LeRoy, U.S. Marshal

by Neil Hunter

  ‘Thank you, Marshal.’

  ‘I prefer LeRoy.’

  ‘Then you should call me Laura.’

  ‘Food will be ready in a while. Nothing more than beans and hot biscuits.’

  ‘What can we do about the bodies? Doesn’t sit right they just lie there.’

  ‘I moved them,’ LeRoy said. ‘Covered them with blankets for the time being.’

  Laura fell silent as memories of the people from the wagons came flooding back. She stared beyond the circle of firelight where the night hid the horror of death.

  ‘That was good of you,’ she said.

  A little time later LeRoy handed her a plate of food and despite the situation Laura found she was hungry enough to clear it. LeRoy hunkered down across the fire from her.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Laura said. ‘Shouldn’t you be going after those men. I’m holding you up, aren’t I?’

  ‘Let me worry about Reno and his bunch.’

  LeRoy dished out more food and refilled Laura’s coffee.

  ‘What those men did,’ Laura said out of the silence, ‘was the cruelest thing I’ve ever known. How could they…’

  ‘Because it was the easiest thing for them to do. In their way of thinking those people were witnesses. They could have identified Reno and his bunch. So they had to be removed.’

  ‘LeRoy, there were children involved.’

  ‘Youngsters have eyes. And remember things.’

  ‘That’s no excuse.’

  ‘Those hombres don’t need excuses. They see a problem they eliminate it.’

  ‘They should be…’

  ‘Their time is coming.’

  Laura caught sight of his face in the dancing flames of the fire. If the expression in his eyes was anything to go by, Jack Reno and his bunch were already riding their last trail. That look offered her comfort but also caused a shiver of fear to chill her spine.

  Their time is coming.

  ~*~

  LeRoy was still working on what to do with the girl next morning as he built up the fire and fixed food and coffee. He had found supplies in the wagons and used them to provide breakfast. It was the smell of bacon frying that attracted Laura’s attention as she woke. She lay for a while, recalling what had happened the day before slowly sitting up. Her head still hurt, though not as much as it had.

  ‘Hungry?’ LeRoy said.

  ‘Yes.’

  He plated bacon and biscuits fried in the fat, handing it to her as she joined him. Laura ate slowly, watching LeRoy as he poured coffee for them both.

  ‘You know your way around a cook fire,’ she said.

  ‘When you spend as much time alone as I do, being able to cook is a necessity. Either that or you starve.’

  ‘It must be a lonely way to live.’

  ‘Can be if you allow it.

  ‘Do you have a family somewhere?’

  ‘Married sister in Albany is all.’

  ‘You get to see her much?’

  LeRoy shook his head and bent over his food. His reluctance to say more intrigued Laura. She had always been full of curiosity though it sometimes brought her grief.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I did not mean to intrude.’

  ‘My sister and I don’t get on well. Mainly because of my work.’

  ‘As a lawman?’

  ‘The part where I need to use violence. Martha does not approve of my having to use a gun.’

  ‘If you didn’t you might be killed yourself. Can’t she see that?’

  ‘If it was only that clear cut.’ LeRoy refilled his coffee cup. ‘How did you come to be driving a wagon for Tamber?’

  ‘He advertised for a teamster. I had experience driving an ox team for my uncle. Worked for him on his farm until he died suddenly. Some kind of fever took him. Bank reclaimed the farm to settle his debts and I was left on my own. Heard about the job. Tamber was reluctant to take on a woman until I showed him I could handle his ox team and he changed his mind. Was going fine until…until those men showed up. You know the rest.’

  ‘How old are you, Laura?’

  She glared at him, her cheeks flushing. ‘Old enough, LeRoy,’ she said. Her voice hard.

  He pulled a cigar from his shirt and lit it with a sliver of wood from the fire.

  ‘You calm down, young lady, I was only making conversation.’

  ‘I apologize. I’m twenty-five, and I guess by now I should be married with a family of my own.’

  ‘We don’t always get what we wish for,’ LeRoy said.

  Laura sat upright, her head coming round. She put down her plate and cup. On her feet she pulled the holstered Remington, easing back the hammer.

  ‘Riders comin’ in. More than three.’

  Standing close by her LeRoy spotted the rising dust as a line of horsemen swung in towards their camp beside the wagons.

  Uniformed men of the US Cavalry. Dust-streaked and with unlimbered rifles in their hands as they converged on LeRoy and Laura Wakefield.

  ~*~

  A small patrol of six men, led by a sergeant LeRoy knew. Lew Tolliver had more than ten years in the service. He had joined the army as a teen. His experience couldn’t be bought. It came through those long years of campaigning against Indians and malcontents. Gunrunners and whisky peddlers. Killers and in general anyone who attempted to create problems in the territory. The hard-pressed army was there to help keep the peace, whether it was being aggravated by Comanches, though that danger was lessened now, or white outlaws and renegades. The frontier could still be a dangerous place. The settlers, in towns or on isolated ranches, were usually a long way from organized protection, so long ranging military patrols did their best to offer what help they could. In many instances, communication being thin on the ground, any call for help was often too slow reaching the army. By the time any response came the incident was over and often there was little to be done except bury the dead. It was not the army’s fault. Military cutbacks created the situation where help was hampered by the lack of men and equipment. There was frustration in the military. Nothing they could do. They were at the beck and call of their political masters, in most cases hampered by men on the other side of the continent, who in most cases, had little experience in military matters and were too busy indulging in their own careers.

  None of that helped the men having to police the vast territory under their control. To their credit they performed to the best of their ability, and depended on the skills they had learned over the years.

  Sergeant Lew Tolliver, as hard as the land he rode, was one of those men. Everything he knew had come from personal experience. Little came from books because there was little rules and regulations could teach a man about survival in the wilderness. Tolliver understood how to play the game. When to speak out and when to keep his opinions to himself, especially in front of his superior officers. There were those he respected and some he wouldn’t have trusted to fetch a pail of water from the well.

  His patrol had been out for four days. Endless days under the merciless sun, eating dust and sweating beneath their wilting uniforms as they rode the endless terrain. In that time they had seen no one. Heard nothing. Boredom was fast setting in and Tolliver was seeing the effect it was having on his squad.

  So when the small wagon train came into view even his jaded soldiers found their interest perking up. But seeing the dead livestock warned them of possibly danger.

  ‘Rifles at the ready,’ Tolliver said. ‘Eyes peeled, boys.’

  They came in line abreast, allowing each man a clear field of fire if anything happened. Tolliver, slightly ahead, was the first to spot movement as a man stepped into view from the opposite side of the wagons.

  ‘Sergeant Tolliver,’ LeRoy said, lowering his own weapon.

  Tolliver raised his hand and ordered his men to stand down.

  ‘LeRoy, we always meet in the damndest places.’

  A second figure appeared beside LeRoy. A young woman, dressed in pants and shirt, showing a bandage aro
und her head and holding a rifle she seemed to be ready to use.

  ‘Laura Wakefield, this is Lew Tolliver, US Cavalry. It appears we have been rescued by the army.’

  ‘Do I take your word for that, LeRoy?’

  Tolliver put his rifle away. Ordered his men to do the same.

  ‘Ma’am..’

  ‘It’s Miss Wakefield.’

  ‘My apologies, Miss, I was going to say we’re here to help if we can.’

  ‘A trifle late, Sergeant,’ Laura said. ‘I’ll heat up more coffee.’

  She turned away and moved to build up the cook fire.

  ‘Now there’s a feisty one,’ Tolliver said.

  ‘Step down, Lew, and I’ll tell you why.’

  Tolliver turned and gave the order for his men to dismount and see to their horses. He slid out of his own saddle, passing the reins to the closest man. He stretched his legs, crossed to LeRoy and took the Marshal’s outstretched hand.

  ‘What the hell has been going on here?’ Tolliver was taking a long look around at the deserted wagons and the bloated carcasses of oxen and horses. ‘And where are the folk belonging to this collection of wagons?’

  LeRoy told him, leaving nothing out. Then showed him.

  ~*~

  By midday the dead had been buried, the cavalry troop under Tolliver’s command digging graves and marking each family group with wooden crosses constructed from wood taken from the wagons. Heated irons were used to burn some crude inscriptions into the timber. Laura had stepped in to identify the families. It had not been an easy task for her but she summoned a reserve of strength to do it. One of the troopers carried a bible with him and they all stood around as he spoke words from it.

  Laura, assisted by the patrol’s nearest equivalent to a cook, used implements from the wagons and food from the supplies, prepared a meal and the wearied cavalrymen sat down to eat.

  ‘That girl has had to go through a lot,’ Tolliver said. He stood with LeRoy, drinking coffee, watching Laura pass around the food. ‘Has to be admired.’

  ‘Lew, I want you to take her back to the fort. I’ve already spent too much time here. I need to get back on the hunt for Reno and his bunch. Put in your report and send a message for me back to my people about what’s happened.’

  ‘I’m not going to tell you you’ve got one hell of a job to tackle.’

  ‘It’s why I wear this badge, Lew. What I signed up for. I have to find those men. What they did here can’t be ignored.’

  ‘What if I send a couple of my men with you?’

  LeRoy shook his head. ‘No offence, Lew, but they would hold me back. I work my own way. You know that.’

  ‘Hard headed as usual,’ Tolliver said. ‘You never change, Al.’

  Tolliver was one of the few men who used the shortened name and got away with it.

  ‘I need to talk to Laura.’

  ‘You need more food?’ Laura said when he approached her.

  ‘No. I need to speak to you.’

  ‘Sounds serious.’ She held his gaze, then said, ‘You’re leaving?’

  LeRoy nodded. ‘You know why. Tolliver will take you back to the fort. I have to move on.’

  ‘LeRoy, I want to know why they killed all those people.’

  ‘I’m guessing your Reverend had something they came to collect. Like I said earlier they wouldn’t want witnesses after they shot Tamber. They didn’t need him any longer. Remember this is the Jack Reno bunch here. They never leave anyone alive.’

  ‘But women and children…’

  ‘Laura, they don’t care.’

  ‘They use Tamber to move their…whatever…and decide he’d outlived his usefulness?’

  LeRoy said, ‘I’ll let you know when I’m done.’

  As he turned to leave Laura touched his arm.

  ‘I won’t forget you. Take care of yourself, Alvin LeRoy.’

  She watched him pause to speak with Tolliver, before he mounted horse and picked up the faint trail left by Reno and his men. He didn’t look back and she stood as horse and rider cut across country, finally vanishing in the hazy distance.

  ~*~

  LeRoy had a distance to cover. Reno had a good lead. The lawman was confident he would catch up with them. The spot he’d seen marked on the map still in his pocket lay in the general direction the outlaws were riding. He was certain sure it was a rendezvous point.

  Buckmann’s Folly.

  Far enough out of the way to arrange a meeting. That had been part of the reason Buckmann’s plan had gone astray. His idea had been sound but choosing the place had been his undoing. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, a man had tried to leave his mark on the land and failed. The lure of striking the mother lode, whether land, or gold, or any other scheme was endemic in the frontier. It was the reason men came seeking fame and fortune. Some succeeded while others did not. The West was strewn with the bones of failure. Rufus Buckmann had added his to that list.

  The oppressive heat did not let up. LeRoy was sweating just sitting his saddle. His horse simply plodded forward, not entirely happy with the conditions. Dust rose in pale clouds around them, layering man and horse. He pulled out a neckerchief from his pants pocket, moistened it from his canteen and tied it over his mouth. It wasn’t an ideal solution but it would do until he found something better. His horse must have smelled the water. It turned its head and eyed him accusingly until LeRoy drew rein and stepped out of the saddle. He poured water into his upturned hat and let the animal drink.

  ‘Make the most of it,’ he said. ‘We don’t have much to spare right now.’

  LeRoy brushed his fingers through his gritty hair before he put his hat back on, feeling the welcome coolness the damp hat provided. He scrubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw beneath the neckerchief, thinking it would have been nice to settle in a barber chair and let someone shave him. Come to that a long bath and a change of clothes wouldn’t go amiss. He dismissed his thoughts. They were for another time. After he had dealt with Reno and his bunch.

  Hard men in a hard land. Bred and molded by their environment. It took a special breed to survive in the harshest country. A man’s spirit could be easily crushed fighting the daily challenges at him. Yet many did, refusing to bow down and stayed the course. They were building a new land and it took courage and determination. It was not an easy course, nor was it a victory won overnight, but the spirit men carried would allow them to overcome.

  Yet men like Jack Reno and his like, were men of a different persuasion. They saw the opportunities to reach out and take. To wait for the opportunity to steal away what other men worked to achieve. Scavengers. Vultures on two legs, waiting to swoop down and snatch away the rewards of hard work.

  Which was why men like Alvin LeRoy were around. Sworn to uphold the law and wearing the US Marshals badge. They chose to stand against the outlaws. The renegades. The ones who never hesitated to reach out and snatch away what was not theirs to take. It was a thankless task. A life of lonely trails and danger. Riding the empty miles in pursuit of men who would kill without thought, risking their lives for little reward.

  In reflective moments LeRoy asked himself why he did the job. Why he stood in the firing line. His only reply was that he believed in the law. That he put up with it all because he felt it was the right thing to do. From the first time he had put on a badge LeRoy had seen the need for law. It was something that was needed. He saw the law as a way to help keep civilized existence in check. Something a man had to carry forward. Some men had to accept the rules and see they were upheld. He took to the job with a steady purpose, finding it gave his own life a line to walk. He came to see it was the way for him and he never looked back.

  ~*~

  LeRoy hauled back on the chestnut’s reins, feeling the horse rear up, losing its grip on the loose slope. He tasted the acrid and gritty dust as it flew up from beneath the horse’s hoofs.

  Then he heard the first shots. The gun blasts were loud. Close. The chestnut gave a shri
ll squeal as it took a number of slugs. It plunged on a few more steps before it tumbled, tipping LeRoy forward in the saddle. He kicked his feet clear of the stirrups, knowing the animal was going down, and let go the leathers. The chestnut’s legs went from under the horse and it pitched violently forward. LeRoy rolled from the saddle, the slope unforgiving as he slammed into it. Lost in the swirl of dust he rolled, sensing the heavy bulk of the stricken horse falling in his direction. It struck him shoulder high, the force of the impact cartwheeling him across the slope. With his breath driven from his lungs LeRoy was helpless to resist. He literally bounced a few times, struggling to pull air back into his starved lungs. He felt himself sliding down the slope, hands clawing at the surface in an attempt to stop his descent.

  Dust formed a pale cloud around him, grit peppering his face and getting into his mouth. He picked up a raised voice. Then a second.

  Sonofabitch.

  The shooters would be closing in on him. The only protection he had was the dust rising around him and that wouldn’t last for long. LeRoy sucked air into his lungs, the sour taste of the dust threatening to choke him.

  He made a grab for his holstered Colt on his right hip, pushing the hammer-loop free, and drew the weapon free. He didn’t touch his second pistol, leaving it for backup if he needed it.

  You’d better do this right. Isn’t going to be a second chance.

  LeRoy felt his right foot lodge against a solid shape jutting from the slope. A part-buried rock. It stopped his forward motion and he used that to twist his body round, sprawling on his back.

  A shot came close on his left. He felt the impact as the slug pounded the slope inches away. He moved onto his side. Out the corner of his eye he picked up the muzzle flash. A brief indication of the shooter’s position. LeRoy turned his Colt that way, hammer back and fired twice, each shot making a heavy sound. He heard a man grunt.

  ‘Carson?’

  The call came from his right. Close enough that LeRoy was able to make out the hazy shape of the second man moving into his line of vision. LeRoy swept his muzzle forward, triggering and firing off three fast shots that merged into one solid roll of gunfire. He saw the target stop, body arching back under the solid impact of the .45 caliber slugs. He went down without a sound. LeRoy slid the Colt back into its holster and reached across for his backup weapon.