Lawless Prairie

Gordy looked his customer over while he poured Clayton’s drink. When he set the bottle down on the bar, Clayton eyed the shot glass carefully. “I figure if I’m payin’ for a shot,” he said, “I’d expect to get a full shot. How about fillin’ that glass the rest of the way?”

“Much obliged,” Clayton said, and tossed the whiskey down his throat. The fiery liquid scalded his throat, leaving him with tears in his eyes and speechless for a few seconds. When he could talk again, he rasped, “If that’s the best you can get, I won’t complain about a half-full glass next time . . . Damn!”

“Last time I was up this way there was nothin’ but a few tents here,” Zach said. He opened his coat to display his badge. “I’m a deputy marshal, and I’m looking for a man that mighta come through here a week or so ago. He was travelin’ with another man and a woman.” When Gordy failed to respond, he added, “Young feller.”

Gordy knew exactly whom he was referring to, but he was not in the habit of helping the law. Many of his customers were men on the other side of the law. He gave this some extra thought, however, because of the recent demise of two of his regulars. Johnny and Red had been friends of his, and their deaths cost him money. He wouldn’t mind seeing the man who killed them pay for the deed. “I seen him,” Gordy said after a lengthy pause. “He was in here for a drink, but I don’t know where he come from or where he went.”

Clayton had a feeling the bartender knew more than he was telling, but he thanked him and went on his way. He rode comfortably, not asking for more than a leisurely walk from the chestnut roan he rode. There had been changes since last he was in this part of the territory with a cluster of tents and shacks that was almost enough to be called a town. When he came upon a trading post that he remembered, close by the bank of the river, he decided to stop.

Hitching his horse at the rail out front, he took a look around before going inside. When he had been there two years before, there had been stacks of hides—buffalo, beaver, deer—piled high at the side of the building. Now there were only a few skins in a stack no more than waist high. The thing that surprised him most was the sight of a couple of plows resting against the building.

Inside, the trading post looked more like a dry goods store with tools, harnesses, and bolts of calico in addition to the regular stock of cartridges, skinning knives, and traps—all evidence of civilization approaching. Before asking about Clint Conner, he made conversation with the clerk, a young man who, it turned out, was the son-in-law of the proprietor Clayton had remembered.

“Yes, sir,” the clerk responded to Clayton’s remark about the changes. “The business in hides is way down from what it used to be, but we’ve got more settlers moving in every month, so we’re selling more dry goods. The army had some surveyors in here just a month ago. They’re thinking about establishing a fort here. We might have us a town before you know it.”

“You might be right,” Clayton replied. He then identified himself as a deputy marshal and described Clint Conner. “I’ve got a real important message for him,” he said in case the clerk might be hesitant to inform on him. “I’m just hopin’ he’s still around here somewhere. You see him lately?”

He pulled the roan to a stop at the head of a wagon track that led from the road up to the second house after crossing the creek. Reaching up to the wide brim of his hat, he pulled it down snug on his head, a habit he performed unconsciously when he was about to accost a fugitive. Nudging the roan then, he rode up to the plain frame house and dismounted. He was met at the edge of the porch by Frederick Steiner.

“Why, I think he’s in the barn,” Frederick said, not really sure where Clint was. His son, hearing his dad talking to someone, came out on the porch. Frederick turned to him and said, “John, go out to the barn and fetch Clint.” John nodded and jumped off the porch. Back to Clayton, Frederick asked, “You ride out from the settlement?”

“Why, that would be real nice,” Clayton said with a warm grin. It was the first time he had ever used this approach in making an arrest, but he was confident that he knew his man. Conner was not a killer. He was convinced that he was a decent man who had just taken a step in the wrong direction. It was fairly obvious that these folks had no inkling of Clint’s past. As for confronting Clint, Clayton felt the best place to keep the arrest from getting nasty was in the midst of the family who had evidently taken him in. He figured Clint would not want to involve the family in any violent action.

Following Frederick inside, he nodded to Karl and the two women, all with puzzled expressions to greet him. Totally confident in his assessment of the man he was there to arrest, he graciously accepted the cup of coffee offered by Joanna and answered yes when asked if he wanted sugar. When she brought the sugar, he reached for it, causing his coat to gap slightly, enough so that she glimpsed the shiny metal object pinned to his shirt. She froze, spilling some of the sugar on the table. Guessing that she had seen his badge, and by her reaction, maybe knowing Clint was in trouble, he quickly smiled and took the sugar bowl from her hand. “No need to bother,” he said, “I’ll just brush it off with my hand.”

“Damn!” Clayton uttered, and sprang up from his chair, suddenly realizing he had been recognized. He rushed to the door and ran toward the corral. The puzzled family followed him out to the porch, astonished by his actions, and stood watching as he charged toward the barn.

Clayton stopped at once. “Hello, Clint,” he said, a friendly smile upon his face. “Here you are, pointin’ a rifle in my face again.” He took a couple of steps more, but stopped when Clint cocked the rifle. “The last time I saw you, you helped me out of a jam, and then made me take a helluva long walk. My feet were sore for a week.”

“You shouldn’t have come after me,” Clint said. “Why the hell couldn’t you just leave me alone?” Glancing behind the lawman, he was disappointed to see Joanna and the others come in behind him. The expressions of alarm and dismay in their faces brought a feeling of great regret to his troubled mind.

Reading Clint’s expression, Clayton took a quick glance to confirm what he suspected. They didn’t know, with the possible exception of the young woman, of Clint’s past. Knowing their presence here now was to his advantage, he made an attempt to reason with the fugitive. “I don’t know how much you’ve told these nice folks here, so I’ll spell it out for ’em. You’re an escaped prisoner from the Wyoming Territorial Prison.” There was a distinct gasp from Bertha and a grunt of surprise from both men beside her. Clayton continued. “That’s the reason I had to come track you down. But I’m ready to tell these folks that I know you’re a good man. You made a mistake when you weren’t much more than a boy, stole a horse, but you only served half your sentence. If you come back with me peaceable, I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I figure I owe you that, seein’ as how you saved my neck back there north of Cheyenne. I’ll testify about that to the judge, that and that little stunt you pulled to save the guard’s life.” He gestured toward the stunned gathering behind him. “Your friends here probably don’t know you had no choice about escapin’ with Ballenger. I’ll remind the judge of that, too.”

“You know I’m bound to take you back,” Clayton said, his voice still calm. “What are you gonna do? Shoot me?” He shook his head slowly. “You ain’t no murderer, Clint. And you don’t wanna be on the run for the rest of your life. You’ve already served half your time, and I’m thinkin’ the judge will shorten the rest of your sentence when I testify for you. The best thing for you to do is to wipe the slate clean with the law, come out in a short time a free man.” Although the Winchester was still pointed at him, he thought he detected a hint of indecision in Clint’s eyes. “Let’s talk about it. I don’t want this to come to bloodshed, but I’ve got no choice in what I have to do. I just hate to see you make a mess outta your life.”

Clint was torn with anguish; he wished that he had more time to think about it. There were other factors that entered into his decisions now, the most important of which was Joanna. He had seen a glimmer of what might have been, and at this moment, he knew that it could never be if he was constantly on the run. He took his eyes off Clayton long enough to cast an inquiring glance in her direction. Her face, filled with distress, answered his unspoken question with a nod of her head, and she mouthed the silent words I’ll wait for you. Still uncertain, he pulled the rifle down from his saddle. They were all startled by what happened next.

Realizing the consequences that were sure to follow John’s actions, and the certain ruination of the young boy’s life, Clint knew what he had to do. “John,” he said, “the deputy’s right. Put the gun down. It’s best I go back and clear this mark against my name.”

“I know you would, and I appreciate it, but it ain’t the right thing to do. You heard what Clayton said. I won’t be gone long, and your pa needs you here.” He waited until the boy lowered the shotgun, then turned to Clayton. “I reckon you win.” There was a sigh of relief from everyone.

“If we run into any Injuns, I’ll give it back,” Clayton said. “Might as well let me hold that pistol, too.” Then he extended his hand again, this time to shake Clint’s. “I’ll give you my word that I’ll do everything I can for you in court, and I’d appreciate it if you’d give me yours that you won’t cause me any trouble on the way back.” Clint nodded and shook on it.

It was a strange turn of events, a parting unlike any the deputy marshal had ever experienced before while in the process of making an arrest. Bertha quickly gathered some food for them to take and Karl filled a sack with oats for the horses. Clayton did not tie Clint’s hands or feet. It was more like two friends starting out for home after a visit. He stood by his horse while Clint spoke his final farewells.

After Clint thanked Frederick and Bertha for their hospitality, he shook hands with Karl, who told him he was doing the right thing. Next he shook young John’s hand, and charged him with the responsibility of taking care of his horses and the guns and ammunition he had acquired after the confrontations with the Sioux and the two bushwhackers from the saloon. “When I get back,” he said, “we’ll go up in the hills across the river and get us an elk.”

Joanna held back while he said good-bye to the others. When he turned to find her, she stepped forward and much to the astonishment of the males in her family, threw her arms around Clint’s neck. Pulling his head down to her, she kissed him with all the ardor she held in her heart. Astounded, Karl and Frederick could only look at each other and gape. When Joanna finally released him, she whispered, “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

“I’ll surely be back,” he promised, then turned and led Rowdy out of the barn. Taking one last look at Joanna, he turned the buckskin toward the road and left at a fast walk. Clayton tipped his hat politely to the two women, nodded to the men, and urged his horse to lope until he caught up with his prisoner. Side by side, they settled into a comfortable walk and headed to Cheyenne.