Dakota Trail

by David R Lewis

  I got up beside him an’ seen that Marvin fella what had give us trouble in the saloon, layin’ there on his back. His shirt was showin’ blood from near the base a his neck toward the shoulder a little bit an’ off center in his chest a ways to the right side. He was cussin’ at us an’ kindly gurglin’ some.

  “Shut yer mouth, you sonofabitch,” Marion growled. “You ain’t got nothin’ to say I wanna hear.”

  He kicked that ol’ boy in the side a his head then, right smart. Marvin didn’t have nothin’ else he tried to say to us.

  “Ain’t this a mess,” Marion went on. “Ruben, go back to the house an’ ask Mister Rafferty if he might git aholt a the local law. We mebbe could have this settled up afore too long. It’s durn near time for breakfast.”

  I did, an’ then went back across the street to where Marion was waitin’. I carried them two cups a coffee with me.

  It took around ten minutes or so afore a fella by the name a Forest Hickman showed up. He was kindly chubby, three or four inches shorter than me, looked to be about sixty-years-old, had whatcha might call a serious attitude, an’ was the High Sheriff for Sioux Falls. He’d heer’d a Marion Daniels an’ after we tolt about what had went on, said he’d take care a the mess. Marion mentioned we was fixin’ to git back over to the Sunrise Café for a bite ta eat. Sheriff Hickman said he’d come by that way in a spell, as soon as he got the body picked up an’ such. We thanked him about bein’ so good about everthin’, an’ went on our way.

  When we got back to the café, I had me some biscuits an’ gravy with a order a bacon an’ eggs. Marion said that sounded so good that he ordered the same thing. We was just startin’ on our eatin’ when he studied on me right smart.

  “Ruben,” he said, “tilt your hat back a ways.”

  I done it, an’ he commenced to chucklin’ quite a bit.

  “What the hell is so funny?” I asked him.

  He grinned at me.

  “Take a peek at yer hat, boy.”

  I looked it over some an’ I’ll be durned if they warn’t a hole through the brim less than a inch away from the crown about halfway down the left side. That’s when I recalled that I had my hat set way back on my head just afore that shot come. Marion was still grinnin’.

  “You damn near got your ear pierced, Marshal Beeler,” Marion said, lookin’ quite a bit like a possum. “You mighta been some purty with a big gold ring hangin’ from it if ol’ Marvin had been a little bit better shot.”

  The more I thought about that, the more my appetite kindly headed toward the border. I give up on the rest a my breakfast. Marion chuckled now an’ then, cleaned his plate, an’ et two pieces a my bacon.

  CHAPTER NINE

  By the time Marion had near finished up his eatin’ I was feelin’ a little better. We was fixin’ to leave when Sheriff Forest Hickman come walkin’ in the place. We kept our seats, an’ he come over. I toed a chair back an’ he took a set.

  “Sheriff,” Marion said, givin’ him a nod.

  “Call me Forest,” he said. “I had that name for quite a spell afore I come to be called Sheriff.”

  “Forest it is,” Marion tolt him.

  “Ol’ Marvin was a braggart, a rounder, an’ little more than a cast off piece a owl shit, but he was also a helluva hard man,” Forest said. “You boys was some fortunate he missed that shot he took.”

  “He didn’t miss by much” Marion said, grinnin’ quite a bit. “Show Forest yer hat, Ruben.”

  I took it off an’ helt it so he could git hisself a good look.

  Forest’s eyes got some big.

  “Well damn!” he said. “Missed you by no more than the width of a cat’s whisker. Couldn’t git much closer than that, Marshal.”

  “Call me Ruben, Forest,” I said. “I had that name for quite a spell afore I come to be called Marshal.”

  He smiled real big an’, all of a sudden like, it warn’t such a terrible bad day.

  We set an’ jawed with Forest for a bit. He seemed to me to be a purty good fella. He tolt us he’d talked with his head deputy an’ put out the word for his boys to make sure Marvin’s bunch a rounders knowed they’d highly regret any action they might take on Marvin’s behalf.

  “Marvin was a troublemaker,” Forest said, “no doubt about that. I doan think them ol’ boys he run with will give ya any grief. He warn’t exactly a member of that bunch. Marvin was more entertainment for them fellers than he was a friend. They let him hang around just to see what he’d do. Truth be told, ol’ Marvin’s cornbread warn’t quite done in the middle.”

  That sent me an’ Marion to laughin’ some. Forest set there, grinnin’. When we settled down, he went on.

  “I reckon you boys is up thisaway ‘cause Jimmy Jacklin cain’t be found, ain’tcha?”

  “We are,” Marion said.

  “Jimmy seemed like a solid feller,” Forest said. “I’d only met him once, an’ that was a couple years ago, but I took to him some. If you boys can hang around for a spell, mebbe I can git a little information for ya.”

  “Can and will,” Marion said.

  “I’ll git my ear to the rail,” Forest went on. “Yer stayin’ over at Rafferty’s place, ain’t ya?”

  Marion nodded.

  “Gimme a day or two an’ I’ll see what I kin do,” Forest went on. He stood up an’ brimmed his hat. “I’ll be in touch, boys,” he said, an’ headed out the door.

  “I believe ol’ Forest’ll do ‘til the roads dry up,” Marion said, an’ commenced to chawin’ on the last piece a my cold bacon.

  After we left the café, we come to walkin’ toward the center a town. Marion looked around an’ shook his head.

  “This here is kindy amazin’,” he said. “When I was up in this neck a the woods about ten years ago, this town warn’t much bigger than spit on a hot rock. They has been a helluva boom, Ruben. Them lights up and down the streets, that there electricity and telephones an’ such is right modern. And this ain’t even no state. I hear that’s comin’ purty quick, though. The Dakota Territory ain’t gonna be a territory much longer, I reckon. From what I been tolt, they are gonna cut the territory in half crosswise so it gits to be North Dakota and South Dakota, or somethin’ like that.”

  We walked on for a spell an’ come to turn a corner an’ onto another street that was made outa bricks an’ had rails kindly sunk down in the middle of it.

  “Would you look at that,” I said. “They ain’t no railroad comin’ through the middle a town, is they?”

  “Them rails is too narrow for no train cars,” Marion said.

  Down the way about that time we seen what looked like a little railroad passenger car comin’ down the street in our direction bein’ pulled by a team a fair-sized sorrel horses. It looked like it was big enough to carry about fifteen or twenny folks. As it come closer we could see they was only a couple a people on board. A sign on the side of the car said that it was the Pettigrew and Tate Sioux Falls Street Railroad. Marion looked at me an’ grinned.

  “Let’s go for a ride, boy,” he said, an’ flagged that little car down with his hat.

  The ol’ boy drivin’ the team brung ‘em to a stop an’ we got on board.

  “That’s four-bits for each of you fellers for the Sioux Falls excursion,” he said. “It’ll take a bout a hour or a little bit more for the tour, an’ yer tickets is good for you boys to ride the line as much as you care to for the whole day.”

  Marion paid our fares an’ off we went, right through the center a town, settin’ on padded seats in a little train car that was bein’ pulled along by a team a horses. It was one a them useless luxuries shore enough, but I kindly liked it.

  We went through the middle a the downtown Sioux Falls bidness district an’ got to see all the hotels, the train depot an’ such. Then we seen the Augustana an’ Sioux Falls colleges where young folks went to git theyselves educated, rode by a whole mess a stores an’ restaurants an’ bidnesses an’ such, went out by the falls an’ the place where th
e electricity was made, an’ I doan know what all. My head was near spinnin’ from everthin’ we seen. They was even a sign along the route that was made outa metal to honor when Lewis an’ Clark had come through by the falls back in 1804 I believe it said. I seen so much my head didn’t hardly have room for it all. In about a hour an’ a half we come back into the area where we got on the car an’ I figgerd we’d git off, but Marion tolt me to stay set, an’ we kindly started the tour all over agin.

  Once we got back to the edge a the bidness district, he stood up an’ went to the front a the car. The ol’ boy drivin’ the team stopped, Marion motioned to me, an’ we got off. I looked at him.

  “Marion,” I said, “we have come to be a fair piece from Mister Rafferty’s place an’ the livery.”

  Marion smiled, an’ pointed across the street. They was a buildin’ over that way with a sign what said it was a bath house an’ massage parlor. Next to it was a barbershop.

  “I got our tickets, Ruben,” he said. “Our ride back is good for the rest of the day. I could use a haircut and a bath, and a massage is right appealin’ to me.”

  He struck off across the road then, an’ I follerd along. A bath an’ a haircut was of some use to me, too. I could set outside an’ wait while he got his massage an’ whatever else come with it. After all, Marion had paid for my ticket.

  CHAPTER TEN

  That barbershop had four chairs in it and was some busy, so me an’ Marion had ta wait a little spell to git our haircuts an’ shaves. The ol’ boy that worked on me done a good job, but not like most a them barbershops I’d been in, that place was purty much all bidness with not a lot of conversatin’ an’ such. It made me kindly miss Barber Kenny Jones. The bathhouse area had a half-hour water limit an’ six or seven tubs, each in its own spot, with walls on three sides for some privacy. It was more toney than any a them others I’d been to an’ was well-furnished with soaps an’ oils an’ such. Pictures, somebody had painted, a women in they nightclothes an’ the like, hanged around the room on the walls. I reckon all that is why it cost about twice as much as I was used to.

  No ladies come by with whiskey or cigars for us or nothin’ like that, an’ I was kindly glad for it. On the sidewall was a doorway covered in a curtain with a sign over it that said “Massage Parlor.” When I got outa my tub an’ was gittin’ dressed, Marion showed up with his clothes an’ boots in hand an’ had hisself wrapped up inside a big ol’ towel. He smiled at me.

  “Reckon I’ll git me a massage,” he said. “You feel the need for a little rubdown or somethin’ else, do ya?”

  “No, I doan need no rubdown or somethin’ else,” I tolt him, feelin’ some irritated by his question.

  Marion’s smile jumped up into a grin.

  “Suit yerself, boy,” he said.

  “You just go on an’ do whatever you care ta do,” I went on. “I’ll go out an’ set on the boardwalk an’ wait for ya.”

  Marion chuckled.

  “Ol’ Ruben,” he said, an’ headed off through that curtain.

  I finished dressin’, put my gunbelt back on with one Remington on my right side in a short drop, made sure my badge was covered up by my kerchief, went outside, took a set in a rockin’ chair, an’ looked up an down the street.

  The sun was shinin’ through some little thin clouds, the temperature was warm but made easy by a breeze outa the northwest, an’ I gotta admit that it was a fair nice kinda day. I looked up an’ down the road, watchin’ folks come an’ go, an’ noticed a small shop across the street just down the way a little bit that looked some interestin’. I figgerd Marion would be busy for a spell, so I got up an’ walked over in that direction. The sign over the front door said “Nora’s Notions for Ladies.” That set me back some, bein’ a store for females an’ all, but I pulled up some courage an’ went in, anyways.

  I’ll tell you what. That place was plumb full of a mess a things for women. They was dresses an’ such hangin’ on rails all over the place, boxes on shelves in a space with a sign what read “undergarments,” glass cases displayin’ all kinds a jewelry an’ the like, racks with fancy lookin’ shoes, hats with feathers an’ foofarah all over ‘em, neck scarves, shawls, shelves full a hand painted plates an’ saucers an’ cups an’ such, an’ a mess a I doan know what else. It durn near made me dizzy tryin’ to take it all in. About the time I was fixin’ to duck my head an’ make a run for it, this lady come up to me. She was dressed right smart in a purty blue dress with white buttons, was a little over five feet tall, around forty-years-old or such, an’ fair handsome. She was smilin’ some big an’ lookin’ up at me.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” she said. “My name is Darlene. You look a little out of place. May I help you?”

  That tickled me some.

  “M’am,” I said, “my name is Ruben Beeler. To tell ya the truth, I come in here as innocent as a lamb, but right now I feel kindly like a hog in the henhouse.”

  She give a little laugh then an’ patted me on the arm.

  “Well, we can’t have that, now can we?” she said. “I have a fresh pot of coffee in the back. It might settle you down a little bit if you’d allow me to bring you a cup.”

  “That’s terrible kind of you, Miz Darlene, an’ thank you,” I said. “I’ll wait right here an’ try not to knock nothin’ over.”

  “Mister Beeler,” she said, still smilin’ quite a bit, “if you can find your way back to the counter by the front door without doing too much damage, you will notice that behind it is a small table with two chairs. I will join you there.”

  I worked my way up that direction without tippin’ anythin’ over, an’ purty quick she showed up carryin’ a tray with two little cups a coffee, napkins, spoons, an’ a bowl a white sugar on it. I stood up. She put everthin’ on the table, took a set, an’ looked at me.

  “You new to town are you, Mister Beeler?” she asked me.

  “I am, Miz Darlene,” I said, takin’ a seat. “Just kindly passin’ through. Excuse me, but I’d appreciate it if you’d call me Ruben.”

  “All right, Ruben,” she said, lookin’ some tickled. “What brings you to Sioux Falls?”

  “I’m a federal marshal, M’am,” I tolt her, an’ her eyes got a little bigger. “Me an’ my pard, Marshal Marion Daniels, is lookin’ into the situation concernin’ Marshal Jimmy Jacklin. He seems to have sorta vanished up this way a while ago. Right now we are waitin’ to hear from Sheriff Hickman an’ the arrival a Marshal Homer Poteet afore the three of us strike out on the trail.”

  “I’m so sorry, she said. “I have never met Marshal Jacklin, but I have heard good words spoken of him. I’m glad that you are here and happy to have met you, but the reason is a terrible shame.”

  I didn’t know quite what to say about that, so I reached for the sugar bowl.

  “Ruben,” she went on, “before you put anything in that coffee, you might want to give it a taste.”

  I drank me a little sip, an’ kindly got overtook by the flavor of it.

  “My Lord,” I said. “That there is terrible good. I believe if a fella spilt some of it on his knee he would taste it in his mouth.”

  Miz Darlene come to laughin’ some.

  “Ruben,” she said, “you do have a way with words.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I took another sip afore I spoke up.

  “Puttin’ anythin’ in this coffee,” I went on, “should be agin the law. I ain’t never tasted nothin’ like it.”

  “Nora orders it special from a dealer with connections in South America,” she said. “She gets the beans whole and roasts and grinds them herself.”

  “This here would make angels sing,” I said. “How much does it cost?”

  “Nora doesn’t sell it,” she said. “We don’t get enough for that. We save it for our special customers.”

  “That’s most likely a good thing,” I said. “If I was to make some a this out on the trail an’ give a cup to my pard Marion, I’m scairt he’d take a taste an
’ do a back flip. I’m afraid that a man a his advanced age, an’ wearin’ them big spurs like he does, could do hisself significant damage.”

  A giggle come outa her then that sounded like a schoolgirl. I found it to be some fetchin’.

  I spent about another half-hour in that place lookin’ around an’ jawin’ with Miz Darlene. After all was said an’ done, I bought two bars a soap that I thought Miss Harmony might care for. That soap had come all the way across the waters from France, an’ smelt like a Lilac bush in the spring. They cost near a dollar each, but I figgerd it was money good spent.

  As I was fixin’ to leave, Miz Darlene put them bars a soap in a paper bag for me an’ asked me to wait a minute while she went into the back a the store. When she come out she was carryin’ a little cloth sack.

  “Ruben,” she said, “the inside of this bag is lined with waxed paper. In it is enough of that coffee for about six man-sized cups. It’ll be a treat for you and your partners when you’re camping out in the middle of nowhere. Be sure and take out the waxed paper, but leave the coffee in the sack and put the whole bag in the pot. It is of a fine grind and won’t settle well.”

  “Well, thank you so much, Miz Darlene,” I tolt her. “Ain’t you nice.”

  “Lean down here so I can whisper in your ear,” she said.

  I did, an’ she give me a little peck on the cheek.

  “Go with God, Ruben,” she whispered.

  “I got a good horse,” I tolt her. “Ol’ Willie can easy carry the both of us.”

  I went back outside then, tucked that little bag a coffee in my pocket, an’ looked down the way to see if Marion was out on the boardwalk. I couldn’t tell. My eyes was kindly blurry.