by John Hansen
The judge, a medium-sized man with salt-and-pepper hair and a large moustache that mostly hid his lips and a goatee, nodded his head. “The Second, they did good work. Do I detect a Texas accent in your speech?”
“Yes sir,” replied Josh humbly. “I’m from Galveston.”
“Oh yes, yes I’ve been there a number of times,” said the judge approvingly. “So do your people make their living from the sea?”
Josh wasn’t sure how to take the judge’s congenial behavior towards him. He’d heard that he was a hard man, giving little quarter to violent criminals. Outwardly, he didn’t seem to be that kind of a guy, but the judge was wearing a black suit coat that was unbuttoned and there was no mistaking the butt of a pistol in a shoulder holster. “My folks run a mercantile,” said Josh. “A lot of their goods come by ship, so I guess in a sense they make some of their living from the sea.”
“I was always fascinated by the sea,” said the judge sincerely. “I thought for a time that it might be my calling in life until I had occasion to be on a ship at sea for about a week. Never been so sick in my life.” And then the judge slapped the desk and roared with laughter as if he had just told a great joke. Josh laughed politely. There was an awkwardness building in the room, but just as it did the judge became serious, leaning forward in his chair. “So, I figure you know what my name is or you wouldn’t be here, but that leaves me at a disadvantage,” said the judge in an almost flippant manner.
Josh hesitated before saying it as he knew the judge would be taken by surprise, but he figured, what the hell, why not? “I’m Deputy U.S. Marshal Josh Morrow.”
The judge snorted. “What the hell are you talking about? I know all of the lawmen in these parts and you aren’t one of them.”
Josh reached into his shirt pocket and took out his badge. “Marshal Johnson deputized me ‘bout a week ago up at Bear Creek.”
The judge eyed the badge but didn’t ask to look at it closer. “So what prompted the marshal to deputize you?”
“Well Judge Higgins, things has pretty much gone to hell around Bear Creek, least ways for decent folks it has. The law up there ain’t no help. In fact they might be the problem.”
The judge frowned. “I’d heard rumors to that effect but I didn’t know if I should believe them or not, that’s why Caleb went up there.”
“I can tell you, Judge, that the marshal didn’t trust the sheriff in Bear Creek, and he wasn’t lettin’ on to anybody who he was until I ran into him,” replied Josh.
“So why did he tip his hand to you?” asked the judge.
Josh’s heartbeat quickened. “I reckon ‘cause I was lookin’ for justice for a friend of mine from my army days that went to Bear Creek and struck a good-payin’ claim and got bushwhacked for it. I couldn’t get any help from the sheriff up there.”
“Caleb didn’t offer to help you?” asked the judge.
“Well sir, it appeared he had bigger fish to fry,” said Josh. “He was workin’ with this merchant name of Stevenson. He had a plan all cooked up with him.”
The judge nodded. “Yes, I know. We talked about it before Caleb left.”
“To tell you the truth, sir, I figured the marshal would be here by now,” replied Josh.
The judge had a worried look on his face. “That being the case, Stevenson should be close behind.” The judge paused. It was obvious to Josh that he was pondering his options. Momentarily, he looked Josh in the eye. It was almost like a hard stare intended to melt away any façade that Josh might be perpetrating. “So just how committed to being a lawman are you?” he asked in a tone of voice that was bordering on accusatorial—accusatorial in the sense that Josh had taken the deputy’s badge only to facilitate his quest to avenge his friend’s murder.
The question had caught Josh by surprise. He’d never given much thought to being a lawman long term. He’d been thinking pretty much that when Seth’s affair was settled that he would move on to the Salmon River country and try and pick up where he had left off. But now the judge was putting it to him point-blank: where did he stand? It was a fair question. He’d stood behind the badge when confronting Leroy and Edgar. He’d pushed that confrontation to the limit, knowing that the law was on his side and that it would, hopefully, back his play. Maybe now it was time for some payback. “Sir, I gotta be straight up with ya’ll,” began Josh soberly. “All the time I was in the army I had this dream that when I got out I was gonna get me a ranch and settle down. But I kinda looked at the army as something that I had to do first, it was like I needed to do my share to help make the country safe for folks. And now…” Josh paused. “…well sir, it seems like that job is never done. And so, like it or not, if a man doesn’t want the country to go straight to hell, there is gonna be times when he has to step up and make things right, and I reckon this is one of those times.”
The judge appeared satisfied with Josh’s answer. “Good,” he said. “There’s lots to be done and no one really to do it. Bear Creek is beyond the jurisdiction of the sheriff here, and the army is dealing with some Indian raids down along the Snake River. I’ve got a bad feeling about the marshal. If he doesn’t show up tomorrow I want you to see if you can find him. He told me before he left that he intended to take the pack trail up Chokecherry Canyon, and then after he topped out of there he was gonna drop back down on the main wagon road. Finding the marshal and Stevenson’s gold is our first priority. Are we in agreement on that?”
“Yes sir, we are.” Josh had that uneasy feeling again. He was about to find out if the law had his back. “But there’s something that you should know.”
The judge’s expression was more concern than curiosity. “What’s that?” he said flatly.
“I found the man that murdered my friend. I confronted him with the proof right there on my friend’s claim. I tried to arrest him, to get him to come along peaceably, but he wouldn’t have any part of it. He took a shot at me and then the fight was on. Long story short is I killed him in a gun battle that he started.”
The judge was silent for a moment before reaching to an inside pocket of his coat and getting a plug of chewing tobacco. He bit off a decent-sized piece and then returned the plug to his pocket. “Any witnesses to this?” he asked as he made several exaggerated chewing motions before positioning the chaw in his left cheek.
“Yes, sir,” replied Josh. “The dead man’s partner was there when it started, but he took off as soon as the first shots was fired.”
The judge smiled briefly. “So if he was willing to tell the truth it’d be that his partner fired first?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Josh.
The judge slid his chair back slightly, and pursing his lips he leaned to the right and spit a stream of tobacco juice in the brass spittoon that sat on the floor next to his desk; most but not all of the juice made it. The judge wiped his moustache with the back of his hand as he sat erect. “Well, son, it don’t sound like to me that you got a helluva lot to worry about. Appears to me that you gave this scoundrel a chance to come along peacefully and he chose not to. In my experience that’s the behavior of a guilty man.”
For Josh, hearing these words was a huge relief. He’d had to answer to the law for killing two men inside of about a week and both times the law had backed him—albeit reluctantly in the case of the Swede. “Thanks, Judge,” said Josh humbly. “I appreciate your support.”
The judge sighed. “Well, son, decent folks shouldn’t have to stress over their welfare as a result of being dragged through the muck by the unsavory side of our society. You acted in self-defense and truth be told you saved this court the trouble of having to hang this varmint.”
Josh stood before the judge. Here was the no-nonsense judge that he’d been told about. His mind flashed back to his negotiations with Leroy. Perhaps this was why Leroy was adamant about not surrendering. Regardless, Josh was just glad that he and the judge were on the same side.
Chapter Seventeen
It was a few minutes before six and
the dining-room table was already set for supper. It was a long table with high-back wooden chairs sufficient to accommodate ten people if need be. Tonight, however, there were only seven place settings. This owed to the fact that of the eight rooms in the boardinghouse only seven were rented; this included the marshal’s, and he, of course, wasn’t coming. Still, a seventh plate was necessary due to a mining engineer from San Francisco having brought his wife along.
The moment that Josh stepped into the hallway outside his room, he could smell the food being prepared in the kitchen below. It reminded him of his mother’s home cooking and it made him all the more hungry. As he descended the narrow wooden stairs, Josh could hear voices coming from the dining area. All of his fellow dining companions were already there—and Lisa. Lisa’s voice was prominent among them; however, as Josh quietly entered the far end of the dining room, everyone’s attention was fixated on a well-dressed, middle-aged man who was railing on about, as he put it, “the moral depravity that had gripped the area.”
“Why just up the road here in Idaho City half the population is Chinese and”—he paused to make eye contact with Lisa and the mining engineer’s wife—“begging your pardon, ladies,” and then turning to the men at the table he continued, “a large number of these Chinese are prostitutes. Purveyors of disease and misery catering to the carnal weaknesses of men, that’s all they are.”
Josh paused at the entrance to the dining room. What is this, he said to himself, a church meetin’ or supper? He was having second thoughts about staying when the mining engineer’s wife made eye contact with him, which soon alerted the others to his presence and caused a lull in the conversation. “Good evening, Mr. Morrow,” said Lisa. “Please join us. We were just about to eat.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Josh took a seat opposite the man doing all of the talking. He’d barely sat down when the talker opposite him noticed his badge and said: “Sir, I see by your badge that we share a common goal.”
“How’s that?” responded Josh somewhat sourly.
Sensing Josh’s impatience, the talker said: “Forgive me, I’m Reverend Corneilus Hathcock. The area of commonality between us, as I see it, is that we are both trying to rid the country of evil and wickedness. Don’t you agree?”
Josh did not want to get into a discussion with the reverend. He just wanted to have some supper and get a good night’s sleep. Preacher men, as he saw it, were always passing judgment even though the good book said: “Judge not for ye shall be judged also.” It seemed as if everyone’s eyes were upon Josh waiting for a response to the reverend, and so he said: “Well, Reverend, I think you and I’s take on things is probably a little different.”
“In what way?” said the reverend, a little surprised.
Josh sighed. What a way to ruin a good meal, he thought. “Well, Reverend, I heard ya’ll going on about the Chinese prostitutes and the disease and misery they was spreadin’.” Now to my way ah thinkin’.” Josh paused briefly as Sarah flashed through his mind. “I think, given a choice, that probably most all of them prostitutes would rather make a livin’ doing something else. If you stop and think about it in these here times, one way or another, women are going to be at the beck and call of men.”
Clearly, the reverend was taken aback. He’d expected a deputy marshal to be right there in lockstep with his condemnation of prostitution. “I hate to be disagreeable, Deputy,” replied the reverend curtly, “but in my opinion most of these prostitutes have succumbed to weakness and taken the easy route.”
Josh’s pulse rate shot up. “Ya’ll call a life of being beat, cheated out of their money, infected with social diseases, and most likely dying young an easy route?” Josh sighed disgustedly. “Sorry to offend you, Reverend, but I think you’re a pompous idiot. You seem to have forgotten that Jesus forgave the prostitute.”
The reverend’s eyes widened and his face was turning red with embarrassment. It was clear to him from the expressions on the faces of the other people in the room that his position was not being favorably received. Still, the reverend glared at Josh. “How dare you speak to me in that manner,” he said in as venomous a tone as he could muster. “If I was not a man of the cloth and adverse to violence I’d call you outside.” And with that the reverend took the napkin from his lap and threw it down onto his still clean plate and stood.
Josh had not intended to say the things that he had but his emotions, perhaps newly formed since meeting Sarah, had gotten away from him and so he said: “My apologies, Reverend.”
But it was too late and the reverend walked briskly from the room and out the front door, slamming it behind him.
There was dead silence in the room except for the occasional clanking of a serving plate or cooking pot in the kitchen where the cook, Lisa’s mother Annabel, was busy getting the food ready to be served. And then just as the uneasy smiles in the room were about to demand commentary from someone, Annabel backed through the swinging door that separated the dining room and kitchen. She had a platter of roast beef in one hand and mashed potatoes in the other. Within seconds she sensed something was amiss from the silence, which was confirmed by the expression on Lisa’s face and the absence of the reverend, but she didn’t let on to these observations as she said cheerfully: “Supper is served.” And then she said, looking directly at Lisa: “Could you help me bring the rest of the food out?” Lisa nodded and followed her mother into the kitchen.
“Smells delicious,” said the mining engineer.
“Most definitely,” added a rotund little businessman opposite the engineer’s wife.
But then not to be outdone in complimenting the host’s food, a crusty little guy with a salt-and-pepper beard sitting next to Josh said: “Ya’ll better get what ya want when the plate comes ‘round ‘cause I’m so damned hungry I could eat fly-blowed mule and lick the plate.”
Josh had to suppress a smile as he noticed from the corner of his eye the engineer’s wife cringe. So far, supper—Boise for that matter—had made him appreciate the tranquility of staying with Sarah at Lester’s place. He imagined that they and Rufus were sitting down to supper about now too.
It was just about simultaneous the opening of the door to the street and the door to the kitchen. Seeing a man standing in the parlor, Lisa quickly set the food that she had brought from the kitchen down on the dining-room table. Wiping her hands on her apron as she walked, she went to the man in the parlor and after a brief exchange returned with him. “Everyone, this is Mr. Perkins. He’ll be joining us for supper,” said Lisa as she guided the stranger to the reverend’s vacant chair. And then seeing the crumpled napkin on the reverend’s plate, Lisa quickly snatched it away. “I’ll get you a fresh napkin.”
It was Perkins himself who broke the social ice jam for free-flowing dialogue. He was a skinny man, not too tall with short blond hair, and a cherubic face which was consistent with his apparent inability to grow a beard as he had just a wisp of some chin whiskers. “I’ll tell you,” he said as the food began to be passed around the table, “I was torn if I should eat or just get good and drunk tonight. I don’t know. I might just do both.”
There was something about the young man that piqued Josh’s curiosity, and so at the risk of being the target of Perkins’ loquaciousness he asked: “Why’s that?”
Perkins looked up from the plate of roast beef in his hand towards Josh. It was only then that he saw Josh’s badge. “Why hell’s fire, you’re the man I need to be talkin’ to anyway. I was gonna look up the sheriff after supper but you’ll do.”
“Well then spit it out, mister,” said Josh impatiently.
By this time all eyes in the room were on Perkins. “Well, sir,” began Perkins, “I come down from that Bear Creek country.” And then it was as if just the mention of Bear Creek had sent him in another direction, and he said: “I’ll tell you what, there ain’t no more godless place than if you was dead and going straight down. I had my fill of it and decided I was just gonna get out with this little poke of du
st that I scraped outa the ground and call it good.”
“So is this what ya’ll wanted to tell me?” interrupted Josh.
“Oh hell no,” exclaimed Perkins. “Everybody knows what a vile place Bear Creek is. I was comin’ to what I needed to tell you. Late yesterday, I came across some freight wagons up at Sheep Springs. All the drivers was dead. Appeared they’d stopped for the day and somebody just came into their camp and got the drop on’em and then just shot’em like they was being executed.”
It’s gotta be Stevenson’s party, said Josh to himself. “Where was this at?” asked Josh.
“Sheep Springs,” replied Perkins. “It’s ‘bout a good solid day’s travel northeast of here.”
“How many bodies were there?” asked Josh.
“Well sir, there was four wagons and four bodies,” said Perkins. “I seen these fellars sellin’ their goods up at Bear Creek. Looked like they was doin’ a pretty lively business so I ‘spect whoever robbed ‘em made off with a good amount of gold.”
“I reckon so,” said Josh pensively. “What about the dead men’s personal belongings, were they disturbed or taken?”
Perkins paused as if he were reconstructing the image of the dead men’s camp in his mind before answering. “You know, Deputy, now that you ask, I don’t believe that they was. Things looked liked they was in their proper place except them fellars was all laying together near their fire ring colder’n last week’s coffee.”
Josh pondered this information. It sounded to him that Stevenson was going along with the marshal’s plan by not putting up any resistance and just handing over the fool’s gold, but they got themselves killed anyway. The only question was if it was because the bandits detected the ruse or they just didn’t want any witnesses. Regardless, Josh needed to let the judge know what had happened. Pushing his chair back from the table, Josh said: “Nice to have met you folks, but if ya’ll will excuse me I got some business to tend to.” And with that Josh started for the front door. He had just stepped outside when he heard someone behind him.
