He said, "It is hard to say. They will have to catch him first."
I said, "Do you know if they are even after him?"
He said, "Yes, I have asked for a fugitive warrant and I expect there is a Federal John Doe warrant on him now for the mail robbery. I will inform the marshals as to the correct name."
"I will inform them myself," said I. "Who is the best marshal they have?"
The sheriff thought on it for a minute. He said, "I would have to weigh that proposition. There is near about two hundred of them. I reckon William Waters is the best tracker. He is a half-breed Comanche and it is something to see, watching him cut for sign. The meanest one is Rooster Cogburn. He is a pitiless man, double-tough, and fear don't enter into his thinking. He loves to pull a cork. Now L. T. Quinn, he brings his prisoners in alive. He may let one get by now and then but he believes even the worst of men is entitled to a fair shake. Also the court does not pay any fees for dead men. Quinn is a good peace officer and a lay preacher to boot. He will not plant evidence or abuse a prisoner. He is straight as a string. Yes, I will say Quinn is about the best they have."
I said, "Where can I find this Rooster?"
He said, "You will probably find him in Federal Court tomorrow. They will be trying that Wharton boy."
The sheriff had Papa's gun belt there in a drawer and he gave it to me in a sugar sack to carry. The clothes and blankets were at the boardinghouse. The man Stonehill had the ponies and Papa's saddle at his stock barn. The sheriff wrote me out a note for the man Stonehill and the landlady at the boardinghouse, who was a Mrs. Floyd. I thanked him for his help. He said he wished he could do more.
It was around 5:30 P.M. when I got to the depot. The days were growing short and it was already dark. The southbound train was to leave some few minutes after 6 o'clock. I found Yarnell waiting outside the freight car where he had loaded the coffin. He said the express agent had consented to let him ride in the car with the coffin.
He said he would go help me find a seat in a coach but I said, "No, I will stay over a day or two. I must see about those ponies and I want to make sure the law is on the job. Chaney has got clean away and they are not doing much about it."
Yarnell said, "You can't stay in this city by yourself."
I said, "It will be all right. Mama knows I can take care of myself. Tell her I will be stopping at the Monarch boardinghouse. If there is no room there I will leave word with the sheriff where I am."
He said, "I reckon I will stay too."
I said, "No, I want you to go with Papa. When you get home tell Mr. Myers I said to put him in a better coffin."
"Your mama will not like this," said he.
"I will be back in a day or two. Tell her I said not to sign anything until I get home. Have you had anything to eat?"
"I had me a cup of hot coffee. I ain't hongry."
"Do they have a stove in that car?"
"I will be all right wrapped in my coat."
"I sure do appreciate this, Yarnell."
"Mr. Frank was always mighty good to me."
Some people will take it wrong and criticize me for not going to my father's funeral. My answer is this: I had my father's business to attend to. He was buried in his Mason's apron by the Danville lodge.
I got to the Monarch in time to eat. Mrs. Floyd said she had no vacant room because of the big crowd in town but that she would put me up somehow. The daily rate was seventy-five cents a night with two meals and a dollar with three meals. She did not have a rate for one meal so I was obliged to give her seventy-five cents even though I had planned to buy some cheese and crackers the next morning for my daytime eats. I don't know what her weekly rate was.
There were ten or twelve people at the supper table and all men except for me and Mrs. Floyd and the poor old blind woman who was called "Grandma Turner." Mrs. Floyd was a right big talker. She explained to everybody that I was the daughter of the man who had been shot in front of her house. I did not appreciate it. She told about the event in detail and asked me impertinent questions about my family. It was all I could do to reply politely. I did not wish to discuss the thing with idly curious strangers, no matter how well intentioned they might be.
I sat at one corner of the table between her and a tall, long-backed man with a doorknob head and a mouthful of prominent teeth. He and Mrs. Floyd did most of the talking. He traveled about selling pocket calculators. He was the only man there wearing a suit of clothes and a necktie. He told some interesting stories about his experiences but the others paid little attention to him, being occupied with their food like hogs rooting in a bucket.
"Watch out for those chicken and dumplings," he told me.
Some of the men stopped eating.
"They will hurt your eyes," he said.
A dirty man across the table in a smelly deerskin coat said, "How is that?"
With a mischievous twinkle the drummer replied, "They will hurt your eyes looking for the chicken." I thought it a clever joke but the dirty man said angrily, "You squirrelheaded son of a bitch," and went back to eating. The drummer kept quiet after that. The dumplings were all right but I could not see twenty-five cents in a little flour and grease.
After supper some of the men left to go to town, probably to drink whiskey in the barrooms and listen to the hurdy-gurdy. The rest of us went to the parlor. The boarders dozed and read newspapers and talked about the hanging and the drummer told yellow fever jokes. Mrs. Floyd brought out Papa's things that were bundled in the slicker and I went through them and made an inventory.
Everything seemed to be there, even his knife and watch. The watch was of brass and not very expensive but I was surprised to find it because people who will not steal big things will often steal little things like that. I stayed in the parlor and listened to the talk for a while and then asked Mrs. Floyd if she would show me to my bed.
She said, "Go straight down that hall to the last bedroom on the left. There is a bucket of water and a washpan on the back porch. The toilet is out back directly behind the chinaberry tree. You will be sleeping with Grandma Turner."
She must have seen the dismay on my face for she added, "It will be all right. Grandma Turner will not mind. She is used to doubling up. She will not even know you are there, sweet."
Since I was the paying customer I believed my wishes should have been considered before Grandma Turner's, though it seemed neither of us was to have any say.
Mrs. Floyd went on, saying, "Grandma Turner is a sound sleeper. It is certainly a blessing at her age. Do not worry about waking Grandma Turner, a little mite like you."
I did not mind sleeping with Grandma Turner but I thought Mrs. Floyd had taken advantage of me. Still, I saw nothing to be gained from making a fuss at that hour. She already had my money and I was tired and it was too late to look for lodging elsewhere.
The bedroom was cold and dark and smelled like medicine. A wintry blast came up through the cracks in the floor. Grandma Turner turned out to be more active in her slumber than I had been led to expect. When I got into bed I found she had all the quilts on her side. I pulled them over. I said my prayers and was soon asleep. I awoke to find that Grandma Turner had done the trick again. I was bunched up in a knot and trembling with cold from the exposure. I pulled the covers over again. This happened once more later in the night and I got up, my feet freezing, and arranged Papa's blankets and slicker over me as makeshift covers. Then I slept all right.
*
Mrs. Floyd served me no meat for breakfast, only grits and a fried egg. After eating I put the watch and knife in my pocket and took the gun along in the sugar sack.
At the Federal Courthouse I learned that the head marshal had gone to Detroit, Michigan, to deliver prisoners to the "house of correction," as they called it. A deputy who worked in the office said they would get around to Tom Chaney in good time, but that he would have to wait his turn. He showed me a list of indicted outlaws that were then on the loose in the Indian Territory and it looked lik
e the delinquent tax list that they run in the Arkansas Gazette every year in little type. I did not like the looks of that, nor did I care much for the "smarty" manner of the deputy. He was puffed up by his office. You can expect that out of Federal people and to make it worse this was a Republican gang that cared nothing for the opinion of the good people of Arkansas who are Democrats.
In the courtroom itself they were empaneling a jury. The bailiff at the door told me that the man Rooster Cogburn would be around later in the day when the trial began as he was the main witness for the prosecution.
I went to Stonehill's stock barn. He had a nice barn and behind it a big corral and a good many small feeder pens. The bargain cow ponies, around thirty head, all colors, were in the corral. I thought they would be broken-down scrubs but they were frisky things with clear eyes and their coats looked healthy enough, though dusty and matted. They had probably never known a brush. They had burrs in their tails.
I had hated these ponies for the part they played in my father's death but now I realized the notion was fanciful, that it was wrong to charge blame to these pretty beasts who knew neither good nor evil but only innocence. I say that of these ponies. I have known some horses and a good many more pigs who I believe harbored evil intent in their hearts. I will go further and say all cats are wicked, though often useful. Who has not seen Satan in their sly faces? Some preachers will say, well, that is superstitious "claptrap." My answer is this: Preacher, go to your Bible and read Luke 8: 26-33.
Stonehill had an office in one corner of the barn. On the door glass it said, "Col. G. Stonehill. Licensed Auctioneer. Cotton Factor." He was in there behind his desk and he had a red-hot stove going. He was a prissy baldheaded man with eyeglasses.
I said, "How much are you paying for cotton?"
He looked up at me and said, "Nine and a half for low middling and ten for ordinary."
I said, "We got most of ours out early and sold it to Woodson Brothers in Little Rock for eleven cents."
He said, "Then I suggest you take the balance of it to the Woodson Brothers."
"We have sold it all," said I. "We only got ten and a half on the last sale."
"Why did you come here to tell me this?"
"I thought we might shop around up here next year, but I guess we are doing all right in Little Rock." I showed him the note from the sheriff. After he had read it he was not disposed to be so short with me.
He took off his eyeglasses and said, "It was a tragic thing. May I say your father impressed me with his manly qualities. He was a close trader but he acted the gentleman. My watchman had his teeth knocked out and can take only soup."
I said, "I am sorry to hear it"
He said, "The killer has flown to the Territory and is now on the scout there."
"This is what I heard."
"He will find plenty of his own stamp there," said he. "Birds of a feather. It is a sink of crime. Not a day goes by but there comes some new report of a farmer bludgeoned, a wife outraged, or a blameless traveler set upon and cut down in a sanguinary ambuscade. The civilizing arts of commerce do not flourish there."
I said, "I have hopes that the marshals will get him soon. His name is Tom Chaney. He worked for us. I am trying to get action. I aim to see him shot or hanged."
"Yes, yes, well might you labor to that end," said Stonehill. "At the same time I will counsel patience. The brave marshals do their best but they are few in number. The lawbreakers are legion and they range over a vast country that offers many natural hiding places. The marshal travels about friendless and alone in that criminal nation. Every man's hand is against him there save in large part for that of the Indian who has been cruelly imposed upon by felonious intruders from the States."
I said, "I would like to sell those ponies back to you that my father bought."
He said, "I fear that is out of the question. I will see that they are shipped to you at my earliest convenience."
I said, "We don't want the ponies now. We don't need them."
"That hardly concerns me," said he. "Your father bought these ponies and paid for them and there is an end of it. I have the bill of sale. If I had any earthly use for them I might consider an offer but I have already lost money on them and, be assured, I do not intend to lose more. I will be happy to accommodate you in shipping them. The popular steamer Alice Waddell leaves tomorrow for Little Rock. I will do what I can to find space on it for you and the stock."
I said, "I want three hundred dollars for Papa's saddle horse that was stolen."
He said, "You will have to take that up with the man who has the horse."
"Tom Chaney stole it while it was in your care," said I. "You are responsible."
Stonehill laughed at that. He said, "I admire your sand but I believe you will find I am not liable for such claims. Let me say too that your valuation of the horse is high by about two hundred dollars."
I said, "If anything, my price is low. Judy is a fine racing mare. She has won purses of twenty-five dollars at the fair. I have seen her jump an eight-rail fence with a heavy rider."
"All very interesting, I'm sure," said he.
"Then you will offer nothing?"
"Nothing except what is yours. The ponies are yours, take them. Your father's horse was stolen by a murderous criminal. This is regrettable but I had provided reasonable protection for the animal as per the implicit agreement with the client. We must each of us bear our own misfortunes. Mine is that I have temporarily lost the services of my watchman."
"I will take it to law," said I.
"You must do as you think best," said he.
"We will see if a widow and her three small children can get fair treatment in the courts of this city."
"You have no case."
"Lawyer J. Noble Daggett of Dardanelle, Arkansas, may think otherwise. Also a jury."
"Where is your mother?"
"She is at home in Yell County looking after my sister Victoria and my brother Little Frank."
"You must fetch her then. I do not like to deal with children."
"You will not like it any better when Lawyer Daggett gets hold of you. He is a grown man."
"You are impudent."
"I do not wish to be, sir, but I will not be pushed about when I am in the right."
"I will take it up with my attorney."
"And I will take it up with mine. I will send him a message by telegraph and he will be here on the evening train. He will make money and I will make money and your lawyer will make money and you, Mr. Licensed Auctioneer, will foot the bill."
"I cannot make an agreement with a child. You are not accountable. You cannot be bound to a contract."
"Lawyer Daggett will back up any decision I make. You may rest easy on that score. You can confirm any agreement by telegraph."
"This is a damned nuisance!" he exclaimed. "How am I to get my work done? I have a sale tomorrow."
"There can be no settlement after I leave this office," said I. "It will go to law."
He worried with his eyeglasses for a minute and then said, "I will pay two hundred dollars to your father's estate when I have in my hand a letter from your lawyer absolving me of all liability from the beginning of the world to date. It must be signed by your lawyer and your mother and it must be notarized. The offer is more than liberal and I only make it to avoid the possibility of troublesome litigation. I should never have come here. They told me this town was to be the Pittsburgh of the Southwest."
I said, "I will take two hundred dollars for Judy, plus one hundred dollars for the ponies and twenty-five dollars for the gray horse that Tom Chaney left. He is easily worth forty dollars. That is three hundred and twenty-five dollars total."
"The ponies have no part in this," said he. "I will not buy them."
"Then I will keep the ponies and the price for Judy will be three hundred and twenty-five dollars."
Stonehill snorted. "I would not pay three hundred and twenty-five dollars for winged Pegasus, and that s
playfooted gray does not even belong to you."
I said, "Yes, he does. Papa only let Tom Chaney have the use of him."
"My patience is wearing thin. You are an unnatural child. I will pay two hundred and twenty-five dollars and keep the gray horse. I don't want the ponies."
"I cannot settle for that."
"This is my last offer. Two hundred and fifty dollars. For that I get a release and I keep your father's saddle. I am also writing off a feed and stabling charge. The gray horse is not yours to sell."
"The saddle is not for sale. I will keep it. Lawyer Daggett can prove the ownership of the gray horse. He will come after you with a writ of replevin."
"All right, now listen very carefully as I will not bargain further. I will take the ponies back and keep the gray horse and settle for three hundred dollars. Now you must take that or leave it and I do not much care which it is."
I said, "I am sure Lawyer Daggett would not wish me to consider anything under three hundred and twenty-five dollars. What you get for that is everything except the saddle and you get out of a costly lawsuit as well. It will go harder if Lawyer Daggett makes the terms as he will include a generous fee for himself."
"Lawyer Daggett! Lawyer Daggett! Who is this famous pleader of whose name I was happily ignorant ten minutes ago?"
I said, "Have you ever heard of the Great Arkansas River, Vicksburg & Gulf Steamship Company?"
"I have done business with the G.A.V.&G.," said he.
"Lawyer Daggett is the man who forced them into receivership," said I. "They tried to 'mess' with him. It was a feather in his cap. He is on familiar terms with important men in Little Rock. The talk is he will be governor one day."
"Then he is a man of little ambition," said Stonehill, "incommensurate with his capacity for making mischief. I would rather be a country road overseer in Tennessee than governor of this benighted state. There is more honor in it."
"If you don't like it here you should pack your traps and go back where you came from."
"Would that I could get out from under!" said he. "I would be aboard the Friday morning packet with a song of thanksgiving on my lips."
True Grit Page 2
