Lawdog: The Life and Times of Hayden Tilden

by J. Lee Butts

  “Magruder and Albrect came into his camp early this mornin’.” He waited and listened. “Big black horse had thrown a shoe. They’d been walking several hours.” Another pause. We had to wait between every agonizing breath. “Dick put on a new one. Magruder spotted his big ole Bible. Always sat on the wagon seat. Offered to buy it. Said the book would bring his luck back. Dick said no. Magruder shot him. No warning. Twice. Set the wagon on fire. Crouch Albrect poured lamp oil on Dick and torched him.” For a long time Billy just listened. Then he stood and staggered away. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  Later, when we’d stacked the last rock on Dick Little’s grave, Billy said under his breath, “We’ve got to hurry now, Hayden. Last thing Dick told me was how he heard Magruder say he’d get you, or anyone close to you, when he arrives in Fort Smith. He still don’t know your name, but he will as soon as he gets to town. People there will be proud to tell him ’bout the famous Marshal Hayden Tilden—and his beautiful new bride, Elizabeth.”

  Her name went through me like a slug from a buffalo gun. Old Bear vanished. Gone so fast dust still hung in the air like the image of a ghost. I ran to Thunder. Billy and Harry didn’t catch up with me till almost an hour later.

  Two days later, when we all came fogging up to the west bank of the Arkansas, we found Bix Conner waiting near the ferry landing. Looked like he had twenty horses and a ton of supplies with him. Didn’t surprise any of us. Figured he’d just got up a posse for someone we didn’t know about.

  I stepped down beside him and all I heard him say was, “They took Elizabeth, Hayden.”

  Swear on my mother’s grave, if God himself had walked up and slapped me in the face, the impact couldn’t have been any greater. Leaned against Thunder and had to hold on to my saddle to keep from falling. The faces of men I trusted seemed to detach and float around me like moons in a black sky.

  Bix rested his hand on my shoulder. “All these horses are for us. I’ve got two for each man—more than enough to run them evil sons of bitches to ground. They’re headed south along the old Butterfield mail route. We ran their track about ten miles ’fore we came back to get better organized. Knew you’d be showin’ up soon, so I got everything put together as quick as I could.” He pulled at my sleeve and whispered, “I don’t know exactly what he meant by it, but the Judge said for me to tell you to execute the last order you got any way you see fit.”

  Billy had already started moving his saddle over to a new mount. “Well, if there’s just the four of ’em, they don’t stand a snowball’s chance of survivin’ this little fracas. You’re gonna have to beat me to Magruder, Hayden. After what he done to Dick Little, I made up my mind that bringin’ him back ain’t worth the trouble. Knowin’ ’bout Elizabeth just makes his trip to the next life all the more certain.”

  I finally found my voice and asked Bix, “What happened? Couldn’t anyone stop it?”

  “Magruder and three others marched into Reed’s bold as brass. Shot old Mr. Reed dead while he was pourin’ cornmeal in a sack for Mrs. Hull, the Methodist preacher’s wife. They knew what they wanted. Didn’t even stop long enough to steal so much as a horseshoe nail. Snatched Elizabeth from behind the counter and scorched the countryside gettin’ away.”

  Harry loosened his saddle cinch. “You said four, Bix. We only knew about three. Magruder, Albrect, and Vander Lamorette.”

  “Don’t know ’bout Albrect or Lamorette. Folks what seen the thing recognized one of ’em as Tollman Pike.”

  My brain swam in my head like coffee grounds in a stirred pot. “Who the hell’s Tollman Pike? Where’d he come from?”

  Bix pulled my saddle off Thunder and threw it on the back of a long legged gray stallion he called Booger. “Tollman Pike and his two brothers’ve been a problem ’round these parts for as long as I’ve been chasin’ men for Judge Parker.”

  Billy led his freshly saddled mount over. “Yeah, Remo, Jackson, and Tollman. Tollman’s the oldest and the worst of the whole bunch. Bass Reeves put an end to Remo’s horse stealin’ last year. He’s in prison up in Detroit. Heard rumors someone caught Jackson over in the Cherokee Outlet and chopped his head off ’bout two months ago. Don’t know if it’s true or not.”

  Bix grinned. “Might not be true, but nobody’s seen him lately. We can all hope the blade was dull, if it actually happened.”

  Harry lit one of his cigars. “Tollman’s the worst of the three of ’em, alright. Been on a killin’ rip ever since he’s big enough to pick up a pistol. Some say, he dropped his first man when he’s just nine years old. Count’s gone as high as thirty according to the stories I’ve heard. Personally, I don’t believe ’em all, but he just might be more evil than Magruder. If such a thing’s possible.”

  Bix gave us all a quick look after making certain everything checked out on Booger. “Well, boys, we ready to go?”

  Harry climbed wearily into his saddle. “’Bout done in, but screwed down and sittin’ deep.”

  I knew how he felt. Every muscle in my body ached. I could feel my saddle between my shoulder blades. But about ten minutes after we started south, the only thing I could think about was Elizabeth and how I would get her back. Then about twenty minutes later, I’d made up my mind that even if it killed me she’d get back to Fort Smith safe and sound.

  12

  “I’VE HAD ENOUGH”

  JUNIOR PINCHED THE bridge of his nose, leaned forward in his chair, and stretched like Black Jack Pershing after an eight-hour nap. “Well, much as I want to hear the rest of this, it’s gonna have to wait. I’m wore out, Hayden. I’ll see you in the morning.” He wobbled out of Rolling Hills like a wagon dragging an axle in the dirt.

  Maybe all those memories I’d hauled out for the boy caused the dream that night—old nightmare, one that hadn’t bothered me since long before Elizabeth passed. Over the years, guess I must’ve dreamed it a thousand times.

  She looked so far away. I could see her, but it seemed as though she stood in the bottom of a deep well. Her mouth moved and her faint voice trembled with terror. I followed her cries into the darkness. As I lowered myself, my skin began to crawl with the feeling of being watched by thousands of eyes. Glistening globes, fastened to either side of flattened heads, snapped and hissed in the gloom.

  “My sweet Lord, they’re snakes!” I screamed down to her. The Winchester roared and bit back till a single huge serpent remained alive. Its body coiled endlessly around a Bible lying on Elizabeth’s stomach. Attached to the tail of the beast, a tiny pistol flashed and spit fire at me.

  “I have a message from the Book,” hissed the snake.

  The pages of the Bible fell open. The faces of my father, mother, and sister flew from its depths and rushed past me into the darkness of the well.

  “They belong to me,” wheezed the serpent. “You cannot have them.”

  I swung the Winchester to arm’s length. “Maybe so, but she’s mine. You’ll give her back.”

  Flame shot from the rifle muzzle. The fanged head shattered into millions of glistening slivers that fell to the floor and set fire to the bodies of its dead disciples.

  As I reached to help Elizabeth to her feet, she whispered, “Oh, my God, Hayden. Look!”

  Behind us, and all around our feet, the glittering pieces of the shattered creature squirmed and wiggled toward one another until they fused together and formed an even larger and more horrible marvel. Could still hear the big rifle’s roar when I sat up in my bed and tried to rub the image out of my brain.

  Hard to believe, but next morning a candy striper named Nancy wheeled Carlton J. Cecil out. He started yammering soon as his chair stopped rolling. “Thought I’d give up my guitar, didn’t you, Tilden?”

  “No, Carlton. You’re too ornery to die. If cussedness was gold, you’d be the richest old fart at Rolling Hills.”

  “Well, that black-robed bony-fingered sucker tried to take me again, but I told him he’d have to wait till Franklin J. Lightfoot published my friend’s story. Don’t lea
ve nothin’ out, you hear? Tell it all. Even the worst of it.” He smiled, leaned back in his chair, and nodded off. I knew he’d be looking for the checkerboard as soon as he woke up, so I arranged everything on the table the way he liked it and waited for Junior.

  Got to hand it to Lightfoot. He showed up at exactly the same time and looked like a brand new penny. He dragged his chair over, pulled the cushion out, and fluffed it up, before he kind of squirmed down into his nest.

  He flipped through the pages of his notepad and licked his pencil. “See our buddy’s back.”

  “Yes, sir. Guess ole Carlton decided to stay with the living a while longer. But don’t be surprised if he up and checks out while we’re sitting here talking.”

  Black Jack Pershing jumped up in Junior’s lap. “You mean he could die right here, right now?”

  “Oh, sure. Seen it lots of times before. You’ll be talking to one of these ole gomers and all of a sudden they get this funny look in their eyes like they need to go to the john or something. Then they kind of grin at you and flop right out on the floor—real eye-popping startler sometimes. ’Course, ole Carlton’s fought death off thirty-five or forty times this week, so if he buys the farm today it shouldn’t be any real great surprise.”

  The boy looked at me like I’d just presented him with a problem so complex the cosmic implications of the thing were just too hard on the brain so early in the morning. Young folks who read his account of my ramblings should be aware that old people have a way of doing this. It’s a trick we learn just to confuse them.

  He decided to ignore me. That’s the trick young people use to keep from thinking too much about the death of someone they know or love.

  “You had your breakfast already, Hayden?”

  “Yep. Cookey can rustle up a mean bowl of grits here at Rolling Hills. Sticks to you like ivy on a courthouse wall. Not as filling as her oatmeal, which I have been known to use to repair sagging wallpaper in my room, but close. ’Course, I personally get a hankering for biscuits and gravy ’bout twice a week, but they only have them on Fridays. Seems there’s some question as to the nutritional value of such basic Ole West food groups. Nurse Willet says I need to eat more fruit and stuff. But, I’m eighty-eight years old. I ought to be able to eat anything I please, don’t you think?”

  “Are we gonna get back to Bob Magruder’s kidnapping of your wife sometime today?”

  “Oh, yeah. Almost forgot. For about a minute there, Junior, fooled myself into thinking you’d just come for a visit.”

  For the next two days, we rode hard, ate in the saddle, and didn’t sleep much. Caesar must’ve got a heavy dose of Magruder’s scent, or maybe he just picked up on the urgency of it from all of us. He ran with such devotion, and for so long, we started to worry about whether he could keep it up. Old Bear went off into the woods one day after he tied the dog to a tree. Came back with a fistful of bark and tree roots. Cooked everything up in a coffeepot, and when it cooled off he poured some down the dog from a tin cup.

  “What’s that?” Billy stood next to Caesar and scratched the big dog’s head.

  “Medicine. It will calm him. He must slow down or die soon. Too good to die.” The old man ruffed the dog’s ears and put his face against its neck. “We find the Dark Man, maybe give him to you, Caesar.” He stood and walked back to the fire. “Want him hot for the trail. Don’t want him to give us away.”

  Late on the third day, Harry took the point behind Caesar. Old Bear fell back and rode with me. Just North of the Red River and west of the Clear Boggy, we came around a clump of scrubby brush in the middle of some light timber and almost tripped over an astonishing sight.

  Handsome Harry sat slumped against a tree. Didn’t realize he’d been shot, till we stopped. Just thought he’d taken time out for a siesta. Bix got to him first and started yelling for us to hurry over.

  Harry mumbled like we weren’t there. “Tha’ ole boy wuz . . . jus’ as fas’ uz . . . everyone said. But I doan thank . . . he’s fas’ ’nuff.” His words stumbled over one another like drunks on a Saturday binge.

  “Who’re you talking about, Harry?” Bix pulled the bloody shirt back. A neat hole just below the ribs on his left side oozed life onto the ground. We pulled him over and found where the bullet came out his back. Ugly wound. Billy stuffed a wad of material he ripped from an extra shirt into the hole. Harry made a strangled, moaning sound and passed out for a minute or so.

  When he came back around, first thing he said was, “You . . . fin’ him yet?”

  I leaned over so he could see my face. “Who’re you talking about, Harry?”

  “Pike. Tollman Pike. You . . . fin’ him yet?”

  “Ain’t looked for him, Harry.” Billy pushed a slab of cloth onto the spot under his friend’s ribs.

  “Should be oafer yonner. Should be oafer yonner.” He lifted his arm like it had a boat anchor attached and pointed into the trees at a spot about a hundred feet past his resting place. Bix stood, stared in the direction Harry indicated, and walked toward it.

  “What happen here, Harry?” Old Bear looked more concerned than I’d seen him since we met.

  Harry struggled to bring his head up. “Came ’roun these here . . . bushes. Pike . . . waitin’. Dog . . . got ’tween us. Lips . . . all curled back. ’Peared to me, Caesar . . . ’tended to take him down . . . right here.” He almost laughed, but coughed and groaned in pain.

  Billy dribbled water from his canteen over Harry’s lips. “I said, Tollman . . . you have ’lizabeth Tilden. I wan’ her. Give ’er up . . . or there’ll be hell to pay. He got real . . . nervous. Got to fingerin’ the rifle . . . he had layin’ ’crost his saddle horn.”

  Billy gave him a few more drops of water and I put a rolled cloth we’d wetted down behind his neck. “Pike said . . . he ain’t got her. Said . . . he’s jus’ here to slow us . . . down some. Said if we’d jus’ lay back a bit, he wouldn’t shoot . . . any of us. Then he brought that rifle . . . ’round in my direction. All the pushin’ I needed. Put a hole in him . . . ’bout the same place he hit me. We couldn’a been . . . more’n ten, fifteen feet ’part. Discharge from his weapon . . . knocked me righ’ here where I’m sittin’. His horse reared up . . . an’ spun ’round. ’Fore he took . . . more’n a couple steps . . . put two more in ’im . . . as he made for the trees.”

  Harry passed out again just as Bix ambled up from his search. He motioned for us to follow. “You boys gonna have to see this to believe it.”

  Old Bear made shooing motions at us. “Go. Go. I will stay with our friend.”

  Billy and I followed Bix toward the tree line. We hadn’t gone but about fifty feet or so when he pointed at a hat on the ground. “Harry musta fired twice. First one went through Pike’s sombrero. Second one did that.” He stopped, and we had to move around him to see what he pointed out.

  I walked it off. Twenty paces past where Pike’s hat hit the ground, the man lay across the neck of his dead horse. We all stood there gape-mouthed, staring at the wildest thing any of us had ever seen.

  Bix pulled at the collar of Pike’s vest and raised the corpse up. “Second bullet went into his back just under the left shoulder blade. Came out his chest and hit the horse right twixt the ears. Guess the horse ’uz goin’ so fast they both kinda flew to here. Then the whole shebang went down like a bucket of rocks. Don’t know ’bout you boys, but this here is the damnedest pistol shot I ever seen. Man and beast rubbed out with one .45 slug. Glad y’all ’uz here ’cause nobody’s gonna believe this when I tell it.”

  Billy stood there scratching his chin like a man who’d just seen leprechauns dancing in the woods over a pot of gold. Then he started laughing. Jerked a John Doe warrant out of his vest, dropped it on Pike’s corpse, and said, “Consider yourself served, you kidnappin’ bastard. Normally we’d bury you, but you just shot my friend, and we’re gonna have to be away from here pretty quick. So you’ll just have to sit here and stink. Be an example to all the others like you. Hope the wolves g
et you, you woman-stealin’ pile of horse dung.” He stomped away, but came back with his ink roller before we left, and slapped a gob on Pike’s right hand.

  Bix brought a bottle of whiskey over to where Harry still lay unconscious. He poured some on the wound, then pushed the neck of the bottle into the bullet hole and held it there. Most of it ran through the man and out the opening in his back. When the liquid mingled with all the blood pooled in the dirt, Bix and Old Bear nodded and smiled. Billy brought his kit over and bandaged the wounds about as well as any doctor could’ve managed.

  We’d been stopped for over an hour when I said, “Well, one of us is going to have to take him to Fort Smith. This traveling circus has got to get moving, and we can’t drag him around with us or leave him here. I don’t know enough about bullet wounds like this to have any idea if he’ll survive, but if he don’t get to a doctor soon, I’d guess chances won’t be good.”

  Billy squatted, picked up a twig, and snapped it. “I ain’t goin’ back. I love ole Handsome like a brother, but Magruder and his bunch needs killin’, and I aim to see it done.”

  Bix fumbled with his hat and wiped sweat from his face with a red bandanna. “No need for us to argue about it. I’ll take him back. You boys help me build a travois, and I’ll get him moving toward help soon’s I can.”

  I shook the old marshal’s hand. I could tell his concern for our friend was deeper than he let on. “Thanks, Bix, I appreciate it.”

  Later, Old Bear, Billy, and I watched as they started north. Harry didn’t come around before they left, and there was no chance to say good-bye. Then, Old Bear took the lead. We almost sucked the leaves off the trees getting back on the trail. Next day, we crossed the Red River and turned west. They’d slowed down a lot, and we gained on them.

  We’d pulled up to rest the horses when Billy said, “They’ve started to panic. Magruder must have thought Tollman would stop us.” He threw his head back and laughed. “Liked to have seen the shock on their faces when they all realized Tollman was most likely dead. Need to get yourself ready, Hayden. I’d bet tomorrow they turn back north, cross the Red again, and head for the safety of the Nations. Magruder’s smart enough to know his chances are better over there than here in Texas. Not many towns, even fewer people on the other side. Don’t worry. We’re close. Lot closer than he’d like. Look for him to throw another one of his bootlickers at us. Likely it’ll be Vander Lamorette. He’s the most dangerous one left. Personally, I’d rather face Magruder than Lamorette. Don’t expect me to give either man any ground. I’ll kill ’em the first chance I get.”