“What kinda six-guns you toting, Miller?” I asked him, mostly to make conversation what would be harmless.
He drawed them both out and handed them over to me butts first. I tuck them and hefted them.
“They’re Remingtons,” he said, “1888 Model. Forty-fives. They’re good shooters.”
I give them back to him and hauled out my trusty shooter and handed it over to him.
“I prefer this here Merwin and Hulbert Company forty-five-caliber self-extracting revolver,” I said. “I’ve carried this one here around for a good many years, all except for a time I had to put it in the gun-smith’s shop for repair, and then I had to tote around a goddamn Colt.”
Miller hefted my shooter in his right hand, then tossed it over into his left. He spun it around some, first in one hand, then in the other’n. Final he give it back to me.
“It’s got a good feel,” he said. “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never handled one before. Never even saw one that I know of.”
“You’ll never handle a better one,” I said, as I shoved it back into my holster.
“I’d like to try it sometime,” he said.
“Maybe sometime tomorrer,” I said. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Sure thing, Marshal Barjack,” Miller said. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
“You’ll be wanting to buy one for your own self once you try it,” I told him. He just kindly laughed at that and tuck hisself another drink. Ole Butcher was a-drinking fast trying to catch up with the rest of us, and whenever his glass went dry on him, he couldn’t wait for old Aubrey. He got up and went to the bar to get hisself some more. He was about halfway back to the table when he kindly stopped, looking toward the door, and he called out, “Hey there, Dingle. Barjack, looky here. Here comes ole Dingle.”
I turned my head around to get me a look, and sure enough, Dingle was a-coming in and headed right for my table. He was carrying some kind of a package underneath his one arm. When he got to the table, he put the package down and pulled out a chair and set. Butcher got back then, and since Dingle had set his ass down in Butcher’s chair, Butcher dragged another chair over from the next table to us and set in it.
“Where you been, Dingle?” he said.
“I just went over to the county seat,” said Dingle, “and I caught the mail there a few days early.” He went to unwrapping that package he had brung along, and then we could all see that it was a brandnew batch a’ books. He tuck one off the top and tossed it to me. I picked it up and looked at it, and there on the cover was a drawing a’ me with two guns a-blazing, and on my right-hand side was ole Butcher, and he was shooting too, and on my left was Happy a-blazing away. And then on the far right-hand side was Sly the Widdamaker, and on the far left-hand side was ole Dingle hisself. Dingle handed another copy to Butcher.
“Is that there me?” Butcher said.
“I reckon it is,” I said.
“Damn,” said Butcher. “I’ll have to send this here to my pop.”
“I’ll give you another one for him,” Dingle said.
“Hot damn,” Butcher said.
“May I see one of those?” said Miller.
Dingle went and handed him one, and I said, “Oh yeah. Please excuse my rude ass. Mr. Miller, this here is Dingle the Scribbler. He writes books about me. Dingle, shake hands with Mose Miller, the Red-Tailed Hawk, a real Churkee Indian up from Indian Territory.”
“Mr. Miller,” said Dingle, reaching across in front of Butcher, “it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise, Mr. Dingle,” said Miller. Then he went to thumbing through the pages of Dingle’s latest, what was called Barjack and the Snake-Eyed Gang. Dingle looked over at Bonnie then.
“Miss Bonnie,” he said. “Do you have ink and pen in here somewhere?”
Bonnie yelled out to Aubrey, “Bring us a pen and a ink bottle.”
Aubrey brung it over right away, and Dingle went and writ his name underneath his picture on the cover a’ one a’ them books. Then he give the book and the ink bottle and the pen to Butcher and had him do the same thing. He passed it all around till we had all signed, all that is ‘cept for ole Sly what weren’t in the place. Then Dingle decided that we all had to sign his whole stack a’ books, and we done it. He give a extry copy to Butcher to send to his papa. Butcher couldn’t stop a-looking at his picture on the front cover.
“Papa just won’t believe this here,” he said, more than once.
Just then I heared a familiar voice come from over my shoulder. “Good eve ning, friends,” it said, and I knowed it right away. It were ole Sly, by God. Ever since our last little adventure together a-wiping out that there Snake Eyes Gang, he had tuck to dropping in the Hooch House fairly regular for just one drink with me and whoever else might be in there with me. I reckon we was just too good a’ friends for anything like a little animosity from ole Lillian, my ex-wife and his present one, to stand betwixt us.
“Well, howdy, Sly, ole pard,” I said. “Pull up a chair and set a spell with us.”
Well, he done that, and ole Aubrey, he knowed what Sly wanted, and he brung it right over. Sly thanked him graciously, and then Dingle piped up, “Mr. Sly, you came just in time.” He shoved the whole stack a’ books along with the pen and the ink bottle over Sly’s way. Sly picked up one book and studied it.
“Not a bad likeness,” he said, and then he commenced to signing them, so pretty soon, ole Dingle’s books was all signed by all a’ the heroes, and he was real goddamn proud. I interduced Sly and Miller and they shuck hands.
Well, I don’t know how I done it, but somehow I managed to get my own ass up the stairs with ole Bonnie to our room up above the Hooch House, and whenever I hit the bed I never knowed another damn thing till it was about ten o’clock the next morning. Course, Bonnie was still a-snoozing, and I was real careful not to disturb her rest, knowing how serious she tuck it. I moved around real sneakylike a-getting my ass dressed, and I never bothered her a bit. Then I went slipping outta the room and down the stairs.
Happy was there at my table already, and I was a little surprised to see not just only Butcher but Mose Miller setting there with him. Applewhite was playing cards at his table all by hisself. I think he called it solitude or something like that. I never did play no cards. I figgered it was enough of a gamble just getting through each day and going to bed at night hoping I’d wake up alive in the morning. I headed for my own private table, and ole Aubrey called out to me, “Whiskey or coffee?”
“Both,” I said, “and get me a breakfast.”
“Right away,” he said.
I set down, and I said, “Well, Mr. Miller. I’m a little bit surprised to see you here this morning.”
“We were going out to shoot today,” he said.
“Oh yeah. That’s right,” I said. “Well, let me eat first, and then we’ll go.”
Butcher pulled his British Webley Bulldog pistol outta his pocket and fondled it. “Can I go along?” he said.
“Suit yourself,” I said. “I don’t give a shit.”
Aubrey brung me a cup a’ coffee and a tumbler full a’ brown whiskey, and he seen that the others’ coffee cups was either low or empty, so he went back for the coffeepot and brung it back and refilled them all. I tuck me a good swaller a’ whiskey, and all at once, I felt considerable better. Then I went to sipping my coffee. Miller was reading a copy a’ Dingle’s book. I don’t know how he got it away from ole Dingle. I never asked. Pretty soon Aubrey brought out my breakfast, and I et it down in a right hurry. I wiped my mouth off on my coat sleeve, and then I stood up.
“Well,” I said, “are we going?”
Miller and Butcher stood up fast, and Happy looked up at me with a face like a goddamn puppy dog.
“Barjack?” he said.
“What?” I snapped back at him.
“You reckon I could come along with you?”
“Oh, hell,” I said, “come on along.”
We went dow
n to my marshaling office first so I could pick up a few boxes of extry bullets, and then we went to get our horses. Along the way, I seen ole Sly, and I hollered at him. He agreed to go along with us, and we even picked up Dingle. So the six of us rid on outside a’ town to a little spot beside the river. I had used this place before as a shooting range, so there was already a mess a’ tin cans and bottles and such laying around. We set them up on some big rocks and a fallen log, and then we all stepped back a distance. I pulled out my Merwin and Hulbert and handed it to Miller. He hefted it and done some tricks with it, getting the feel of it. Then he raised it up and snapped off a shot, bouncing one a’ the tin cans off its perch.
“Not bad,” I said.
I missed a shot with one a’ his Remingtons, and I grumbled and give it back to him. He give me back my own shooter, and I fired off three rounds and hit with each one of them. Happy hit three cans with six shots, and Butcher hit four out of five outta his Bulldog. Dingle fired six shots and never hit nothing he aimed at. Me and ole Miller traded guns again, and I shot his Remington till I got the hang of it all right. Sly was just standing by and watching us. By and by, we was all about shot out, and then ole Sly stepped up and emptied his two Colts. He bounced a can with each shot.
The Churkee had loaded up his Remingtons again, and I guess he had tuck pity on ole Dingle, so he give him one a’ the Remingtons and then commenced to giving him some pointers. And by God, in just a little while, ole Dingle was hitting about two or three outta ever’ five shots, and he was really a-beaming too. Miller borried my Merwin and Hulbert once more, and this time he shot up about ten slugs out of it. He never missed neither. Final he give it back to me.
“Marshal,” he said, “you might be right about that gun.”
“If you want to get yourself one,” I said, “I know where there’s one to be had. Only thing is, you might not want to do business with the son of a bitch what has it.”
“Why?” said Miller. “Who is it?”
“Name’s Henshaw. One a’ the two shit-asses what braved you when you come in the Hooch House last night. He’s our gunsmith, and he owns the gun shop in town.”
“Oh,” said Miller. “Well, I might just stop in and have a look at it anyhow.”
There was a few more shots fired after that, but mostly we was through. Pretty soon, we mounted up and rid on back into town. Sly went on to Lillian’s fancy eating place, and the rest of us went back to the Hooch House. I led the way right back to my own special table, and Aubrey brung me a tumbler a’ my special whiskey. The others all ordered what they wanted. We’d been out shooting long enough that it was late enough in the day by then so we was getting some business in the Hooch House by then. There was a cowhand at the bar starting in to get some rowdy, but his pard punched him on the shoulder and give a nod in my direction. The rowdy one looked and calmed down right quicklike. Happy seen it and smiled at me. I give a growl.
“Fellers,” I said, “I reckon I better get my ass upstairs and see if my Bonnie sweet pants has woke up yet.”
“Be careful, Barjack,” Happy said. He knowed real good just how mean and ornery ole Bonnie could be in the morning if she hadn’t got all the sleep she thought she needed.
“You want us to do anything while you’re gone, boss, uh, Marshal?” Butcher asked.
“Just keep things quiet is all,” I said. Then I went on up to the room. I opened the door real easylike and slipped in till I seed that Bonnie was up all right, setting on the edge a’ the bed.
“Good morning, sugar tits,” I said. “Did you sleep good last night?”
She jumped up and come a-running at me, and when we come together, she woulda knocked me flat on my ass if it weren’t for the fact that she wrapped her big arms around me just as her mass hit me.
“I slept just fine, darlin’,” she said, “but I missed you whenever I woke up. Where was you?”
“Me and the boys went outta town to do some shooting,” I said.
She dragged me back over to the bed and pulled me down on it and went to smooching around on me, and before I knowed it, she had me plumb nekkid, and then she stood up and pulled off her nightygown. She climbed in on top a me, and goddamn, but she like to’ve killed me. I figgered I must be letting old age catch up with me. I sure as hell couldn’t go again. I reckon I mighta disappointed ole Bonnie, but there just weren’t nothing for it. I got up and got dressed, and she did too, and then we went on downstairs together. The table was just like it was whenever I had left it.
All the boys stood up for Bonnie when we come to the table. I knowed it weren’t for me. Aubrey brung me and Bonnie each a drink. I was tipping back my glass and I caught a glimpse a’ Miller, and I seen something in his face. It was mean. He was a-looking toward the front door. I put down my glass and looked around over my shoulder. A man maybe forty years old and wearing a sharp-looking suit had just come through the front doors. I tried to tell if he was wearing a gun or not, but I couldn’t see none. I looked at him for just a minute while he walked on up to the bar. Then I looked back at Miller.
“Your man?” I asked him.
“Yes, Marshal,” he said. “That’s the man all right.”
Chapter Three
“Well,” I said, “I hope you ain’t a-fixing to kill him in here.”
“I remember what you said,” Miller told me.
Just then that there newcomer glanced over in our direction, and he seed Miller. A kind of a snarl come over his face, and he walked right on over to us where we was setting. He looked right at Miller, and he said, “Siyu, Red-Tailed Hawk.”
“I see you too, Cody, you slimy-tailed son of a bitch,” Miller said. “Don’t try talking Cherokee to me, goddamn you. You don’t even know one word.”
“You’re a long ways from home, Red-Tail,” said the one Miller called Cody. “What brings you out this far?”
“I’m trailing a skunk that needs killing,” Miller said. “It won’t be long now.”
“You think not?”
“I’m pretty damn sure.”
“You want to make a go of it now?” Cody asked.
“Not here,” said Miller. “I promised my friend, Marshal Barjack here, that there wouldn’t be any trouble in his town.”
“Then I reckon I can just relax while I’m here,” Cody said, “and have a few drinks.”
“As long as you can pay for them,” I said.
“Oh yeah,” said Cody. “I’m rolling in dough.”
“Go on over to the bar then and have yourself a few snorts,” I told him. “Just keep your distance from this here table. We’re particular about the smell.”
“I’ll do that,” Cody said. “I can see that Red-Tail has done prejudiced your opinion of me.”
He tipped his hat just like as if he was a real gentleman, and he turned and walked off toward the bar, where I could see ole Aubrey poured him a drink and tuck his money. I watched him for a minute or two, and then I said to Miller, “So that there’s the scoundrel you’re after.”
“He’s the one,” the Churkee said.
“Say,” I said, “what was that little exchange you all had right at the start? You know, something about talking Churkee?”
“Oh,” said Miller, “he tried to give me a greeting in Cherokee. Properly, it’s ‘osiyo,’ but he said ‘see you.’ ”
“Oh, I get it now,” I said. “Say, are you gonna tell me what that son of a bitch done to get you after his ass?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to,” Miller said, “but you’ve been a pretty good friend to me, and you are the local law, so I guess I might as well tell it to you. His name is Hiram Cody, but he can’t read or write, and calls it ‘Harm.’ My family had a ranch in the Cooweescoowee District way up north in the Cherokee Nation, up on the Kansas border. Well, Old Harm came in and somehow or other met my baby sister and commenced to courting her. He married her and they settled down on a piece of land way down south, nearly into the Creek Nation, but it didn’t take Harm long to find out
that farming was hard work. They had two little kids, and he just left them one day. Didn’t tell them a thing. Just left. I went down to visit my sister one day, and I found her and the little ones all alone way out in the middle of nowhere with no horse and no food. They were almost starving. They’d have died soon if I hadn’t come along when I did. I rode to the nearest store and bought a wagon and a load of food and went back to the house. I got them fed, and then loaded them up and drove them back home. They’re living back home on the ranch still. Then one day I heard that Harm was living with another Cherokee woman just a few miles away from the ranch. I felt like he was rubbing it in my face. I rode over to the place where he was supposed to be living meaning to kill him, but he saw me coming and ran away. The woman said that they were married. So I went to the law and signed a paper accusing him of bigamy. They brought him to trial, and he claimed that he was a Cherokee. Said his mama was Cherokee, and his defense was that Cherokee men could have more than one wife. Somehow he got away with it. They let him go, and he left the country. I sat home and seethed about it for a few days, and then I finally decided that I had to track him down and kill him. That’s all there was for it, and that’s the whole story, except that I followed him here.”
“It sounds to me like he’s a bastard what sure enough needs killing,” I said. “Now, listen here, Mr. Miller. While you was telling that tale, I was thinking through the law, and I was partly mis- took before. If you was to kill the son of a bitch outside out in the street in a fair fight, especially if he was to draw first, there wouldn’t be no law against that.”
I noticed that ole Dingle, what had been real quiet all this time, had hauled out his pocket notebook and was busy scribbling once again. He musta figgered that he had heard the beginnings of another good yarn, and he sure as hell weren’t going to let it go by.
“Thanks, Marshal,” the Churkee said.
Barjack and the Unwelcome Ghost Page 2
