by Monty McCord
“Fine family. Good people,” Siegler said.
“Yes, they are.”
“Say, Joe, care to walk with me over to Budd’s new saloon and take a look?” Siegler said. He pulled his coat tight and buttoned it all the way. “He’s having a grand opening Friday night, I think as much to show off his new piano as the saloon itself.”
“Sure.” Joe said and picked up the ten-gauge that he’d leaned against the storefront. “Didn’t know he got a piano.”
“It made it to Willow Springs and will be on the freight wagon come Friday,” Siegler said. “Being’s it’ll be the first one in town, I expect a lot a folks to show up. Most haven’t heard piano music for some time.”
They walked across the refrozen street, and when they stepped onto the boardwalk on the other side, Siegler spoke again. “Joe, Budd told me he asked Sheriff Canfield to send his deputy down Friday to help keep the peace at the opening festivities. I wanted you to be aware of that.”
“Thanks, but I think your city marshal can handle it.”
“That’s what I told Budd, and he said, ‘Probably so.’ Actually, I think he’s easing up on his attitude toward you. Not a lot, but maybe a little,” Siegler said. They both saw a canvas covering the new sign on the awning and two men digging large holes in the street.
Joe said, “Uh huh,” as he followed Siegler inside. They heard hammering on the balcony but didn’t see anyone. A narrow stairway went up the back wall to the middle of the balcony that featured a room on either side.
Jarvis’s saloon was wider than the North Star but not as wide as the Palace. It was located in the middle of the block, with the North Star on the west end and the undertaker on the other. A dark wood bar was set to the right, with a plainly designed back-bar that was fully stocked with liquor bottles and cigars. A large mirror was mounted above it that was larger than the one at the Palace. No doubt the larger size was on purpose. Hanging above the mirror was a large, framed painting of a naked woman reclining on a couch. Her seductive eyes seemed to follow a person wherever he was in the place. A heating stove was situated in the middle of the tables.
A door off the far end of the bar opened, and Jarvis and another man appeared. The other man, a carpenter, climbed the stairs.
“Byron, ’bout damned time you stopped by for a look,” Jarvis said, glancing at Joe. “Mundy.” Joe noted that this was the first time that Jarvis had actually offered him a greeting.
“Mister Jarvis.”
“Well, what do you think, Byron?” Jarvis said.
“Very nice, Budd. Congratulations. What are those men digging up the street for?”
“Fire pits. Got Sanderson makin’ up some grates to cook beef on. He made these rims for the hangin’ lights in here, too.” He pointed up at the iron rims hanging from chains. Three lamps were affixed to each of the four rims. “I’m cookin’ up two beeves and feedin’ folks free, long as the meat lasts.”
“Well, we haven’t had a regular wing-ding like this since the great Centennial celebration last July! Look forward to hearing that piano, too,” Siegler said.
“Yep, be here Friday, along with some new employees. Buy you a drink?” Jarvis said.
“By God, I’ll take you up on that. Probably the only free drink I’ll ever get from you!” Siegler said and laughed.
Jarvis smiled and pointed his finger at Siegler. “That’s damned sure!” He poured three whiskeys and shoved two of them across the bar. Siegler picked his up and held it out, ready for a toast. Joe didn’t move.
“I better wait ’til later,” Joe said.
“You won’t drink with me? That what you’re sayin’, Mundy?” Jarvis said. He held Joe’s gaze for a moment, then looked at Siegler.
“Joe, we should toast this man and wish his new business well.” Siegler looked anxiously at Joe and then to the glass in front of him.
Joe hesitated for a moment and looked at Jarvis. He picked up the shot and held it up. “To success.”
“To success!” The other two joined in and downed their whiskey.
“S’pose I should thank you, Mundy, for cuttin’ down on the competition for me,” Jarvis said.
“Smiley didn’t have anything to do with you,” Joe said.
“All the same, he’s closed for the next sixty days at least.”
“You gonna give Lucy a job, Mister Jarvis?” Joe asked.
“She’s respectable enough lookin’. I was considerin’ it, but now, well you know,” Jarvis said and shrugged.
“You could pay her for cleaning up the place at least.”
“People here gotta’ work, Mundy. Now I don’t like what them animals did to her anymore than the next man, but I can’t have her workin’ here. Hell, I’d spend most of my time pickin’ her up,” Jarvis said.
Joe’s face showed his distaste for Jarvis’s statement.
Jarvis said, “I do want to ask you a question, Mundy. Would you be holdin’ any objections to my sellin’ the meat market to Dan Loman, if Judge Worden would see his way to go lenient with him, I mean?”
“That wouldn’t be any of my concern,” Joe said.
“What I mean to say is, if I approach the judge, you won’t throw anything in the way?”
“Like I said, that wouldn’t be any of my concern.”
“Okay, then,” Jarvis said. He refilled the glasses. “To the future.”
Joe and Adam leaned against the front of the office while waiting for the defense attorney from Gracie Flats to talk privately with his two clients. After taking a short break, winter had set in again and brought the bitter temperatures back. Joe sipped steaming coffee and watched Main Street which was busier than usual. The trial of Ace Todd and Dan Loman would start at nine o’clock, while the grand opening of Jarvis’s saloon would be the following night. These two attractions brought more people to town than usual. Joe hoped the trial would be over before the saloon opened at six o’clock on Friday.
Adam was watching the attorney through the window. “I couldn’t never figure out why lawyers stand up in a court of law and try to get outlaws free of their charges. Even ones whose crime was murderin’.”
Joe smiled on the inside. “Adam, you might make a lawman yet.”
“Well, it ain’t right for ’em to help some a’ them escape the penalty for what they done.”
“Well, you’re right. ’Cept our law system says everybody gets a proper defense when accused. Be the same for you or me,” Joe said.
Adam looked at the gray sky thoughtfully. “I can see that. It’s just when they know a man killed wrongfully, and a fancified lawyer does his job so well, the killer gets to go free . . . without no damned penalty at all, why that’s wrong. All there is to it. It’s just wrong. I’ve heard of that happenin’ too.”
“It has . . .” Joe coughed. “It has for a fact. Never said our law system is foolproof. Just the best we have for now.”
“Bet that don’t help the killed feller feel any better,” Adam said after a few moments of silence.
Joe said, “You are most assuredly right about that.”
Christmas Evans approached from across the street, wearing the long buffalo coat that Joe had first seen him in. As he stepped up onto the boardwalk he looked at Joe and then at Adam. “Little brisk to be lollygagging about outdoors, don’t you think, gentlemen?”
“Mornin’, Pastor,” Adam said and nodded.
“Christmas, you’re movin’ about early.”
“Well, Marshal, thought I’d enjoy a cup of that good coffee you serve before I head down to Doc’s. I may even let you spill some rye into the cup to keep the coffee company.”
“Be glad to, but we’re waitin’ for the lawyer from Gracie Flats to finish talkin’ with his clients,” Joe said.
“I shall, in that event, take my business elsewhere,” Evans said. “Good day, gentlemen.”
“Say, Christmas, before you go. How are things down at Doc’s? When he sewed up my forehead, he seemed a little off his feed, if you know wh
at I mean.”
Evans looked down the street while he replied. “Frankly, just between us, I’m worried about our good doctor. His abilities are not of what concerns me, but how he’s taken to drink since that young child’s death. Right now, there are two children, both boys, under his care with the same ailment. One of them is not doing well. If he loses another . . .” His voice trailed off. “Has it not been a long winter?” He ambled his way down the boardwalk.
Adam looked at Joe and turned back to look at Evans. “Been a long winter, that’s a fact. Gettin’ tired a’ my joints freezin’ up on me.”
“Afraid our boots are parked in the wrong location to be expectin’ a surround of warmth,” Joe said, as the office door opened.
“Marshal, I am finished. You may escort my clients down to the courtroom now,” the lawyer said. “Trial will begin in ten minutes.” He donned a clean, brown bowler and, with briefcase in hand, made his way down the walk.
“We may escort our prisoners, is what we may be escortin’,” Adam said under his breath as they went into the office. Although Joe had to force back a smile, he was surprised at Adam’s apparent dislike of lawyers.
Joe handed Adam the keys, and he unlocked the cell. “Todd first,” Joe said and picked up handcuffs from the desk.
Todd stepped out, and Adam walked up to him. “You were sayin’ something about me? Some kinda problem with me, Mister Todd?”
Joe stood by and watched.
“Don’t be squarin’ off on me, boy, you’ll be wearin’ your hat on your ass!” Todd said and looked at Adam. Joe’s deputy was only slightly taller than Todd.
“I am squarin’ off on you, Mister Todd. You gonna back me down?” Adam said. Todd became enraged, but his roundhouse swing was cut short when Adam’s fist smashed into his stomach. Todd apparently had forgotten that with all that dungin’ out of stalls came strong arms and shoulders. He wheezed and fell to his knees, holding himself with both arms. Todd made strange squeaking sounds, and his face turned blue. A few minutes went by before he could raise his head to speak, his voice raspy. “Your damned deputy hit me, Mundy, what are ya’ gonna do about it?” Joe gave Adam the handcuffs and helped Todd back to his feet.
Joe said, “What I’m gonna do is give you some advice. Don’t try swingin’ at him.You ain’t too good at it.”
“In closing, Your Honor, the state has proven that the receiving, slaughtering, and selling of stolen livestock occurred at the Jarvis Meat Market under the auspices of Mister Ace Todd, the manager. While the exact part played by Mister Loman in this illegal enterprise is difficult to pinpoint, he, Mister Loman, did carry out the butchering of said stolen livestock under direction and orders of Mister Todd, and therefore holds some accountability for his part. On that note, Mister Loman has, according to Marshal Mundy, been cooperative in furnishing information, and the state would not obviate a light sentence, if that pleases the court.”
The prosecutor looked at Judge Worden and then at the jury as he continued, “In that light, Mister Jarvis, owner of the market, has indicated his willingness to sell the business to Mister Loman upon his recompense of legal entanglements. As for Mister Todd, it is clear that he orchestrated the illegal activities, which included issuing a call for stolen animals, in effect asking others to do the stealing on his behalf, to be delivered to him in the dead of night. And Mister Todd himself transported by wagon the stolen goods to other parts for the purpose of selling those ill-gotten gains. He has refused to name any of those persons involved in furnishing him with the stock, even though the possibility of a lesser sentence for him, in doing so, exists. Your Honor, Mister Todd’s guilt is absolute, and I’m afraid his repentance, absent. Thank you.” The prosecutor then took his seat.
“Mister Hansen, do you care to close for the defense?” Judge Worden asked.
“I do indeed, Your Honor.” Hansen stood and walked past the bench to the side of the room where Joe was sitting, the ten-gauge across his lap. He turned and started back, talking as he paced the floor.
“Your Honor, esteemed members of the jury, the defense has shown that Marshal Mundy broke into a closed business in the middle of the night, and charges of that burglary notwithstanding, has produced so-called evidence that he had no legal right to seize, let alone bring in and present to this court, as evidence. Mister Todd testified that he believed the purchases of the beeves in question were from the duly constituted representatives of said ranches involved, and holding this belief, which he felt was supported by the sellers’ remarks, did not feel compelled to ask for a bill of sale. We feel he is guilty of no more than careless management of the business to which he was entrusted, and that, as the court knows, is not a crime at all.”
“Do not portend as to what this court knows or doesn’t know, Mister Hansen. Now get on with it!” Worden directed. Hansen was momentarily stunned. His face turned ashen.
“Of course, Your Honor. In addition, ah, Mister Todd has learned his lesson well, and if the court sees fit to realize the noncriminal error of his ways, he has offered his assurance that he will prove to be an asset to the community from this day forward.”
The trial had lasted most of the day, excluding an hour break for lunch. It was four ten. Worden said, “The jury will retire to the back room for deliberations. Court adjourned.”
Once the prisoners were housed back in the cell, Adam sat down with a cup of coffee. Joe stepped out to the privy, and when he returned, Christmas Evans was in the office, slumped into the extra chair.
“Coffee or that whiskey you were here for earlier?” Joe said cautiously. He could see a strained sadness on the pastor’s face.
“Whiskey. Please, Marshal.”
“Is somethin’ wrong, Pastor?” Adam said.
“I just came from Doc Sullivan’s. It seems that he’s down to one patient now.” He downed the shot in one gulp and set it down for a refill. Joe poured and kept silent.
“Ike Raymond’s boy, Grant, just passed. The influenza, you know.” Evans voice was soft and without vigor. “He was nine years old.” Joe exchanged glances with Adam.
“Don’t know Mister Raymond, I guess,” Joe said.
Evans cleared his throat. “He farms a few miles east of here near the river. Lost his wife two summers ago. The boy was all the family he had still living.”
“There anything we can do, Christmas?” Joe said. Evans shook his head. “We will need to keep an eye on Doc. Sarah is still there to help out. Poor man has refused sleep for three days.”
“Pastor, do you believe that things like this, the boy dyin’ with the inflenza, was God’s doin’?” Adam asked. “You know, some say, ‘Well that was God’s plan, he had a reason to call him back home.’”
“What I think is, the boy caught hold of a bad sickness, and it took life from him. But, rest assured, Adam, our Lord will care for him now, in a better place than this will ever be. And that’s all that we can hope, isn’t it?” Evans got up without another word and walked out.
“How did the trial come out?” Sarah asked.
Joe finished chewing a mouthful of potato before he answered. He had reluctantly accepted a supper invitation from Sarah, knowing how little sleep she had been getting while helping Doc Sullivan. She had prepared a simple meal of boiled potatoes and sausage.
“Jury found them both guilty. Worden gave Loman sixty days in the county jail and Todd five years hard labor at Lincoln.”
“Todd deserved it. Why such a light sentence for Dan Lo-man?”
“Jarvis talked to Worden and told him he felt Todd was the responsible one, that he’d be willing to sell Loman the meat market. I happen to agree. Guess the judge felt that since Jarvis, being a victim, felt this way, that it was okay with him.”
“Do you have to take Todd to Lincoln?”
“No. Canfield’s deputy will be here tomorrow for the saloon opening. When he goes back to Gracie Flats Saturday, he’ll take them. Move Todd to the prison on their schedule, I s’pose.” Joe coughed seve
ral times.
“Your head looks terrible. Does it still pain you?” Sarah looked concerned.
“Not so much anymore.”
“There’s something I want to tell you,” Sarah said. She refilled their coffee cups and returned the pot to the stove. “Budd Jarvis stopped over to Doc’s when I was there. He asked me to work at his new saloon.” Joe put down his fork, still loaded with sausage.
“What did you tell him?”
Sarah said, “Told him I would.”
“Thought you were going to try to work here, with mendin’ and sewing and stuff?”
“Just ain’t enough work to live on, as I explained before. And I won’t live on handouts from you!”
“They ain’t handouts. I eat your food and drink your coffee—”
“I don’t ask you to pay to eat with me, and besides, a meal don’t cost five bucks. It’s not the bed you think you’re payin’ for, is it? ’Cuz we already had that discussion.”
Joe shook his head, knowing when to quit, and picked up his fork. “How’s Doc doin’, losin’ another patient?”
Sarah stared at him for a moment before answering. “It didn’t do him any good. He’s taken to drinking a bit, which I hope doesn’t run away with him. Mister Raymond took his boy back home with him. Bury him there. Not another damned child’s funeral to go through at least.”
“That’s good, I guess,” Joe said. Sarah nodded and finished her food.
“I visited Lucy. She’s a mess.”
“I was glad to get my coat back,” Joe said.
“It’s strange, her knocking around by herself in the Palace.” Sarah picked up the dishes and set them in the dry sink.
“She gettin’ any callers?”
“She’s had four transactions since she got beat,” Sarah said. “And the cowboys know the Palace is closed, so they don’t bother goin’ by anymore.”
Sarah stopped behind Joe and draped her arms around him. “Are you my caller?”
“You look tired, I should be gettin’ back,” Joe said.
