Hickory Jack (Ben Blue Book 1)

by Lou Bradshaw

  “Pack it up, Ben,” Andy said, “we got our walkin papers. His honor, the marshal says we gotta git outa town pronto.”

  “Now, Jack that’s not what I said. I said that you were goin to have to move on soon. Tomorrow will be fine.”

  I just stared at Murdock for a few seconds, calculating. “I need two more days at least.” I told him.

  “Now, wait a minute Red.”

  “No, you wait a minute, Marshal. I ain’t leavin till that girl is able to travel, and that’s goin to take a couple of days.”

  “Ben, you plannin to take her with us? Why you sly dog.” Andy said with a grin, until he looked at my face – the grin faded.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her, but she ain’t goin back there. I’ll find a place for her. I’ve got an idea.”

  “All I know is that Murphy’s hoppin’ mad wantin’ his whore back. “Murdock put in.

  I shot strait up, “Wants her back does he? I’ll show that son of a …” Andy put a hand on my arm pulling me back.

  “Hold on,” he said, “he won’t get her back.”

  I told Murdock how Murphy had held the girl in slavery, and it wasn’t legal, and I wouldn’t put up with it. Then I told him that I had a good mind to write to that Federal Judge in Ft. Smith. That got his steam up, and he started swelling like a bullfrog.

  “But he’s got a contract with her.” Murdock shouted.

  “A contract for what – for whoring? Is whoring a legal business? How legal can that contract be? Besides, I doubt that she could even read a contract.”

  “All right, all right.” The marshal blurted, “This is Thursday. You just be out of town by Sunday morning – fair enough?”

  I said that would fine and he stomped off. It’s like I’d said, Murdock was a good town marshal, but he was no lawman. He knew the laws of the town, but he had no idea of the laws of the state or the nation. Any kid in any grammar school knew about those laws.

  I sat Andy down on a barrel, and we had a council of war. I paced and talked, sometimes just thinking out loud, and he listened patiently until he had an objection or needed clarification. After a while, we had a plan. It was a simple kid like plan, but it was all we had, and it might just work.

  Come Sunday morning before sunup I would pick up the girl from the padre and head straight for the Indian Territory and try to find Crazy Jim. I had a notion that Jim would find me if I went toward the area we had traveled with him. I would send up smoke along the way and his curiosity would bring him. The girl was Cheyenne, and there were Cheyenne there. They were related people. It was our only option. I was afraid of leaving her in the Mexican village. When Murphy found out, and he soon would, someone would get hurt. I didn’t want that.

  There was one part of the plan that Andy didn’t know about, and I wasn’t about to tell him.

  Chapter 15

  After work was finished, I grabbed some grub and walked over to the village. I found Morning to be in good spirits; in fact, she was even smiling a little. During the day, Father Paul had taken the opportunity to make a convert. He had baptized her and christened her Maria Magdalena. They both seemed to be pleased about it.

  I laid out the plan for them, and they agreed that if we could get her to some of her own people she would be far better off.

  I asked Emilio if he knew of a horse, pony, or donkey that I could buy for a short trip. He said that Julio had several that he would probably sell if I wanted to deal with him. I said I’d deal with anyone when it came to horse-trading.

  Julio had a nice little string and he saw the chance to get into my pocket, so any lingering anger was out the window. He didn’t get into my pocket too deep, and I didn’t take the pick of the bunch, but we both came away satisfied. When the deal was done and the coins were exchanged I held out my hand. He looked at it for a few seconds, and then laughed and said, “Oh gringo.” and gave me a good grip.

  We put the pony in Father Paul’s stable with his burro to be ready for Sunday morning. We were set.

  An hour before sunrise on Sunday morning Maria Magdalena and I were aboard our respective mounts and ready to hit the trail. Father Paul gave us his blessing, and came to shake my hand. When I released my grip, he had a twenty dollar gold piece in his hand. “For the poor box and the lady who helped Maria.” I told him, and we were off into the darkness.

  Circling around the town we came to the river about a quarter of a mile downstream. At that point, we headed east toward the Indian Territory and Crazy Jim. Maria was mounted on a wiry little mustang that had seen better days and better years, but she didn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds. Her pack was much reduced and better organized than when we hauled it out of that brothel. It was tied behind my saddle along with what we would need in the way of food and such.

  By noon, we had put Texas behind us, and we both breathed a little easier. I didn’t expect Murphy to follow us – he never left the saloon. But I wasn’t taking any chances. We stopped and ate what we had brought along for the first day. I was hoping for a little game or maybe some fish to carry us the rest of the way, and there was always the jerky in my saddlebag.

  I figured to travel east along the river until it turned south, and then continue east for another couple of days. At that point, we’d set up camp and wait. I didn’t think Jim ever got more that four or five days away from the center of his territory.

  We made a point of stopping each night with a couple of hours of daylight left and send up a good column of smoke. If by chance we attracted Indians instead of Jim, then I’d just have to play that by ear and hope for the best. She wouldn’t be any worse off than she had been back in town, and I tried not to think about what my fate could be.

  On the second day, we came up to an Indian and his woman on horseback traveling south. They didn’t seem to be a threat; in fact, they were a little leery of us. Maria was able to make them understand through signs that we were peaceful, and that we were looking for someone. She didn’t have a sign for Jim, so she spoke his name, and they both smiled. They told us to keep going with the river then a little north when the river turned.

  At sunrise on the fourth morning, I woke to the smell of coffee and the sounds of a crackling fire. Across the fire sat Crazy Jim nursing a cup of coffee against the morning chill. It was just as I had hoped Jim had found us.

  “Howdy there boy – red of the hair

  I see with you a maid so fair

  To keep you warm with hugs and the kisses

  Is this lady your very own missus?”

  I laughed and told him, “Your poetry ain’t any better than it was a couple of months ago, but I sure enjoy listenin to it. I guess me and Clancy must be kin.” He laughed, and I went on, “No sir, I couldn’t be that lucky. And besides, I think I’m gonna get me a mule and be a hermit just like you.”

  Over a couple of fresh bass for breakfast and a lot of coffee, I explained the situation to Jim. He thought about it for a few minutes, and then said some things to Maria that I couldn’t understand. She replied in what sounded like the same language. “Yep,” he said, “she’ll get along fine. The southern Cheyenne and the northern Cheyenne have a common language. There’s some difference, but it’s pretty close. They’s a bunch of ‘em bout four days north of hear. Good folks. I’ll talk to the headman and git her settled in.”

  “She be safe there, Jim? I got to be movin’ north and I don’t want to be worried about her.”

  He laughed and said, “With that there bundle of ladies fixins she’ll have the women folk flockin around, and as purtty as she is, she’ll have them bucks standin in line. Don’t you worry none, boy. Old Jim may be crazy, but he’s a pretty smart fella.”

  Jim assured me that she would be fine and accepted among her distant cousins. It was just another story of the white man’s ways, and there were many such stories. They wouldn’t look at her as a defiled woman, as the whites would, they would only see another victim. He told her, “Now, Missy, don’t you g
o setting your cap for old Jim because old Jim ain’t the marryin kind.”

  She laughed for one of the few times since I’d known her and told him, “Don’t worry, Mister Jim, you will be safe. I will try to think of you only as a respected uncle.” Then she laughed again. It was a good sound.

  We parted ways before noon with them going north and me heading west following the river. Andy and I had planned to meet up at Borger, which was about 60 miles west of River Town. He would work his way there through Mobeetie and several other small towns – making inquiries along the way.

  My horse was a good one, and without Maria to slow me down, I made the trip back to River Town in two days. I spent the night and the next day camped far enough back from the river to avoid any travelers, but close enough to keep under cover of the trees and brush. In the hour after sundown, I rode into the village. I stopped at the padre’s house and told him that all had gone well.

  He asked what my plans were and I told him that Andy and I were going to Colorado. That was all he needed to know. He wished me a safe journey, and we parted.

  My first stop was to see Murdock. I told him that the Indian girl was back with her people and Murphy could deal with them if he had no regard for his scalp. I asked him to make a notation on Coleman’s wanted poster as to the fact that he had been killed, and by who, and the date. I would mail that to Jasper Stewart in Ft. Smith, and he could send the reward money to Mr. Thompson. That being done, I told him that I was going to go square things with Murphy, and would he like to come along? He thought that was a fine idea.

  Until just a few moments before, I had planned to confront Murphy, bust up his place, and maybe burn it down around him. The problem with that plan was somebody was likely to get hurt or killed, and it could be somebody who was completely innocent. Talking with Murdock I had come up with another plan, one that would steam Murphy up pretty hot.

  We walked in and went to the bar. I asked the marshal to join me in a beer, and he accepted. Murphy came over, and before he could say anything I said, “Two beers please, Mr. Murphy.” And laid ten cents on the bar. When he brought the beers I said, “Let me have two gallons of your injun whiskey please.” He smiled and brought up two crockery jugs, and told me that would be eight dollars. I counted out the money and handed it to him. “Thank you, Mr. Murphy.” I said.

  Murphy wasn’t as tall as I was, but wider and burley, and I had no doubt that he would be tough to handle in a fight. But that wasn’t my intentions anyway. He came back from the cash drawer grinning an evil grin, like he was going to show this crowd how to handle a young pup. “Alright, Red, where’s my woman?”

  I looked up in surprise and said, “Why, I don’t know. I didn’t even know there was a Mrs. Murphy.”

  “No dammit. I’m talkin’ about my whore.”

  Calmly I replied, “Like I said, I didn’t even know you were married.” That set up a roar behind me that sounded like about a hundred hyenas. The marshal nearly choked.

  Murphy slammed his fist down and yelled, “I mean that half breed whore you took out of the cribs the night your friend shot Smith!” The place was suddenly quiet.

  The sudden hush gave me the chance to be heard and I said, “You mean that young girl you held in illegal slavery for six months?” I could hear the word, “slavery” muttered behind me. “You know they fought a war a few years back to end slavery don’t you? It was in all the papers… There was a lot of bloodshed over that on both sides, and you go right ahead and keep slaves anyway.” The men in the room were starting to yell at Murphy, and things were getting a little noisy.

  I turned to the room and said, “How many of the other gals back there are bein’ held in slavery, do you suppose?”

  Old stupid Harv brought it all to a personal level by saying, “Yeah, what about Lucy or Agnes? Why, I’ve spent over twenty dollars on them over the last year, and you got their money – you bastard.”

  Men started crowding the bar yelling at Murphy and shaking their fists. He reached under the bar and pulled out a damned ugly club, which he slammed on the bar. Things were dead quiet again and he yelled, “I bought that woman from her husband fair and square.” I guess that made it all right.

  I yelled back at him, “I happen to know you gave her husband two gallons of rotgut for her, but that don’t make it legal. Furthermore, I’m payin you off.” With that, I picked up one of those jugs and flung it at him. He dropped his club to catch the jug, which he fumbled into the back bar knocking down a rack of bottles before it hit the floor and broke. Someone threw the other jug through the big mirror behind the bar, and the riot was on.

  The marshal and I just sort of backed out of the room and out of the door. Outside he had to finish his laughing fit before he could talk. Finally, he said, “Red, I couldn’t see any law you broke in there. Murphy just kinda ruint himself. Hang on a second will ya?” He walked back inside and fired three shots into the ceiling and yelled for them to hold down the noise. He came back outside and growled, “Now get the hell out of my town!”

  I made camp about ten miles down the Mobeetie road.

  Chapter 16

  I went into Mobeetie and asked the town marshal if he’d seen Andy or Hickory Jack, which was the name he was pretty much known as. I’d have to remember that, when speaking about him. He was calling himself Jack Moore or Hickory Jack Moore. The marshal said he’d been there looking for Bill Frazier or Turner.

  “I told him that Turner took off like a fourth of July skyrocket when he heard that Smith got shot in a whore house.” the marshal said, and then he asked, “Was he really nekked when he got it?”

  “Na,” I said, “he was wearing his hat, boots with spurs, and a gunbelt. Other than that, he was pretty much naked.”

  “Hee hee, “ he laughed, “I bet that was somthin to see.”

  “You didn’t miss nothin,” I told him, “Is Jack still in town?”

  “Well, I don’t reckon he is. He told me that if big old red headed boy come lookin’ for him that I was to send him on to Borger. You reckon you’d be that boy?”

  “I reckon.” I said, and I thanked him on my way out of the door.

  After a five-minute conversation with the marshal, I began to see Murdock in a whole new light. He may not know a lot about the law outside his town, but he was head and shoulders over this man.

  I spent the night in Mobeetie, and was on the road the next morning just as soon as I had my flapjacks, bacon, and four eggs. Did I mention that I was a growing boy? Actually, I was in the middle of a growing spell and had just topped six foot. My sleeves were a might short, and what few shirts I owned were starting to split. Fortunately, my knee-highs hid the fact that my pants were getting short. I was either going to have to stop long enough to get some new shirts or get some skins to make a new buckskin shirt. Boots were out of the question until my feet stopped growing – moccasins would have to do.

  I had turned fifteen at sometime during early September. That’s as close as anyone could ever figure. That was all right with me. Birthdays were just days on a calendar, just a way to keep track of your age. I figure if I grow old, I’ll know it without any calendars.

  Although, I still thought of myself as a kid, I guess I had been through enough to make me grow up. Andy and I have been on our own for some time now. I’ve stood toe to toe with grown men, I’ve helped a damsel in distress, I’ve bested a whoremonger, and I’ve caused men to die. Whole bunches of boys no older than me died in that damned war, or were heroes, or were cowards.

  All those thoughts ran through my head as I rode toward Borger. A man on a horse in open country can sure get his brain all jangled up with thinking. But, I had come to the realization that I was as big as a man, bigger than most men, so men would expect more of me than a schoolboy. Especially if that schoolboy was a head shorter and fifty pounds lighter than I was. That was when I knew that I could no longer think of myself as a kid.

  I had an obligation to Andy, and I had an obligation to my ow
n soul. I would help Andy track down those men, and I would do all I could to see that they were taken alive. If it wasn’t possible then it wasn’t possible, but I would try. The sooner I got on with it the sooner I could live my own life.

  Borger was a little better organized than any of the Texas towns we had been in. There were boardwalks and the buildings mostly had wood floors. The streets were wide enough for horses, wagons, buckboards, and still find room for a drunk to stagger down the middle of them. And, it was more than just a crossroads. There were several streets going in all four directions…. Yep, it was quite a place.

  I found Andy in the Silver Dollar Saloon. It was the third one I’d tried. It should have been the first, because it was a dance hall with dance hall girls. There he stood at the bar with his hat off – same old Andy, except now he was taking his hat off in saloons instead of churches.

  He pried the gal off his arm long enough to slap me on the shoulder and order me a beer. Then he said, “Angel, I got some business to discuss with my brother, so would you excuse us please?” He swatted her backside with his hat and we moved away from the bar.

  She acted offended in a playful way and said, “If that’s your brother then I’m my own aunt Ethel.”

  Andy laughed and led me to a corner table. He told me that all he could find out was Frazier had taken off for parts unknown. Seems that as soon as word had gotten around that Hickory Jack Moore had shot Frazier’s partner and he was gone.

  “Do these folks know you’re Hickory Jack?” I asked.

  He nodded, and I said, “Hmm, I got to think about this a few minutes.” I sipped at that beer for a few minutes looking at the patterns formed by the wet rings on the table.