by Lee Pierce
“Yeah, he is, marshal,” said the other man, a wide grin covering his hawklike features. “But most of the time his Irish blood covers up the Comanche in him.”
The room was lit with two coal-oil lanterns, and as Jack’s eyes adjusted to the room he recognized the men who were hurrahing him. “Sorry, Ethan,” he said, still frowning, “it’s just that I see that crook, Will Cosgrove, has got himself a bank. Dang, I hate that yellow-livered, back-shootin’, gut-eatin’…”
Marshal Tolliver held up his hand. “All right, Jack, you’ve made your point. Now shut up and sit down.” Silverjack sucked in a lungful of air and opened his mouth to continue his tirade. The marshal pointed his finger at Jack, and the irate deputy marshal stopped, closed his mouth, and obeyed his superior’s order. He pulled up a worn-out, old oak chair and plopped onto it next to the other man in the office. For the first time Jack looked at his tormentor. Even sitting, the man looked taller than most. His broad shoulders rivaled Silverjack’s, but the thing that set him off from most people was a thick, black mustache that drooped past his chin. The mustache, combined with his sharp features, gave him an evil looking countenance.
“Well, dang me for a shanty Irish gold miner’s son,” said Jack. “Pharaoh Smith, what are you doin’ in these parts? Last time I saw you was in Santa Fe, what, maybe five years ago. You was a big-time bounty hunter.” Jack noticed the badge pinned to Pharaoh’s faded blue shirt. “Hey, you’re wearing a deputy marshal’s badge. When did you get so desperate for work?”
Before Pharaoh could speak up, Marshal Tolliver jumped in. “Speaking of badges, Deputy Marshal McDonald, I don’t see yours anywhere on you.”
“Huh,” said Jack. “Oh, I got it here someplace. Just a minute, let me think. Well, durn, I believe I left it in my saddlebags. I’ll just go fetch it.”
“No, Jack, you won’t just go fetch it,” Marshal Tolliver said, his face a granite mask “I have something to tell both of you.” He hesitated. “Dan Cable has been shot to death.”
Jack and Pharaoh jerked a glance at each other, then looked back at their boss.
“What happened?” Pharaoh said, his jaw clenched tight. “Wasn’t he down at that sleepy, little town close to the Mexican border? I thought nothing worse than a long dry spell ever happened at that place.”
Marshal Tolliver leaned back in his chair, sighed, and told his deputies what had happened in Lucasville. “After the raiders killed Dan, they ransacked the town, burning the marshal’s office, the post office, and the bank to the ground after they robbed it. Two women were defiled and half-a-dozen men were killed. I don’t know how many were wounded.”
“When did you find out about this?” Jack asked, rubbing the scar on his face.
“Three days ago. A rider brought the news. That’s when I sent for you, Jack. Deputy Marshal Smith was already in town.”
“What’s the plan?” asked Pharaoh.
“I want the two of you to ride to Lucasville and survey the damage. Take charge of the situation, and help the townspeople put their lives back together. Stay in town until the army gets there.”
“Why the army, Ethan?” said Jack. “We can go after those polecats. Give us half-a-dozen deputies, and we’ll clean out that border trash.”
Marshal Tolliver rubbed a callused hand down his face. “That’s just what we’re not going to do, Jack. I won’t have you starting an international incident over some border scrape just so you can get revenge for Dan’s killing.” He sucked in a deep breath and let the air slide out of his nose. “Hell, we all liked Dan Cable. He was a damned good man. No one would like to get his murderers any more than I would. But that is not our job.”
“Well, goddamn a bear,” Jack said. “We’re gonna play nursemaid to a town while the cavalry is havin’ all the fun chasing down those pistoleros. That ain’t right.”
“Pharaoh, do you feel the same way that Jack does?” Ethan Tolliver’s eyes shot fire. Silverjack had pissed him off.
Pharaoh took off his hat and ran his hand through his dark brown, curly hair. He shook his head. “We’ll do it, marshal. Jack will be okay once he calms down and comes to his senses. The job will get done.”
Jack started to protest when Pharaoh shot him a withering glance. The muscles of Jack’s jaw popped out as he ground his teeth together, but his mouth remained closed. He nodded his head.
“When can we leave?” Pharaoh said, adjusting his hat onto his head.
“Get a voucher from the bank for supplies, load up, and head out as quick as you can. I’ve wired the army, and they should be there within a week.” Marshal Tolliver glared at Silverjack. “Deputy Marshal McDonald, if you don’t follow my orders, you’ll be in a helluva lot more trouble than those border raiders. Understand?”
“Yes, sir, Ethan,” said Jack, managing a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll act like a church deacon.”
The marshal frowned. “One more thing, Deputy McDonald—don’t call me Ethan.”
“Yes, sir, Ethan,” said Jack as he rushed out the door.
After agreeing to leave at dawn the next day, the two men separated. Pharaoh walked toward the bank to pick up a voucher and then get the supplies they needed for the trip. Silverjack walked Bess to the livery stable to have her grained and rubbed down. He and Pharaoh planned to meet for supper later on in the evening. By the time the men finished their chores, the Blue Bell Café was closed. The Busted Hump Saloon served steak and beans all night long, so they headed there for their evening meal.
It was a Wednesday night, and the part-time churchgoers were at one of the two churches in town, so The Busted Hump wasn’t too busy. Only the true-blue heathens were at the bar drinking. Silverjack and Pharaoh took a table in the back and ordered steak and beans along with two cold beers. After the waiter brought their beer, they settled back and discussed their mission.
“Hell’s bells, Pharaoh,” said Silverjack, furrowing his brow, “I know damn well that you feel the same way about Dan Cable as I do. Why didn’t you speak your piece in Ethan’s office?”
“Jack, if I had opened my mouth, Marshal Tolliver would have taken both of us off this case and found somebody else.”
“Naw, he wouldn’t do that. We’re the best men he’s got.” Jack fingered the ugly scar on his face. “Do you really think he would?”
“Just as sure as you’re hard-headed as an old mossy horn, Jack.”
“Hmmm…” Silverjack sighed but said no more.
The waiter showed up with their food and two more beers. They dug into their steaks like starving coyotes and didn’t speak again until their plates were clean.
Come daylight the next day, the two marshals were headed south toward Lucasville. Neither man spoke as they urged their horses to a steady lope. Silverjack’s mare, Bess, could eat up ground all day at the pace they set. Texican, Pharaoh’s mustang gelding, had equal stamina and heart.
The sun crept over the flat horizon, bathing the rock countryside with a golden sheet slashed with fingers of pink and silver. Spring enveloped the morning air, and the scarce vegetation bloomed in a rainbow of colors, making the desert seem more hospitable than it really was. The cool of the day would soon be replaced with a dry desert heat.
The two riders covered as many miles as possible before the sunlight began to scorch the land. Noon found them searching for a place with enough shade to conceal their mounts from the sun while they rested.
Silverjack tugged on Bess’s reins. He pulled off the shapeless mass of beaver felt he called a hat and fanned it in front of his face. “Pharaoh, is that a mirage, or do I see a stand of trees up yonder?”
“Looks like the real thing, Jack, but that’s not all I see. Look up in the sky.”
“Uh-huh. Looks to be a dozen or so buzzards circling around up there.”
“Strange thing is we’re downwind and I don’t smell anything dead.”
“Yeah, but there’s something that’s gonna die pretty soon. I smell a man down there. Let’s ride in real slow. Unhitch your iron; this might be a trap.”
Silverjack pulled his Winchester from the buffalo hide scabbard resting under his right leg. Pharaoh flipped the leather thong off his Colt .44 and loosened it in his holster. Jack rode out a few yards ahead while Pharaoh edged his horse to the left and followed his partner into the trees.
“Hello the trees!” Jack yelled out, his eyes flickering back and forth. No answer. He moved Bess closer and called out again. This time a muffled sound caught his attention. He motioned Pharaoh around behind three large cottonwood trees that were clumped together with creosote bushes and prickly pear cactus. The eight-foot-high stand of cactus obscured the lower parts of the trees. Jack cocked the Winchester and walked Bess around the prickly pear. The sight that greeted him caused Jack to jerk his head back. He scanned the area carefully to make sure he hadn’t ridden into a trap.
Satisfied everything was okay, Jack called out to Pharaoh to join him in the grove. When the other marshal rode around the trees, he jerked his horse to a halt and stared openmouthed. There, hanging upside down, his feet lashed to a thick cottonwood limb, dangled an enormous Negro man. His hands were strapped behind his back with rawhide strips, and his mouth was gagged with a bloody bandana. All he had on was a pair of grimy black long johns. The man’s chest rose and fell in an easy rhythmic manner. He was either unconscious or sleeping.
“God in Heaven, Jack,” said Pharaoh. “Who could have done such a thing to a man?”
Jack spat into the dirt and cussed. “Looks like somebody don’t like the color of this man’s skin.”
“A man’s a man.”
“Not to most people in these parts. If you ain’t lily-white you ain’t human. Whoever did this is in a heap of trouble if this man lives.”
“Do you know him?”
“I reckon I do. He saved my bacon more than once when I was ridin’ the owl hoot trail up in Colorado some time back.”
“We’d better cut him down before he dies on us.”
“Hell, Black Tom ain’t gonna die hangin’ from a tree, leastways hangin’ upside down. He’ll live, all right. We’ve just got to be sure he ain’t playin’ possum on us. Pull your six-shooter and aim it at him like you mean to blow his head off.”
Pharaoh did as he was told. Jack rode to within three feet of the hanging man and laid his Winchester up against the black man’s temple. “Tom, this is Silverjack McDonald. I know you’re playin’ possum. We don’t mean you no harm. We intend to cut you down and help you out, so don’t be makin’ no sudden moves. If you understand me, open your eyes and nod that big ol’ nappy head of yours.”
The two marshals waited but nothing happened. Pharaoh glanced at Jack with questioning eyes. Jack returned the stare, and then he looked up at the buzzards and shook his head. “All right, Pharaoh, I guess I made a mistake. This ain’t the man I thought it was. He sure looks like my old compadre, Black Tom Raines, but I reckon lots of folks look alike hangin’ upside down. We’ll leave this one to the buzzards.”
“It’s me, Jack,” the hanging man mumbled around the gag in his mouth. Two bloodshot eyes glared up at Silverjack.
“Well, I’ll be switched,” said Jack. “This is my old friend. Pharaoh, help me cut this hard-headed hombre down. I can’t hardly wait to hear his story.”
Chapter 3
Jack and Pharaoh cut Tom Raines down and carried him over to where a small spring bubbled up from some rocks in the middle of the trees. They laid him on the ground and cut his bindings. Jack removed the blood-soaked bandanna and tossed it aside, then put his canteen to Tom’s parched lips. The dehydrated man sucked water down his throat, spilling it all over his face and neck.
“Whoa there, amigo, you’ll strangle yourself if you ain’t careful,” Jack said, pulling the canteen from Tom’s clawing grasp.
Tom struggled to hang onto the canteen, but his feeble strength failed him. His hands dropped to his sides. He groaned as he stretched his neck and tried to rub away the tingle in his arms. He began to quiver as the blood flow caused needles of fire to shoot through his legs. Seeing Tom’s discomfort, Jack rubbed one leg while Pharaoh rubbed the other. Tom struggled in silence.
After a few minutes, Tom’s body began to relax. He raised his hand, and the two marshals ceased rubbing. Jack handed him the canteen, and this time the black man sipped instead.
“Jack,” said Pharaoh, “we’re not going any farther today until we find out the situation with your friend. We’ve got good shade and water here. I’ll start building camp. You talk to Tom and find out what happened.”
Jack nodded and Pharaoh headed for the horses. Jack removed his neckerchief and dipped it in the cool spring water. Squeezing out the excess water, he mopped Tom’s head. Tom lay still as Jack worked the wet cloth.
“Tom, I sure would like to know how a top-notch gun hand like you came to be hangin’ downside-up from a tree. There ain’t no hurry in tellin’ me, though. Take your time. We’ll stay with you ’til you can fend for yourself.”
“Damn it, Jack, I ain’t much on gratitude,” said Tom, his voice weak but clear. “But you and your friend saved my bacon and my beans. I owe you, old timer.”
Fire shot across Jack’s eyes. “Tom Raines, you may be my friend, and right now you’re not doin’ too well, but if you call me that again, there may be some new knots put on your head. You dang well know I don’t like to be called that word, and just because my hair’s grey don’t mean I’m old.”
Tom smiled. “Damn, Silverjack, you ain’t changed a bit. I surely am glad about that.” He tried to lift himself up on his elbows. “Say, pardner, could you help me sit against this rock behind me? I’m tired of lookin’ up at you.”
Jack stuck his arms under Tom’s armpits and lifted him to a sitting position. Tom let out a big sigh and drizzled more water down his throat. “What are you two hard cases doin’ in this godforsaken country, Jack? Last time I heard, you were ridin’ high in the Texas Rangers.”
“I’ll tell you about that in due time, Tom. But first, what in blazes happened to you?”
“Well, me and the Compton brothers were ridin’ together huntin’ bounties. I didn’t like those boys too much, but they hired me to help go after Milo Truax and his gang. We caught Milo and four of his boys while they were camped out at night. Got them without firing a shot.”
“Y’all were lucky,” Jack said, fingering his scar. They’re a pretty salty lot. Then what happened?”
“We got to this spring and decided to camp for the night. When we got settled in, Earl Compton decided it would be easier to take the gang in if they were dead. That fool up and shot Milo right between the eyes while he was sittin’ there tied up like a Christmas turkey.”
“I’ll be damned,” said Jack.
“Yeah, well hell, I jumped up to stop him from killing anybody else. And when I did, the lights went out. Next thing I remember, I’m hangin’ upside down from a tree limb.”
“Do you suppose they killed the whole bunch of prisoners?”
“I reckon they must have. When I woke up, everybody and everything was gone. I’m not sure how long ago they left. It seems like a long time but I don’t know. Watchin’ buzzards fly around lookin’ at my toes sort of took up my thinking. I was tryin’ to figure a way out of my predicament when I heard you two riding up. I didn’t know if it was the Comptons riding back or what, so I played possum. I was sure happy to recognize that whiskey voice of yours.”
“Whiskey voice,” said Jack. He started to say something else when Pharaoh interrupted him.
“Camp’s set up,” said Pharaoh. “Arbuckles will be boiling soon. So what’s the story on Mr. Raines?”
While Jack set about fixing some grub, he relayed Tom’s story to Pharaoh. Tom lay back and closed his eyes. When the story was f
inished, Pharaoh shook his head.
“Nothing but flat-out meanness would cause Earl Compton to do what he did to those boys. Tom, do you have any idea where the Comptons were headed?”
“We were taking Milo’s gang into Lucasville.” Tom kept his eyes closed. “That’s the closest town with any kind of law in it.”
“Not anymore,” said Silverjack.
By the time the sun squinted over the horizon the next morning, the three men had already broken camp and headed south. Tom took turns riding with Silverjack and Pharaoh. The sun was casting slight shadows to the east when the riders topped a sandstone knoll, and Lucasville came into view.
‘There she is,” said Silverjack, reining in Bess. “Sure don’t look like much of a town.”
“Big enough for a man to die in,” said Pharaoh.
“Yeah, amigo, I reckon you’re right enough there. Let’s ride in a little closer. When we get to that grove of trees over yonder, you get down, Tom, and lie low. Me and Pharaoh will ride in and scope the place out before we let anybody know we’re marshals. There ain’t no way of tellin’ if the Comptons are in Lucasville.”
“There’s a good chance they left already, Jack,” said Pharaoh. “With Dan dead, they’ll have to ride to Gila Bend to find the closest lawman to get their reward.”
“Maybe so. We’re wastin’ time talkin’ about it. Let’s go on in.”
They rode to the copse of trees, where Tom slid off the back of Pharaoh’s horse. Silverjack shucked his Winchester and gave it to him.
“Stay low, Tom. We’ll come back and get you if everything is all right. But you come a- foggin’ it if any shootin’ starts.”
Tom nodded and began to settle in amongst the trees. Silverjack and Pharaoh turned their horses toward Main Street and headed them at an easy walk into town. As they rode into Lucasville, both men kept a sharp watch out for anything peculiar. The place was little more than a village. Having a U.S. Post Office and a bank qualified it as a township. Now with both burned to the ground, the future of Lucasville was uncertain.
