TWENTY-THREE
HERSCHEL called them “Marsha’s freeloaders.” Single cowboys drifted in like migrating ducks to a pond. She had eight extras by noontime for lunch, and even Kate laughed with him.
“I think she likes all of them,” Kate said.
He winked at his stepdaughter. “It’s the mother hen in her. Besides, she’s cooked enough beans for all of them.”
Kate nodded in firm agreement.
Elsie Moon came over and asked what had attracted the mob. A gray-haired widow woman in her fifties, she stood straight-backed and looked much younger. “What kinda bait are you using? You have more split wood than you can ever use and you’re overrun with handsome single men.”
“They’re all friends of my husband,” Marsha said as she replaced the iron lid of the big Dutch oven with the hook. “Biscuits are about done,” she announced. “Tucker, take Elsie over an armload of split wood.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the stringbean cowboy said, getting up. He tipped his hat to Elsie, and then went to loading up on the freshly split wood.
“I’m over by the gray team,” Elsie said, pointing across the school yard.
‘I’m a-coming, ma’am.”
Herschel caught him when he started that way. “Don’t eat any of her pie over there. It’ll ruin your appetite for beans.”
“Oh, that wouldn’t do nothing to my appetite,” Tucker said, and laughed.
After lunch, the cowboys washed the plates and cups for Marsha. Tales of wrecks, crazy horses, and mad cattle filled the conversation. Harry Boyd told about one time going to court the new schoolmarm. He’d bought her some hard candy and riding over there, he’d spotted some pretty wildflowers, dismounted, and the seam of his pants ripped out. With no needle or thread to fix it and being over halfway there, he’d ridden on to the schoolhouse anyway. No one could tell the embarrassing condition of his pants as long as he stayed in the saddle, so he’d decided not to get off his horse.
“At the schoolhouse, I rode up close, handed her the candy and the flowers. She said how touching it was and I about busted my buttons. Sure thought I was in. But shortly thereafter, she got engaged to Tom Edgar. When I later asked her why she picked Tom and not me, you’ll never guess what she said.”
“What was that?”
“She said, ‘I figured you wouldn’t get off your horse long enough to marry me.’ ”
If one cowboy could tell a story like this, there’d always be a better one coming, and Herschel sat on his butt with Marsha beside him enjoying the humor.
Curly was next. “You boys all heard of Charlie Goodnight. He was hiring hands one time for a drive, and this round-bottom boy came riding over on a dink. He got off the horse real clumsy, and a bunch of the hands lounging around wondered why he even came to apply.
“He was carrying something in a tow sack under his arm, and he walked up to Goodnight like you approach a king. Charlie was a big old boy that could make you feel two inches tall anyway.
“ ‘Sir. I want to be a drover on your drive.’
“ ‘What’s your name?’
“ ‘Laney Wayne.’
“ ‘Laney Wayne, you ever been on a cattle drive before? ’
“ ‘No, sir, but I sure want to make a hand.’
“ ‘Your mother know you’re here?’
“ ‘Yes, sir.’
“ ‘What have you got under your arm?’
“ ‘My fiddle.’
“ ‘Can you play it?’
“ ‘Yes, sir.’
“That boy could really saw on the fiddle, and even had Goodnight tapping his boot toe. When it was over, Goodnight told him he was hired and to get a bedroll and a slicker.
“That boy was plumb excited, jumping up and down how he was going to be a drover. Goodnight stopped him. ‘Laney Wayne, Lord sakes, I ain’t hiring you to be no drover. I’m hiring you to be the fiddler. You can make music in the camp every night. Cowboys will like that.’ ”
The stories went on while Marsha served hot cinnamon raisin rolls that she’d made in her large Dutch oven. The girls served them, and drew lots of proposals to marry the men when they got big enough.
Holding the plate of rolls out to one who asked, Nina shook her head at his offer. “Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“ ’Cause I’m going to be taller than you are when I grow up.”
The afternoon passed with lots more jokes and cutting up. One cowboy complained his belly hurt from laughing so much. He never drew any sympathy from the others. Finally, one of them went and got his guitar, and others went after mandolins and fiddles. Shortly, the singing began in earnest.
The crowd grew, folks sitting down around the circle and enjoying the music. But it was Johnny Frank’s ballad “The Texas Cowboy” that brought them all into singing along.
Oh, I’m a Texas cowboy and far away from home.
If I get back to Texas I never more will roam.
Montana is too cold for me and the winters are too long,
Because before the roundups do begin, your money is all gone.
And Johnny Frank knew all the words and sang the five verses. After he hit the last strum on his mail-order guitar, there was hardly a dry eye in the crowd.
Herschel hugged Marsha’s shoulder as she worked at the table set up on the buckboard, making peach cobbler for the night’s festivities. “You’ve got a big crowd now. Lucky there weren’t that many here at cinnamon roll time,” he said.
She smiled. “It’s sure been fun today.”
Shultz edged in and under his breath announced, “Hatch and his bunch just arrived.”
“Good,” Herschel said, seeing the big man riding a stout bay horse at the head of four other riders. Disregarding his wife’s words of caution, he walked out to intercept them.
Hatch reined up the bay. “Well,” he said from behind the bushy beard. “How’s the fine sheriff of Billings?”
“Doing well, Roscoe. Very well, but a friend of yours met a terrible fate two weeks or so ago.”
“Oh, who was that?”
“Wallace Hamby.”
“You boys know a Wallace Hamby?” Hatch twisted in the saddle and looked at the others. They shook their heads and he turned back. “What’s this have to do with me, Sheriff?”
“Someone shot Hamby in a deserted ranch house and then hauled his body over to dump it on the road.”
“Did you ask those rustlers I heard that you captured over there about him?”
“I did. They didn’t shoot him.”
“What makes you so damn certain?”
“Let’s say I know they didn’t shoot them.”
“Why are you asking me?” Hatch held his fingers up toward his chest.
“I thought you might know since he worked for you.”
Hatch shrugged, gripping the saddle horn and rocking in his seat. “Did some day work for me was all.”
“Folks say he worked for you.”
“Did some day work for me, gawdamnit. I don’t know and don’t care what happened to him.” He started to rein his horse around Herschel.
“See that you’re at the coroner’s hearing Tuesday—ten A.M. If not, I’ll come get you.”
“That a damn threat?”
“I don’t make threats, Hatch. But riding belly down over a horse back to Billings won’t be any picnic.”
“You talk mighty big for a man without a posse or any backup.”
“Hatch, if I come after you, I won’t need a posse and you’ll make the decision how you want to come back with me—dead or alive.”
A cruel smile parted Hatch’s lips and the beard around his mouth. “Come on any day you want—to die.”
“Don’t miss that hearing Tuesday.”
Hatch laughed aloud. “Maybe, but don’t cry for me if I do.” Then he rode past.
Three of the riders with Hatch were kids. They didn’t look at Herschel. The fourth man was a stranger with the cold look of a killer in his eyes when he rode on by. Dark complexion. He looked part Indian, with high cheekbones and too long black hair.
“That’s Black Fox,” Bailey said, joining him. “He was the other thing I was going to tell you about.”
Herschel watched them dismount on the far side of the grounds and hitch their horses to a picket line they put up between two pines. “Who’s he?”
“A hired gun. They say he’s a son of Crazy Horse.”
“He isn’t a full-blood.”
Bailey shrugged. They were drawing a crowd. Shultz looked at Herschel. “Think he’ll be there? I mean at the hearing.”
“I gave him an option.”
Shultz nodded. But the music was over. Cowboys put up their instruments. The happy festival had sunk to near silence. Concerned-faced women herded their small children into their camps. Men guided their women back to their own wagons.
Hatch’d only come there for one reason, to make these people even more afraid of him. Soon, there were folks hitching up and leaving before anything could get started. Herschel squatted by the buckboard. Where did his authority as sheriff stop? Could he go over where Hatch and his gang squatted and order them out of the school yard?
What law had they broken? If they stepped over the line, he could move. What was that line?
“Are we going to leave?” Kate asked.
“No, honey.”
“My best friend Claris and her family have left. Her daddy said there would be no dance tonight.”
“I’m sorry. There is nothing I can do.”
“It’s because of those five men, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you do anything?”
“They’re not breaking the law.”
Tears streaked down Kate’s cheek. “If I was sheriff, I’d make them go home.”
She turned and ran for the buckboard, shrugging off her mother when she tried to catch her.
Shultz came to where he stood. “There’s five of us willing to back you. You want to go down there and force their hand?”
“I appreciate that, but I can’t justify doing anything against them.”
“They ran everyone off. Ruined the dance and supper—”
“There’s not a law broken. Marsha will cook some food for us. Stay hitched.”
The western sky dripped with a bloody sunset. Hatch and his men mounted up, laughing openly at their success. They rode across the grounds. Then Hatch halted them a distance from Herschel’s camp, and the five men with Herschel squatted at the fire ignoring the riders.
“Hell, this dance don’t look like any fun at all. Guess folks all got sick of the idea. Huh, Baker? Send me word when you have another one.” Hatch laughed and started to rein the bay to leave.
“Tuesday. You be there.”
“You know, you’re kind of amusing. Come up here and order me around single-handed, like you’re some big deal. One snap of my finger and you’re dead.”
“Snap it then,” Herschel said. Cold streaks of lightning ran up both sides of his face.
Hatch shook his head as if scoffing at him. “Not here. Not now. Another day, we’ll see. I want you to think on it. She could become a widow all over again.”
Herschel didn’t bother to answer him. Those five men, including Shultz, might explode. They were poised to have it out with Hatch and his gang. He couldn’t have that happen. He watched Hatch’s bunch ride out in the red twilight, and soon they were gone.
Kate ran out and hugged his arm. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I hated for all my friends to leave, but I don’t want them to hurt you.”
He hugged her shoulder. “Those men won’t hurt me. I promise.”
“Bailey, you peel potatoes, and some of you boys dice them up,” Marsha said. “Shultz, you cut biscuits. Kate will help you. Johnny Frank, get your guitar, we want some polka music. No sad songs either.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He ain’t ruining our Saturday night,” Marsha said, putting on her apron. “Nina, you go around and tell any of the folks left that we’re having supper over here in an hour. Bring a dish or just come.”
Herschel nodded at her and swelled a little with pride. She’d save a sorry day.
After Nina made her announcements, folks came and brought their dishes. Some of the cowboys brought out tables to set things on. Blankets were spread and the main fire built up for light. More Dutch ovens appeared and the meal grew in size.
In a short while, little girls danced and Nina convinced Herschel to play his harmonica with the others. “Old Dan Tucker” had a whiskered man sawing on a fiddle.
“It turned out good.” Elsie said to him privately.
“Marsha’s idea.”
“We all knew the law was here.”
“My hands were tied. They’d broken no laws.”
She nodded. “And I’m going to tell all of them that left, if they don’t stand up to those bullies sooner or later, then they better leave Montana.”
“Don’t be too hard on them. They had their wives and kids here.”
She nodded and left him.
Later that night, he woke up, coughing on smoke. He sat up hearing others shouting, “The schoolhouse is on fire.”
Flames were already consuming the roof, cracking and souring in the air. There was no need to try to fight the fire. Whoever had set it had done too good a job.
“You think Hatch came back and burned that schoolhouse?” Marsha asked him, wrapped in a blanket for a robe in the flaring light of the roaring fire.
“I doubt I could prove it, but I’ll always believe he did it or had it done.”
She hugged Herschel’s arm. “That son of a bitch.”