Lawdog: The Life and Times of Hayden Tilden

by J. Lee Butts

  Man who’d offered me the seat twisted in his chair and looked at his friends as if to say, “Well, we didn’t expect this.” But what came out was, “Miss Gertie tells us you’ve spent your time here today intimidatin’ and threatenin’ people. Our job’s to protect the citizens of our fair city, and we don’t take kindly to strangers comin’ here and conductin’ themselves in such a manner. We think it’d be best if you came down to the city jail so we can clear this up without any ruckus bein’ raised.”

  Didn’t like the sound of that proposition at all. “Unfortunately I have other plans, gentlemen, and can’t go with you just now.”

  His chair squealed as he pushed away from the table and stood. “I don’t think you understand. You don’t have any choice in this matter. You’ll go with us one way or another.” He made a signal with the big stick in his right hand. His friend jumped to his feet.

  “We can settle this right here, Officer. I’m Deputy U.S. Marshal Hayden Tilden. This is a warrant for Saginaw Bob Magruder, a murderer, rapist, and thief. He visited in this house as recently as one week ago and had been here for over a month when he finally decided to leave. I came here to find him and return him to the federal court in Fort Smith if I could, or kill him if I had to. Your friend, Miss Gertie, tried to hide his visit and motioned for this man to move behind me, for reasons I can only guess at. Those are the facts of this day’s activities, and I’ll tell you again—I’m not going anywhere with you.” Pulled my coat completely away from my pistols. They couldn’t have missed seeing the badge on my vest.

  “Look, you Arkansas clodhopper, we could care less who you say you are. Any trail tramp can flash a badge around. You’re goin’ with us.” They lined up, side by side, and slapped the sticks against their palms.

  I spoke so low they had to lean forward to hear. “Don’t press this matter any further, sir. I can guess at what you have in mind for me. Maybe some jailhouse persuasion with those clubs until someone gets around to admitting that my papers are genuine. I’ve explained who I am and my reasons for being here. You’re not getting anything else. Now, none of you boys is prepared for the kind of gunplay you’re looking at. So let’s all just calm down and go our separate ways.”

  For several seconds the three maintained their swaggering attitude. Then the reality of what they’d confronted began to settle in. Cracks started to appear in the front they’d put up.

  My black-haired angel swept into the place and rescued me. “Why, Hayden, you terrible man. You said you’d only be gone a few minutes. I feel like I’ve been waiting for hours and hours.” She glided around Dallas’s finest and attached herself to my arm. “Come with me, dear man, we have a dinner to attend. You remember I told you we were invited to the opera. The mayor will be very disappointed if Judge Parker’s most famous marshal doesn’t make it to his party tonight. I’m sure you gentlemen will excuse us, won’t you?”

  “Miss Talbot, do you know this man?” asked the burly, tight-lipped policeman.

  “Why, Officer Brinson, this is the most famous U.S. marshal in the whole of Judge Parker’s cadre in Fort Smith. This, gentlemen, is Hayden Tilden.” She bowed slightly in my direction, took me by the elbow, and guided me toward the door.

  As we passed the bottom of the stairway, Carter Caine appeared for the second time. He stepped between the policemen who followed us and said, “Gentlemen, I see you’ve made the acquaintance of my good friend Mr. Tilden.”

  Samson muscled into the middle of everything and shielded us till we got to the carriage. I’d barely seated myself when he cracked his whip over the matched team and urged them into a quick trot away from Gertie’s.

  Missy hugged my arm to her and said, “You must learn to be more diplomatic, dear man.” Ten minutes later, we were back at the Empress and in Missy’s bed.

  Early the next morning, sat for almost an hour and watched her sleep. Quietly packed, saddled Thunder, and hit the trail to Dodge before she woke.

  I left a note on her pillow. Missy, you’ve bewitched me again. But Elizabeth has my heart and soon I think we’ll be married. You knew it before I could admit it to myself. Be safe. I know we’ll meet again. Hayden.

  9

  “THAT UGLY FELLOW THERE’S MY BROTHER BAT”

  TWO WEEKS LATER. I’d pushed deep into the Nations and was looking for a place to put up for the night when I found a sod house. I’d avoided the stock stations, Indian settlements, and numerous ranches dotting that well-worn path. Wanted to arrive in Dodge, find Bob, and do my business before he knew what hit him.

  The howling drew me to the place. A low, pitiful moan that crept into my bones and pulled me toward it. First started hearing the sound long before I got close enough to spot where it came from. When I finally hit the ridgeline of a hill, I could see the spot clearly and pulled my long glass for a better look.

  Shack had a corral attached to one end. Chickens pecked and clucked around the front yard. The dog lay in the doorway. Every minute or so, it’d lift its huge head and send up another painful cry. Took me a minute before I realized that the two mounds in the yard weren’t piled rocks or boulders. They were dead horses.

  I hauled the Winchester out as I climbed down. Tied my mounts to the nearest bush and carefully made my way from rock to rock. Stopped about a hundred feet from the doorway to the mud dwelling.

  Dog must’ve caught my scent. It stood, bristled all over, and began to bark. I took several pieces of jerky from my coat pocket and threw one at the beast. Hunger overcame him pretty quick. He kind of snuck up on the meat at first, snatched it up, and ran back to the doorway. When he finished with that piece, I threw another. Repeated the process over and over. Drew him further from the house each time. Finally had the animal taking the twisted meat from my hand. Its dirty yellow coat was streaked with grayish brown and its head was twice the size of any dog I’d ever seen. Looked like he weighed every ounce of a hundred and fifty pounds.

  About half an hour after I started, felt like I’d gained enough of the animal’s confidence to get past the spot he guarded. Held a piece of the meat and led him back to the doorway. I could smell what lay inside before I got there.

  Some horrible things hid in that house. Entire family of five hideously slaughtered. Looked like the man of the house had gone down first—single gunshot between the eyes, fired at very close range. Heavy black powder burns around the hole in his head. He’d died just inside the open doorway and fell like he’d been killed while he stood there talking to someone. I knew Magruder had been there as surely as if he’d left a sign painted on the wall. Why else would a man open his door and wait to be killed in such a fashion? The Bible fooled him as surely as it fooled my father.

  Once the man went down and the door opened, the other killers flew in and massacred the rest of his family. Almost stepped on the dog as I stumbled from the place with my bandanna over my face. He’d gone back to his spot and took up his howling. Didn’t know those people, but I cried for all of them anyway. It’s hard not to feel for folks done in with a double-bit axe—especially the kids.

  Dead man appeared to have been white. The woman and children looked Indian. Couldn’t tell which tribe. Kind of figured on Cherokee, but at the time I was a far cry from being an expert. The father had probably been one of those fellows who married an Indian woman so he could live on the land.

  Didn’t have time to bury them. Besides, I couldn’t have broken that ground with dynamite. So I dragged the bodies from the house and lined them up under the wooden roof that covered the end of the corral. Not enough wood for miles around to build a real house. So they’d used everything that could be scratched up to erect the shelter for the horses and protect them from the weather.

  Took me several minutes to find a can of lamp oil. Gathered as much scrubby brush and kindling as I could and piled it on the bodies until it was almost a foot high. Knocked the props out from under the roof with the rancher’s sledge. It dropped on the mound of brush and covered the bodies comple
tely. Doused the whole thing with oil and fired it up. Dog and I went back to the hill and watched it all burn. He howled like a lost soul in perdition until the fire rubbed out any trace of familiar scent and there was nothing left but a pile of coals.

  Couldn’t bring myself to stay, and when I left the dog followed. Camped about ten miles further up the trail that night. At first he lay at my feet, but looked so pitiful that when I motioned for the hairy brute to come to me it wagged all over and seemed happy with its newfound friend. Before I fell asleep, wondered how the animal had managed to get away from the killers and stay alive.

  Named him Caesar after my favorite play from Shakespeare’s writings. Took him a few days before he reacted to the name, but eventually when I called, he came running.

  It didn’t take long to notice a streak of frontier independence in Caesar. He’d disappear all day, but once I’d made camp and got a fire started, he’d always come back and sleep next to me.

  Two days out of Dodge, I ran into a pair of drunken cowboys on their way back to Texas. I’d stopped for a rest during the middle of the day and sat on the stump of a piece of broken timber, when the cow punchers came stumbling up leading their horses.

  “Just be damned. Looka here, Tige. Whaddaya thank we done found?”

  “Doan know, Drew. Ain’t never seen nothin’ that ugly afore.”

  I tried to be nice. “How you boys doin’?”

  Their saddlebags bulged with whiskey bottles, and the liquor’d burned up enough of their brains to make them stupid. “Don’t be worrin’ yerseff ’bout how we be doin’, mister.”

  “You tell ’im, Tige.” The one called Drew stumbled over a rock and almost dropped his bottle.

  “Look, boys, I don’t want any trouble today. Why don’t you just move along?”

  “’Djew hear that, Drew? Thish’ere horse apple says we need to jist move along.”

  “You gotta lotta nerve there, horse apple. You’re out here in the boonies all by yer lonesome. Could be right hard on yer health to go and smart off to folk yew doan even know. Me’n Tige jist might not take kindly to not bein’ showed the proper ree-speckt.”

  “Da’s right, horse apple. Tall skinny boy lak you could get yer butt kicked, you doan watch yer manners.”

  I’d just decided to shoot Tige in the foot when Caesar popped up and put an unexpected end to the squabble. He ambled up behind the cowboy and bit him square in the behind. Latched on like a Mississippi snapping turtle. The screech that drunk wrangler let out almost scared his friend Drew to death.

  They both started running. Drew fell down twice before he got out of sight. Caesar held on for a bit. Tige looked like a man trying to drag a big hairy boat around behind him. When the dog seemed satisfied he’d got his point across, he dropped the squealing brush popper like a rag doll, strolled over, and flopped down at my feet.

  It all happened so fast I couldn’t do anything but sit there with my mouth open and stare at him for about a minute. The wounded waddie held his damaged goods in one hand and tried to gather the reins of his spooky horse with the other.

  Got the Winchester and sat back down. Tige finally managed to get mounted again and turned like he was going to charge us, but gave it up and ran when he spotted the rifle propped against my right leg. I handed my new partner a piece of the dried meat I’d been eating. He grunted and snapped it down in one swallow.

  Caesar and I forded the Arkansas in the same spot where millions of long-horned cattle and tens of thousands of Texas cowboys had crossed before us. Like most people, I’d heard stories about Dodge, even as far away as Kentucky. It passed all understanding that there I was, riding into the most famous town in the West. As we strolled in, I noticed a rough sign that proclaimed, THE CARRYING OF FIREARMS IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. MARSHAL JIM MASTERSON. Some enterprising type had added another sign below urging the reader to “try Prickty Ash Bitters.”

  Tied my horses in front of the marshal’s office. Snowflakes swirled on a wind that blew them against my cheeks as I stepped up to the door. Two deputies sat at a desk next to the barred entrance of the jail cells. I pulled the heavy outer door closed and fell into one of the empty chairs beside the potbellied stove.

  The man closest to me spoke first. “Can we be of some service, mister?”

  “You can point me toward Marshal Masterson. I’m here on official business and need to speak to him directly.”

  The one behind the desk perked up and asked sullenly, “Might we inquire as to what kind of ‘official’ business you have with Marshal Masterson?”

  Pulled out my warrant and held it up so the men could see that it was an official document of the Western Court of Arkansas. “I’m Deputy U.S. Marshal Hayden Tilden. This is a warrant for the arrest of an infamous killer I’ve followed from Arkansas to the Nations, and Dallas to here. I wish to discuss this matter with your Marshal Masterson and would appreciate it if you could direct me to him.” Pushed the paper back under my leather coat and waited as the two looked at each other and silently decided whether or not to accommodate me.

  The friendlier of the two stood and pulled his coat from a peg on the wall next to the entrance. “Name’s Jeff Farmin, Marshal.” He shook my hand and smiled. “Follow me. I’ll walk you over to Jim. He’s at his brother George’s place with some friends. They take dinner over there most nights. I’m certain he’ll want to meet you.”

  In no longer than the time we talked, the snow had begun to really come down. “Mr. Farmin, can you recommend a livery? My animals need tending.”

  He turned to a group of loafers sitting on a bench under the jail’s window. “Amos, take this gentleman’s horses down the street and see they get cared for.”

  A bent, ragged man who looked like he might have been there when the good Lord created horses, rose slowly and took the reins and the dollar I offered. Farmin smiled. “Don’t worry, he’ll take good care of them. He’s always nearby for errands such as this.”

  The street swarmed with people, animals, wagons, light, and noise. Every saloon and dance hall had windows that allowed the passerby to gaze at the wonders available inside. Deputy Farmin led me through the door of a place called Varieties and across the gleaming floor to a group of tables at the far end of the bar.

  He stopped in the most remote corner of the room and stooped to whisper in the ear of a nicely dressed man who was hacking at an enormous chunk of beefsteak. Seated with the marshal were three other men preoccupied with the same problem. He glanced up from his meal, smiled, nodded at me, and pointed to the only empty chair left at the table.

  “Your reputation has preceded you, sir.” He smiled again and chewed at the meat, then laid his fork aside and picked at his teeth. “I’m Jim Masterson. That ugly fellow there’s my brother Bat. That one over there is Wyatt Earp. The one sitting beside you is brother George. George runs this establishment and employs the best cook in Kansas. Don’t know what the man does to steak, but by God they’re the best I’ve ever tasted!”

  Tried not to look completely thunderstruck. There I sat at a table with three of the most famous lawmen in Kansas—maybe the entire country. Every deputy in Judge Parker’s company of marshals told tales of their deadly skill with the pistol and knife.

  The Masterson boys could have been a matched set carved from a single piece of wood. About the same height, they wore well-tailored suits and shaved themselves close, except for big mustaches. Wyatt Earp looked like he belonged to the family. His features were similar to those of his friends, and he barbered himself in the exact same manner. All of them had a substantial, relaxed, peaceful air about them.

  Thing that surprised me most was how young they all appeared. Near as I figured it, none of them could have been much older than me. Guess the shock of it showed.

  Bat put his fork aside, dabbed at his lips with a sparkling napkin, and said, “Do you feel well, Mr. Tilden? Could we get you something?”

  “No, thank you, sir. I’m quite all right. Just tired on account of
my recent trip from Dallas—rode long and hard to get here. Almost wore out two fine horses in the process.”

  Jim sipped at a steaming cup of coffee. “We have a mutual friend, Mr. Tilden. Bat and I’ve known Everett Lovelady of Pine Bluff for some years. He wired me when you rubbed out Azel Stroud. Bat tried to accomplish the same thing at least twice.”

  Bat laughed. “Yes, but I had a good deal less luck than you, sir. I personally put at least two good ones in that scurvy dog. Wish I could have seen the skirmish that sent him to the devil. Smiled for two days after I heard Azel had joined Satan in the fiery pit. Probably still be grinning if I could’ve only seen you tear his ticket.”

  Wyatt tapped a nervous finger against his cup. “Good Lord. You’re the man who blew up Morgan Bryce not long ago. Lord almighty, hoss, you keep at it and every bad man in the West will know your name.”

  Brother George looked into the corner behind me and almost jumped out of his chair. “What in hell is that?”

  I turned around just in time to see Caesar bite at one of his massive feet like he had a flea the size of a dinner plate. “Oh, I apologize, Mr. Masterson. That’s Caesar. He and I recently became good friends and traveling companions. Didn’t realize he’d followed me inside. I can assure you he won’t trouble anyone, as long as they don’t bother me. However, should anyone accost me, can’t even imagine what might happen.” He still didn’t seem comfortable. “I can put him outside, if you prefer.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary, Marshal Tilden. We’ve had a lot worse than Caesar on the floor in my place. Just leave him there. I’ll send for a plate of scraps. Looks like he could use some fresh meat.” He motioned to a man standing behind him, who nodded and went directly to the kitchen.

  Jim pushed his plate away. “Understand you’re here on business, Mr. Tilden.” He pulled a long thin cigar from his vest pocket and nipped the end before lighting it.

  “I came for Saginaw Bob Magruder.”

  Bat leaned his chair back. “Another bad one, real bad. But none of us have ever seen the man. ’Course we’ve heard about his offenses against the law and humanity at large, but no one here’s met up with the infamous Mr. Magruder.”