t ya?”

  “You know damn good and well who I am, and you know damn good and well what those men were doing out at my place last night.”

  “Yeah, I know that. The marshal went to serve papers to get ya off Mr. Forsythe’s land.” An angry grumble came from the men surrounding the wagon.

  “He couldn’t’a killed Bruza and Meader by hisself,” someone yelled.

  “He could’ve if he snuck up on ’em an’ cut their throats.”

  “It’s what he done. Ain’t nobody dumb enough to face Greg Meader with a gun. He’s the fastest I ever seen.”

  “He ain’t gettin’ away with killin’ a marshal,” a man shouted.

  “Ya fellers is jist a-blowin’ wind!” Tandy yelled.

  “What’s old Tandy doin’ with that Larkspur bunch?”

  “Hadn’t we ort to go get Colonel Forsythe?”

  “Not yet,” the deputy said. “We’ll handle this.”

  “Then, goddammit, get to handling it,” Buck said loudly and in a manner calculated to insult. “I’m not sitting here all day. Gilly, take the meat wagon to wherever the man wants it.”

  “Hold on!” the deputy shouted. Encouraged by the crowd behind him, he pulled his gun and pointed it at Buck. “Get off that horse. You’re goin’ to jail.”

  Buck eased his horse forward, then suddenly jumped him. His booted foot lashed out and kicked the arm holding the gun. It flew out of the deputy’s hand. He stumbled back, lost his balance and hit the ground.

  “Don’t point a gun at me, you hairy jackass, unless you’re intendin’ to kill me.”

  “ ’Ary a man draws, this shotgun goes off,” Gilly stood in the wagon and shouted.
/>   “This’n too.” Tandy pointed his gun at the crowd. “Ain’t a man-jack among ’em got guts enough to skin a cat . . . by hisself.”

  Buck’s attention was on the deputy, who was picking himself up out of the dirt, and he didn’t see Cleve and Dillon pushing through the crowd to reach him.

  “We ort to hang the lot of ’em.” The voice came from the back of the crowd.

  “What’s going on here? Stand back!” An officer came down the walk with several men marching behind him. His voice rose up over the murmur of the crowd and rang with authority. “I said what’s going on here!”

  “The marshal’s there in the wagon, dead.” The deputy picked up his gun and shoved it down in the holster. “This man killed him and five of his men. I’m takin’ him to jail.”

  “Because a man brings in a body doesn’t mean he killed him.”

  “Well, gol-damn,” a man shouted. “Even you soldier boys ort to know murder when ya see it.”

  “Sergeant Burton, clear this area.”

  “Yes, sir!” A burly sergeant and four men lined up with rifles at the ready. “Back up on the walk. Ya be quick ’bout doin’ it.”

  “If ya need help with this bunch of grizzly ba’ars, soldier boy, give me n’ Tandy a holler,” Gilly yelled.

  “Thanky kindly, gents. But I ain’t thinkin’ we be needin’ help with the likes of them. They be a bunch a pussy cats.”

  The deputy felt his authority slipping away fast. With Lyster dead he had a chance to be the marshal if he acted fast.

  “Who be you?” he demanded of the lieutenant. “Ya ain’t got no right to give orders in this town.”

  “I’m the law here until a territorial marshal arrives. Give me the keys to the jail. If you’re going to argue about it, you’ll be my first arrest.”

  The lieutenant glowered down at the shorter man. His iron gray hair and his demeanor was evidence of many years in the military.

  “If’n you’re goin’ to arrest somebody, it ort to be this killer here,” the deputy stammered.

  “Do you have evidence that he murdered these men?”

  “Ever’body knows the marshal and some men went out to his place to serve papers. They ended up dead. ’Course he killed them.”