Lawdog: The Life and Times of Hayden Tilden

by J. Lee Butts

  Ash from the cigar he gave me got thumped onto the floor. I lied and said, “Twenty-two.”

  Everett’s chair snapped back down on all four legs. “Not sure I believe that, but I’ll take your word on it. If you say you’re twenty-two, then as far as I’m concerned that’s the way of it. It don’t matter much anyhow. You’ve already showed everyone around here you’re about as much a man as you’re ever gonna be. So I tell you what I’m gonna do. I’ll write you a letter of introduction to Judge Parker, explain your problem, and ask him to take you on as a deputy marshal. It’ll give you a job in Fort Smith and a base for your hunt for Magruder. How does that strike you?”

  “I’m flattered, Everett. I do appreciate your help. More than I can say.”

  “No need to flush up on me there, son. I know how you feel. Know you won’t stop till ole Bob is in the ground and you see it happen. It would be derelict on my part not to help you in such a worthy effort. Just remember, when you finish with this, there’ll always be a place for you here if you want it.”

  Left Pine Bluff about a week later. Everett helped me finalize collection of the bounty on Benny, Azel, and Cecil. I needed to be on my way and the prospect of finding Magruder pulled pretty hard at me. We shook hands like family, and I put the spur to Thunder.

  Stopped over here in Little Rock for one night. Bought passage for Thunder and me on a flat-bottomed boat going upriver. Little stern-wheeler named the Jezebel. Had an urge to visit cousins living here at the time, but decided against it.

  The trip on the water must have been quicker than riding it. But it seemed awful slow to me at the time. A storm ripped up and down the river for a good bit of the first two days. Boat pilot spent most of his time dodging trash and new snags or tied up to the bank for shelter. We arrived a day later than I expected.

  The three-day float wasn’t a complete waste, though. It gave me plenty of time to think about what had happened. I’d started out a Kentucky farm boy on the way to becoming a Texas farm boy. Searched my conscience for that wide-eyed youth and discovered a grown man who’d killed other men in a gunfight. Found myself in a place I’d never planned on even visiting—in search of another man to kill. But when I led Thunder off that boat and settled into the saddle again, I felt completely at ease with the new world ahead of me, and what I intended to do.

  Guess busy probably describes Fort Smith better than any word I can think of. Place swarmed with every kind of miscreant known to God or man—cowboys, river runners, railroaders, prostitutes, gamblers, transients on their way west, and every other kind of worthless human riffraff imaginable.

  The storm that delayed my arrival must’ve missed the primitive burg. Streets appeared to be about six inches deep in dust, and the stuff covered every flat surface available to the eye. The town looked like an anthill after someone stepped on it. People were walking and running in every direction. Kids and dogs played in the streets. In the only wet spot I could detect, a pig the size of a Shetland pony had flopped down in an alleyway where people had to walk. She refused to move in spite of heated efforts to dislocate her by several of the children. Piglets squealed and ran all around her trying to get away from the kids. Out on the edge of civilization boys and girls grew up quick and mean. Today they’d all be in school, but back then wasn’t much educating going on.

  The weather had turned colder that morning. Stopped at the first dry goods store I spotted. Tied Thunder to the rack out front and pushed my way through the swarm of people passing on the boardwalk.

  Stood at the counter and kind of gandered around, when I heard this young woman say, “Can I help you, sir?”

  Hadn’t been addressed as “sir” enough to know the question was pointed at me. Caught myself looking over my shoulder for the phantom gentleman. Had to smile when I realized my mistake.

  She floated up to me like she’d appeared out of thin air. Blond-haired, blue-eyed. Looked like the angel pictured standing behind Jesus on the Mount of Olives in my mother’s Bible. I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. For about five seconds I couldn’t speak.

  “Yuh . . . yuh . . . yes, miss. I . . . I’m in need of a leather coat. It—it’s colder here than I expected.” I stared into those blue eyes and knew I’d love her till the day I died. In less time than it took for my heart to beat once, I fell for her like a drunk who’d got his spurs tangled.

  “Try this on, sir. I think you will be quite striking in it.” She pulled a natural-colored leather coat from a rack in the center of the store.

  I stood the Winchester against the counter and placed my pistol next to a gallon jar of pickles. She held the coat open as I slid into it, then she smoothed the wrinkles down my back. It had been almost two months since a woman had touched me. Little pricks of electricity ran up and down my spine and the hair on my arms stood up.

  “Very nice,” she said as she pushed me to a mirror standing against the back wall.

  The image in that glass would have stunned my mother. I’d lost weight. The scar that ran across my right cheek still glowed pink with anger. Scraggly hair hung long against my collar. My rough farmer’s pants and boots needed replacing. For the first time in my life, I felt embarrassed by my own appearance and a blue-eyed angel caused it.

  I said, “I’ll take the coat, miss. I’d also like to look at some new trousers and perhaps a pair of western boots.” She tilted her head slightly and smiled as I handed her the coat. A flirtatious performance guaranteed to further my newly discovered infatuation.

  For almost an hour, that beautiful young woman fussed and fretted over me. And, for the first time since the murders of my family, I felt like I could lie down and sleep without having nightmares. When she finished, the image of a man who might have lived all his life in the wilds of the Territories stared back at me from her mirror.

  She’d covered my head with a wide-brimmed, tall-crowned. Texas-style hat. The leather coat was cinched close with a heavy, double-rowed cartridge belt. The butt of my .45 stuck out of the belt in a way that made it easy to pull with my right hand. My pants were soft and comfortable. The new boots came to my knees and sported a pair of heavy silver spurs.

  “Well, miss, you have accomplished quite a change in my appearance. One I’m sure is for the better.”

  “My name is Elizabeth Reed, sir. You needn’t call me miss.”

  “I’ll try, miss . . . I mean, Miss Reed.” She laughed at my fumbled attempt to please her.

  The spurs chinked and sang as I followed her back to the counter to settle my bill. Since I now deemed myself a man of some substance, I didn’t even bat an eye at the cost of my new garb.

  She handed me the change, flashed another killing smile, and said, “Thank you, sir. Can we expect to see you again soon, Mr. . . . I’m sorry, you didn’t offer your name.”

  “Tilden, Miss Reed. Hayden Tilden. Hope to visit you again very soon. Would it be possible for you to direct me to Judge Parker’s court?”

  “Easily, Mr. Tilden—just follow the crowd. There’s another hanging in about an hour. Six more depraved men will find perdition this day. Once you see the gallows, Judge Parker will be nearby.”

  I removed my new hat, held it against my chest, and bowed slightly. “Good day to you, miss.” Elizabeth Reed’s surprise at my freely offered gallantry flashed in her eyes. Discovered later that such behavior tended to be the exception rather than the rule in that rough place. Started for the door, but my eye caught something important on the shelf behind her. I pointed toward the book.

  “I’ll take that too.”

  She pulled the heavy work from its place on the shelf, handed it to me, and touched my hand again as I paid her.

  “You are familiar with the plays of Shakespeare, Mr. Tilden?”

  “My mother introduced us. She read to me from the Bible and Mr. Shakespeare’s writings every night when I was a child. She always said, ’Hayden, if you’re familiar with these books you’ll have about as much education as a Kentucky farm boy can expect.
Read them. Study them. They can teach you much.’ Before marrying my father, she lived in a lively and educated household in West Virginia. She shared all that knowledge with my sister, Rachael, and me. Compared to most, Miss Reed, I consider myself relatively well educated. I’ve recently been separated from her copy of Mr. Shakespeare’s works. I will remember her when I read from this book.” I bowed again, and rushed for the street.

  Glanced back toward the store as I wheeled Thunder away. Elizabeth Reed was staring at me through the beveled glass of the heavy door. I touched the brim of my hat and tilted my head in her direction. She smiled again—and waved. That blue-eyed smile warmed me up more than the new coat she had hung on my back.

  Followed a swarm of people to a gate cut into a rough stone wall. Empty cannon bastions and a serious state of disrepair led me to believe that soldiers had not been in evidence at the fort for some time. The stockade teemed with people. The crowd numbered in the thousands. I’d never seen that many people in one place in my entire life.

  Vendors sold roasted corn, jerked beef, and every sort of keepsake imaginable to remind the buyer of the day’s upcoming events. One man even hawked little hand-carved scaffolds decorated with tiny ropes and straw men. Spicy aromas of tobacco and liquor fought with each other to drown out the scents of food, people, and animals.

  The multitude surrounded an enormous gallows. It appeared fully capable of dispatching a dozen or more men at the same time. Above the heavy timber from which six nooses dangled, a sign declared that skeletal framework as “THE GATES OF HELL.”

  “New in town?” A man dressed in shotgun chaps, sombrero, and Spanish rowels pulled his horse next to Thunder.

  “Yes. And you?”

  “Been here long enough to see two of these shindigs. I’m on my way back to San Antonio from Dodge. Stopped in three weeks ago just in time to watch Parker send three ole boys to the Maker. There was a crowd then, but nothing like today. Hear tell from the locals this passel’s about to witness the biggest hanging ever to take place in these parts. People from as far away as Texas, south Missouri, and Little Rock came for this one. Don’t know about you, but I never seen this many people before. Looks like history, my man. We’re about to become a part of history.”

  We moved up as close to the festivities as the huge crowd would allow and waited. About a minute later, a knot of guards carrying rifles pushed a path through the masses and led each of those destined for the hangman to his designated spot on the platform.

  “All those men in front are deputies. A well-known murderer jumped off the scaffold a few hangings back. Almost got away. But the hangman, that Maledon, let him run a bit. Then he plugged the man dead at a hundred paces. Most amazin’ pistol shot anyone in these parts ever saw or heard tell of.”

  Four ministers accompanied the condemned. They all read from their Bibles or prayed at the top of their lungs. Put me in mind of Magruder and how he’d approached my family at Arkansas Post.

  My new friend said, “They’ll read the death sentences for each of them, and he can make a final speech if he wants. ’Course, from way back here, we probably won’t be able to hear much of anything that gets said. That’ll be a shame. Last time one of the fellers did a fine job with his. Probably the best thing he ever did. He told all about the evils of alcohol, the perils of keeping company with fallen women, and the degradation of foul and unnatural murder—real soul-shaker of a speech. Won’t ever forget it.”

  He rolled himself a smoke and pulled a bottle of whiskey from his saddlebags. “Care for a snort?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Trust me, mister. You’re gonna wish you’d taken it by the time this is all over. They’re all standing on a single trap. It’s gonna be something to see all of ’em drop at the same time.” He pushed the bottle against my arm.

  “No, I’ll see it sober. I don’t want to forget any of it.”

  A man dressed in a suit walked up to each of the condemned, individually, and read from a large piece of paper. I couldn’t hear anything but snatches. The word murder got used a bunch. Near as I could determine every man on the platform had killed at least one person. Some more. One fellow who looked to be an Indian hung his head when the sentence was read, but then started singing and doing a little dance when the deputy moved to his neighbor. The neighbor, a tall towheaded boy, wept and had to be held up when he crumpled into a heap at the sentence reader’s feet.

  Only three of them had anything to say. One, a black fellow, must have made a fine speech. People in the first row or two applauded.

  Once the final man had his turn, a single minister stepped forward and led the crowd in that old hymn “Rock of Ages.” A subdued quiet fell on the throng when heavy bags were pulled over the heads of the condemned, and the nooses cinched close to their necks by a thin, bearded man with no hat. When finished, he walked to a lever at one end of the platform, placed his right hand on its leather-wrapped grip, and threw it forward. He didn’t hesitate a fraction of a second.

  A muffled zip caught my ear. Then a sound like a whip being cracked shot from the platform to the back of the gathering. The crowd sucked in a single breath when those men hit the end of the rope, and they moved back about half a step more when the sound of necks snapping like cottonwood limbs slapped them in the face.

  The cowboy shook his head. “Eerie feeling, ain’t it.”

  Some might find it hard to believe, but thousands of people can be in one place and not make a sound. In a matter of minutes that huge crowd disappeared like smoke carried off by a chilling wind.

  I sat there on Thunder watching the men dangle. Two jerked and twitched for almost a minute. The silence that accompanied their passing shocked me far more than the noise and gaiety that preceded it.

  After the crowd melted away, I noticed several buildings off to the left and slightly behind the gallows. I tied Thunder and presented myself to a clerk in the largest of them. Gave my letter of introduction from Everett Lovelady to him. Took a seat on a bench along one wall and waited almost two hours before anyone noticed me again.

  A different clerk came to the landing on the second floor and called my name. He escorted me through a heavy door to an office dominated by a large desk. Behind that desk sat Judge Isaac Charles Parker. Tall, dignified, and elegantly dressed. He wore a dark coat, clean white shirt, neat tie, and gold watch chain. A mustache and small beard made him look more like a banker than like the most powerful judge in the country.

  He motioned me to one of a pair of chairs. “You come highly recommended, young man. I have a good deal of respect for Marshal Everett Lovelady. I believe he would still be with me if it hadn’t been for the numerous wounds he suffered in pursuit of evil men.”

  I took the cigar he offered from a box on the desk as he continued. “Tell you what this job involves. You won’t be paid much. Six cents a mile traveled and two dollars for each man brought in for trial in this court. Sometimes these men have rewards on their heads, and that will be a bonus for you, but I can assure you no one is getting rich. Most of my marshals are able to make about five hundred dollars a year. You may supplement that amount somewhat by the fines you levy while on patrol in the Nations. I don’t encourage such fines except where necessary, but some of the men use this power to make a little more. I don’t like the practice, but I won’t attempt to stop it.”

  He stood and moved to a curtained window behind his chair, pulled one panel aside with his finger, and stared at the grounds below.

  “My marshals usually travel in groups. It isn’t uncommon for criminals to band together and ambush them. We’ve determined it’s unwise for them to travel alone. Make no mistake, Mr. Tilden, this is dangerous work. We lose an average of five deputies a year killed in the line of duty. I hope to reduce that rate, but at the moment the lawless outnumber us significantly. Every outlaw within a thousand miles runs for the Nations if he gets a chance.”

  “Marshal Lovelady warned me the job would be difficult, sir.”
<
br />   He turned back toward me, arched an eyebrow and dropped Everett’s letter on his desk. “Our friend writes that you’re deadly with that big Winchester. I don’t like gunfighters as a rule, but know if you want to catch a dangerous man you don’t send a Sunday school teacher. If you take this job, be completely understanding of the fact that I don’t care for dead criminals. I want them in my court so they can see, feel, and understand the mighty hand of the law they have chosen to break.”

  I shifted the rifle in my lap. “I don’t care about the pay. Don’t care how difficult the job might be. I want the chance to find Saginaw Bob Magruder. Alive if that’s how he sees it, but dead if he resists. I have reason to believe he’s hiding out in the Nations somewhere. So, I promise to do the best job possible for you, Judge. But you must understand, sir, that my search for Magruder will always come first and I’ll drop whatever I’m doing at the time for an opportunity to go after him. If that’s agreeable, I’m ready.”

  He slapped the top of the desk with his palm. “By Godfrey, I admire your forthrightness and determination, Mr. Tilden. Stand and raise your right hand, sir.”

  Well, he made a little speech, and I said, “I do.” It took about fifteen seconds. Walked me down the hall to another office with a brass plate on the door that read U.S. MARSHAL, D.P. UPHAM. Several armed and determined looking men stood when the Judge entered. He swept past them and pushed his way into an inner office. Returned with a shiny deputy U.S. marshal badge and pinned it on my new leather coat.

  He led me to a man sitting in the corner. “Bix, I want you to meet Hayden Tilden. Sending him out with you this time. Hayden, meet Deputy Marshal Bixley Conner. I’m sure the two of you will get along famously.” He smiled and left us standing there staring at each other.

  Bix Conner held out a stubby-fingered block that somewhat resembled a human hand and shook mine so hard I thought my arm was gonna snap off.