Mundy's Law

by Monty McCord

  “I’m Lars Forsonn,” the man said and stuck out his large, callused hand. Joe pulled his right glove off and took it.

  “I’m Joe Mundy. Call me Joe.”

  “It a good t’ing you found us, Joe. Don’t t’ink you’d lasted much longer out dere in da cold like dat.”

  “I’m obliged for your help, Mister Forsonn.” As Joe’s vision cleared, he noticed two children snuggled together in a narrow bed, looking at him.

  “’Ese here are Nada and Jorund. Say hello to Mister Mundy.” They did. “You two get back to sleep now and stop dat starin’.” Lars scolded them. The faces vanished. A woman with a tired face and golden hair scraped tightly into a bun on the back of her head approached Joe and handed him a bowl. A short smile and a nod was her greeting. Joe pulled his hat and bandana off and nodded to her. She appeared to be much younger than Lars. “Dis is my wife, Hadda.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am, and thank you for the soup,” Joe said. She nodded back again.

  “You eat dat soup down. It oughta be darned good by now. Hadda made it last week and adds back to it nearly everyday since!” Lars explained with a big grin.

  “Thank you, but I gotta see to my horse first,” Joe said.

  “Already done dat. Put him in da shed with dis gentleman’s horse and our mules. Little crowded with da four of dem, but dey will warm dat way. Brushed off da snow best I could, and threw an old Indian blanket over ’im. He’s got food and water dere if he wants it.” Lars read the concern on Joe’s face.

  Joe hadn’t noticed the other man. He turned around and looked up at a figure wrapped in a blanket sitting in a fancy old rocking chair. The man was asleep.

  “Thank you, Mister Forsonn,” Joe said and started eating. The soup was mostly broth with very few extras. Joe wasn’t sure what Hadda had been adding to the soup, but it was hardly noticeable. At least it was hot. By the looks of this family, no doubt farmers, they were having a hard time of it.The children’s eyes were set in deep holes, and their faces showed every outline of their skulls. Lars and Hadda looked worse.

  “By golly, dis is a busy night for travelers. We’ve no visitors for a while, and ’den, by golly, ’ere you all stop by,” Lars said. He sat down on a straight-backed chair, the only other chair, and lit his pipe.

  The bright sun woke Joe to the sound of pots rattling. Even though on the floor, he was so comfortable he didn’t want to move. His heavy black overcoat was dry, and he was warm again. His head rested on a small blanket that had been rolled up to serve as a pillow. Lars must have left it for him. Before he could inspect things further, the door opened, and Lars came in wearing a heavy red plaid mackinaw and a black cloth cap. The other man followed him in.

  “Good morning dere, Joe,” Lars said, “dis’ man is Byron Siegler. He owns da general store in town.”

  Joe struggled to stand up. “Morning, Mister Forsonn, Mister Siegler.” Siegler shook his hand.

  “Heard you come in last night, Mister Mundy, but figured we could meet this morning,” Siegler said. “You got caught in that storm too, eh?” Joe guessed the man was in his fifties. Closely trimmed white hair and mustache topped off a round face and stocky build. He wore a nice dark brown suit and muddy shoes.

  “It seemed to come up pretty fast,” Joe said.

  “You fellas, come sit down. Da table is little small, but dere’s room for everyone.”

  Hadda poured three tin cups full of very weak coffee and went back to the stove. She returned to the table carrying three bowls with steaming hot porridge and one piece of bread for each. She made another trip with three more bowls and seated the two children. Joe guessed they were between six and eight years old, the boy older. He winked at them, and they grinned back at him. Joe stood up when Hadda sat down. She smiled quickly at him.

  “Hadda don’t know much of da English, but we work on it,” Lars said. He then said something to her in what Joe thought might be Swedish. She smiled at her husband.

  “Would you tell Hadda for me, that this meal is very nice, and thank you, to you both,” Joe said. Siegler agreed. Lars relayed the message, and she glanced at the two men and nodded with another quick smile.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, Mister Mundy, where were you headed when you got caught in the storm?” Siegler asked.

  “Came up from Loup City, thought I’d make Willow Springs before nightfall.”

  “You musta’ went off course a bit, but good t’ing you did where you did,” Lars said with a huge grin.

  “I guess so,” Joe said and sipped the coffee. “My horse gets the credit, though.”

  “Family in Willow Springs, Mister Mundy?” Siegler asked.

  “Heard they was hiring a new marshal,” Joe said. “Thought I’d take a look.”

  Siegler stopped eating and looked at Joe. “You a lawman, Mister Mundy?”

  “Have been.” Joe eyed him, wondering why the sudden interest.

  “The reason I ask is that our little town is looking for a new city marshal, not far from here,” Siegler said. “And, I heard Willow hired a new man a month ago.”

  This time Joe stopped eating and looked at him. “They did?”

  Siegler nodded. “I’ll be heading back to Taylorsville today. Care to ride along and see the town?”

  “May as well.”

  “May I ask where you worked, Mister Mundy?”

  Joe looked at Siegler and wondered if the news of the shooting in Kansas had floated this far north. He wiped the coffee from his mustache, one way, then the other, before answering.

  “Baxter Springs, down in Kansas. I was under Marshal Oster. ’Fore that spent two years as a federal deputy under Marshal Bill Daily up at Omaha.”

  “Well, that’s fine, just fine,” Siegler said.

  “Glad you approve,” Joe said. His reply was matter-of-fact.

  “I just meant that I can introduce you. I’m on the town board, and I can tell them that you’re experienced.”

  “Appreciate it if you would.”

  The bay was lively and seemed anxious to hit the trail again when Joe led him from Forsonn’s shed. The shed was actually a sod addition to the house with a slanting roof and a wood door. Meant for the two mules, it was crowded with four animals. It also had three wood and wire cages inside that housed chickens. The house with addition was built into the side of a small hill, with a windmill close by. A short fenced corral, also partly dug into the hill, housed two pigs. It looked different now, being’s all he saw the previous night was a faint light in the window. Off the other side of the house Joe guessed the area protected by a low barrier of sod was used for a vegetable garden.

  Before Joe and Siegler rode out, Joe waved at the children watching them from the window and gave Lars two silver dollars. “I still owe you, Mister Forsonn, for everything you and your family done for me.” Lars tried not to accept it, but Joe insisted.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  By noon Joe and Siegler stopped their horses on a rise that overlooked the town, still a half mile away. Joe could make out two rows of buildings facing each other. From the only cross street, a few more buildings were being built. They were all varying shades of weathered gray and raw unpainted lumber, with several other structures scattered about behind them. Ain’t much of a town. To the north of the livery were two large corrals. He didn’t suppose there could be more than two hundred people living there.

  “Joe, I know it doesn’t look like much right now, being a new town, but it’s growing every day. This is a prime area, in these sandy hills. Beautiful ranch country, and in fact, a lot of folks farm this area behind us, and they say the Indian problem is being taken care of.”

  Joe’s thoughts drifted back through the year. Part of the James gang had robbed a bank in Baxter Springs and the town had hired an extra deputy. Almost five months ago, a command of U.S. Cavalry from Fort Lincoln in Dakota was wiped out in Montana by the Sioux. Just over a month later, former Abilene marshal Bill Hickok was murdered in Deadwood Gulch. A while
after that, Joe had killed three men on the streets of Baxter Springs. Hell of a year.

  All Joe could see today through squinted eyes was the bright sun glaring across the snow. Nebraska could blow up the storms from hell eternal and, in less than twelve hours, produce a bright blue sky and sunshine. He didn’t see much possibility here. But, if Willow Springs had already hired a marshal, he didn’t have any other plans at present. He might as well take a look.

  Taylorsville’s main street ran more or less east to west and was about two blocks long. Joe could see the Loup River north of town. A narrow two-story hotel, apparently the town’s centerpiece, was at the intersection. Diagonally across the intersection was the North Star saloon. The hotel had sometime prior received a coat of whitewash; the saloon hadn’t. The next biggest building was marked with a sign mounted on top of the porch awning: SIEGLER GENERAL MERCHANDISE. Joe counted two other saloons and various businesses. Most of the other buildings were small, some with porch awnings and some without. Those without had narrow signs that were attached to the building on one end, and the other to a pole planted in the street beside the boardwalk.

  “I’m puttin’ you up in the hotel ’til I can get the board together to visit with you. Hopefully Budd’s in town,” Siegler said. “Give you a chance to clean up a bit.”

  Joe pulled his Winchester carbine from the scabbard, stepped down from the bay, and untied the saddle bags. Siegler held the hotel door open, and they went inside.

  The lobby walls had dark green wallpaper above a dark wood wainscoting. Beyond the desk, a narrow staircase rose to the second floor. A hallway ran past the desk, straight back to a closed door. No one occupied the dining room to the left. To the right was a sitting room with a couch and table with a fancy oil lamp. With wooden floors throughout, every step of their boots could be heard clearly. They approached the desk, and Siegler greeted the neatly dressed man behind it.

  “Harvey, this here is Joe Mundy. I’ll be paying for his room. Joe, this is Harvey Martin. He’s partnered with his brother Harold in the hotel here. Harold’s on the town board.”

  “Mister Martin,” Joe said.

  “Welcome to Taylorsville, Mister Mundy.” Harvey swiveled the register so Joe could sign it.

  Siegler produced a fancy gold watch from a vest pocket. “It’s half past one now. How about, say, three o’clock? I’ll gather up Budd and Harold, and we’ll meet you in the dining room here. Should have the room to ourselves. I’ll have my man take the horses to the livery.”

  After receiving the key to room 4, Joe climbed the narrow staircase. The room wasn’t large but had plenty of space for one or two people. He leaned the carbine against the wall next to the bed and dropped the saddlebags on a chair. He shaved, washed up in the basin, and brushed dirt and dried blood from his black suit of clothes. When finished, his dirty gray hat returned to its original black. Wiping off his boots and putting on a clean shirt and tie made him feel almost normal again. He looked at the mirror mounted on top of the dresser and inspected the chapped, bright red face that stared back at him. He was tired and looked forward to trying out the bed. The gun belt and coat completed his dress for now. He resisted the temptation to lie down, because he suspected he wouldn’t wake up until the following day. Even though the meeting wasn’t for another thirty minutes, he decided to go down. He wanted some coffee and a chair with his back to the wall.

  Siegler came into the hotel dining room followed by two other men. Joe could pick out Harold because of the resemblance to his brother Harvey, although Harold was a little shorter and heavier than his brother. The third man was wearing a large gray hat and sheepskin-lined leather coat. Joe assumed he was Budd.

  “Joe Mundy, I’d like you to meet the other members of our town board,” Siegler announced. Joe stood up and shook hands with each as they were introduced. “This is Harold Martin, who owns this hotel with his brother Harvey who you already met. And this is Budd Jarvis. Budd owns the meat market and livery here in town and a ranch about five miles northwest of here on the river. He also owns the sale yards over by his livery, where he sometimes has livestock auctions.” Joe supposed the large corrals he’d seen when they came toward town were the sale yards. Jarvis seemed a bit unfriendly, and his quick handshake seemed to confirm Joe’s feeling that he wasn’t too excited about this meeting. Jarvis had that unlikeable demeanor that reminded him a lot of Hobe Ranswood. After the four men sat down, a waitress brought more coffee and returned to the kitchen.

  “I met Joe down at Forsonn’s farm. We both got caught by that damned blizzard,” Siegler said. “Joe’s a lawman by trade, and we need a new one, as you gentlemen know.”

  “Where were you lawing at, Mister Mundy?” Martin asked.

  “Like I told Mister Siegler here, I just came back from Kansas. Worked under Charlie Oster, the city marshal of Baxter Springs. ’Fore that I was a federal deputy under Bill Daily up at Omaha.”

  Martin nodded approvingly to Siegler. “It seems Mister Mundy is qualified for the job, Byron.” Martin’s darting eyes and hurried sips from his cup made it appear as though he was about to miss the train.

  “I don’t think we have great necessity to replace Welby,” Jarvis said. “Sheriff Canfield sends someone down when we have need.”

  “Good God, Budd, hell would freeze over before Canfield would grace us with his presence, and it takes his deputy half a day to get here in good weather.When we have to send someone to fetch him, it takes all damned day to get him here.”

  “That’s true, Budd,” Martin said, nodding quickly.

  “Why’d you leave Kansas, Mundy?” Jarvis asked.

  “Heard there was a job in Willow Springs, but Mister Siegler tells me it’s been filled,” Joe said.

  “Runnin’ from something, Mundy?” Joe’s first impression of Jarvis hadn’t faltered any.

  “I don’t run, Mister Jarvis,” Joe said, and locked onto the man’s eyes.

  “I’ve seen your type before and—”

  “What type would that be, Mister Jarvis?” Martin’s eyes were working overtime, darting from Joe to Jarvis to Siegler and back again.

  The rancher broke eye contact first and looked at Siegler. “He’s just a gunman. We don’t want a killer protecting our women and children in our town,” Jarvis said.

  “Have you killed before, Joe?” Siegler asked.

  “A badge sometimes puts you in unfortunate situations,” Joe said.

  “I’d have to believe that,” Martin said. Siegler nodded.

  “Unfortunate for who?” Jarvis asked. The bitterness in his words overpowered the rich scent of the coffee.

  Siegler frowned at Jarvis before turning to Joe. “Joe, this is a quiet town, usually. Sometimes outsiders come in and cause trouble. We want them to know they can’t come into our town and do whatever they damn well please,” Siegler said. He met Jarvis’s eyes.

  “You’re talking about working cowhands like they was outlaws, Byron!” Jarvis said.

  “Well, Budd, sometimes they are, and you know it’s true! But it ain’t only cowhands.” The raised voices caught the attention of the waitress, who peeked out of the kitchen.

  “How many have you killed, Mundy?” Jarvis asked.

  “Budd, that’s enough! I think we all understand there’s some danger with law work,” Siegler said. “I think we approve two to one in hiring Mister Mundy.”

  Martin nodded again.

  “Just be sure and write down in town records that I voted no.”

  “Okay, then. Joe, about the wages, the town pays fifty dollars a month. Your office is farther down the street on the north side. It has a small sleeping room, if you want to use it. It was built originally as a jail cell, but just before George left, we had one of those new iron cells shipped in from Cincinnati, Ohio.”

  Joe was surprised at the low pay. In Kansas he got seventy-five dollars plus a percentage for each arrest, but living quarters weren’t provided.

  “One hundred dollars now, and fifty d
ollars every first of the month from this day on,” Joe said.

  “Bullshit if we will!” Jarvis said. “Now he wants to rob us! December first is less than two weeks away. Then he wants another fifty?”

  “Well, uh, I’ll agree to that. Budd obviously votes no. How about you, Harold?” Siegler asked.

  Harold rubbed his chin nervously and considered the offer. “I guess I vote yes.”

  “Congratulations, Joe.You’re the new city marshal of Taylors-ville!” Siegler said.

  “Bullshit!” Jarvis shoved his chair back and stomped toward the front door.

  Martin offered his hand to Joe. “I better get back to work. Nice meeting you, Mister Mundy, uh, Marshal, and welcome.” Joe and Siegler watched as he hurried away.

  “Sorry about Budd. He sometimes has a burr up his ass,” Siegler said. Joe nodded.

  “What happened to the last marshal—Welby, was it?” Joe said.

  “Yes, George Welby. He was our first. A good man, we thought. Some of the cowmen gave him some trouble, a couple different times. It seemed like he was handling it, though. Then one night, he packed up and rode out. Said nothing to nobody, including his wife.”

  “Wife?”

  “That’s the sad part. They have a house, a nice shack really, at the end of main street and south a bit. Sarah was too stubborn, and proud, I suppose, to accept help from those of us who offered. She did mending at her house, but that didn’t bring in enough after George left, so she, uh, started working at the Palace Saloon.” He looked down into his empty coffee cup. “Since she done that, the other womenfolk won’t speak to her. She don’t get any more mending work. So, she, uh, just works the saloon.”