TWENTY-FIVE
SUNDAY morning breakfast at the Baker campsite was lip-biting tough. The stink of the smoldering ashes was embedded in everyone’s nostrils. Herschel sipped coffee and tried to imagine what kind of a mean son of a bitch would burn down a schoolhouse for pure spite.
Nina came by and pulled on his sleeve. “Play some music on that harmonica. It might cheer us all up.”
“Honey—oh, all right.”
He got it out and went to cranking on it. After two tunes, he put it away—it had not helped one bit. No one seemed cheered up.
Marsha and two other wives dished out fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy, and crisp bacon. Even the cowboys were beat.
“We having church?” Shultz asked Herschel.
“I reckon we are. We always do.”
John Frank stood up with his plate in hand and looked to the west. “We’re having company. Guess they came for church, too.”
They came from all directions. Families piled in wagons and rigs. Some rode horses. And Herschel noted one thing—they all bristled with guns. They looked at the blackened ashes solemnly, and then filed by to shake his hand.
“If we’d done our part last night, we’d still have a schoolhouse,” one man said, shaking his hand.
Herschel held up his hands. “Listen, folks.”
The cowboys hoisted him on the back of his buckboard to speak to them.
“That fire happened after we went to bed. No one could have stopped that. If I could have arrested those hard cases, I’d’ve run them in. They never broke the law here. We can’t take the law in our own hands. I have twenty dollars. I am giving it to help buy the lumber to rebuild. Let’s rebuild.”
A cheer went up. More people were coming in. Word spread, and soon hats were being used to take up a collection. Preacher Green stood up and asked to give a prayer. It was too long, but it set the stage for some hymns, and soon the congregation was into the services.
So by noontime, a dozen souls had been saved and two hundred dollars raised. Marvin Lynch was made the chairman. He promised to have the site cleaned and ready to start rebuilding by the next Saturday. Told everyone to bring tools the next weekend, they were going to get part of the new schoolhouse up then.
Herschel drove home with lots on his mind, but he felt better. The people had regrouped. Burning the building had not done what those hard cases had expected. Their aim was to show they could burn out anyone they wanted. Instead, it had raised the backbone in these quiet folks and made Herschel proud.
That still did not solve the matter of Hatch and his bully tactics. Maybe if Herschel could solve this cattle rustling case and implicate the man, that would be the way to get him out of the country. But he needed some hard evidence, and that for the moment was scarce. He clucked to the team and they picked up their trot. Definitely, Hatch needed a lesson. Or removal. But how?
“You’re thinking hard, Herschel Baker,” Marsha said. “How to get rid of all the mean men in the world is a question you’ll never answer.”
He turned and nodded at her. “I just want to clear out the ones around me.”
The girls were worn out when they got home. They all labored to get everything off the buckboard and back in the house or where it belonged. When they were through, it was close to five, and Herschel drove the team into town and parked at the courthouse to check on things.
Art was in the office. Half asleep in his chair, he started to get up. “What’s up, boss man?”
“Stay there. Any problems in town?”
“Nope. Quiet weekend. I didn’t learn much either over east. No one will talk to me there. What have you been up to?”
“Hatch came over and played the big bad bully before the supper, and several folks left. Then, about three this morning, someone burned down the school with a can of coal oil.”
Art bolted upright. “You think he did it?”
“Someone burned it. I could smell coal oil on the north side ashes.”
“What do we do now?”
“Art, I’ve wondered, thought, fretted, and I am going home. Maybe a good night’s sleep will help. Can you handle this tonight?”
“Easy. There ain’t any troublemakers in town.”
“We’re damn lucky. That mess in Miles City hits here, we’ll need a hundred deputies.”
“It’ll be that bad?”
“Prisoners chained outside. How bad is that?”
“Bad.” Art shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck.
“No word from Black Feather?” Herschel stood in the doorway.
“No. He must be having a helluva honeymoon.”
They both laughed.
Herschel drove the team home and put them up. He washed up on the back porch as the sun began to sink, and Marsha came out to greet him.
“Is the town in one piece?”
“Quiet. How is that for a change?”
“Fine, I guess. I have some supper. You need some rest. Neither of us slept more than a few hours last night.”
He hugged her and kissed her, then looked down in her eyes. “Why did it take so long to find you?”
“You weren’t looking hard enough.”
“Oh, hell, I wanted a big ranch and then I was going to find a wife.”
“Young, pretty, high-class?”
“No, pretty, neat, and practical.”
“You were cheated, Herschel Baker.”
He pulled her hard to him. “No, I got more than that. I’ve got three wonderful girls.”
“Oh, I spoke to Kate. She was upset about how she acted like it was your fault that Hatch was there and her friends left.”
“Hey, I understood. I’ll tell her so.”
“She thought you could fix anything.”
“I did, too.”
The next morning, he arrived at the office and Darby stopped him in the outer part and whispered, “You have a guest in your office.”
“Who?” Herschel frowned at the man’s whispering.
“His name is Thurman is all I know and he’s here to see you.”
Herschel’s heart stopped. “That—that’s not his first name?”
Darby turned up his palms and shook his head. He didn’t know.
Herschel drew a deep breath, threw his shoulders back, and walked in. “May I help you?”
A mild-faced, clean-shaven man in his fifties rose, stuck out his hand. “It’s been a while, Sheriff Baker.”
For a long moment, Herschel simply looked at the man and let the memories wash over him. That day when he rode off to San Antonio. When he said, “Take care of your mother for me.” His father had been fifteen years younger then, war-thin and wearing a hollow look. That deep voice that had encouraged him as a boy after a small mustang threw him off. “He’s tough, but you’re tougher,” he had said, and tossed Herschel back on the bronc.
Do you hug him or spurn him after that long? What should he do? Herschel dried his hands on the front of his canvas pants and then extended his right hand and shook his father’s hand.
“It’s been a while,” Thurman said. “You have a minute to talk?”
“I’ve got all day. Take a chair and tell me when you got here.”
“Mary and I got here Saturday by stage from Sheridan. Been tough. She had a baby in Cheyenne, so we were traveling in a buggy up here to find you. We took the train and stage from there.”
“You have a baby?” Herschel asked, and scooted forward.
Thurman laughed softly. “You want me to start before Cheyenne?”
Herschel smiled. “Yes. I want to hear all of it.”
“I’d much rather sit down with your wife and girls who I’ve heard so much about and tell everyone the whole story. First, I’d like to tell you that your Indian deputy has three prisoners and he should be here sometime today. He has them with a reata around their necks in a row, and they are walking barefooted and their hands are tied behind their back.”
“Where in hell’s name did you see them?”
“On the road coming up from—Horse Creek, is it? I like that old Indian. He should be here sometime soon. Buster says that girl with him is probably his new wife.”
“She probably is. You’ve been to Horse Creek?”
“Buster told me where your ranch was. I just wanted to see it. I rented a horse to simply go look.”
“Well, that’s Marsha’s home place.”
“Hey, I went to look is all. Great water and grass. I guess making hay is part of ranching up here.”
Herschel nodded. “A big part.”
“Well, after I crossed the bridge, I rode up on that ridge and was looking over the country. I heard something and in my field glasses saw a man driving some cow ponies hooked to a sled and a fresh carcass of beef on it.”
Herschel’s eyes closed. The anger and fury inside him grew like a tornado, starting out as a small spin and boiling into a great funnel of death and destruction. Thurman told him the whole story, ending with the ferryman’s words, and Herschel shook his head.
“They have done that every Sunday morning, you think?” Herschel asked.
“I have no idea, but the ferryman said the dead man did it before Olsen.”
“What in the hell do you make of it? My own man stealing my beef. Now I’ll tell you what I learned about the other end of this business last week in Miles City.” Herschel told him all about the sale of meat there. “I need Thompson ’cause I think he’s the main one. Getting Sonny or Olsen won’t stop it.”
“Exactly. I might ride over there and check the whole thing out and see if I can coax this Thompson out.”
“Why do that for me?”
“Maybe I owe you.”
“We’ll see. Where’s your wife and baby?”
“At the Bismarck. Why?”
“Hell, I have a big house, a fine wife, and three girls that might wear the hide off that baby. Besides, Marsha might whip me if I don’t take you out there right now.”
“What do we do?”
“Get a cab. You and I can walk to the Bismarck. Get your things, and go to the house.”
“Mary is a full-blood.”
“So?”
“I wanted to warn you.”
“That’s no problem. When do you think Black Feather is going to get here with the prisoners? Three, you said?”
“Three.”
“Go get your things and your wife and baby. I’ll have Art cover for me and watch for them. Meet you back here in twenty minutes.”
“Fine—Hersch.” Thurman stuck out his hand. “Thanks.”
“I always heard blood was thick. But we think too much alike not to be kin.” Herschel embraced him and clapped him on the back. He couldn’t swallow the knot in his throat. Gawdamn, this was more than he could take.
When they broke apart, Thurman held up his index finger. “Two brains are always better than one.”
“Yes. See you shortly.”
“Yes.” What would Marsha think? She’d be tickled pink, Indian or no Indian.
In the outer office, Herschel said to Darby, “Go get Art to take over. Black Feather will be here soon with his three prisoners.”
“Three?”
“That’s the count I got.”
“Who’s he?” Darby frowned after Thurman.
Herschel held his finger to his mouth. “Secret for a while.”
“Oh, yes, sir.”
With Thurman, Mary, and the baby piled in the one-horse cab, along with the saddles and gear, Herschel rode hanging on the outside. When they drew up at the house, he saw Marsha and the girls in the garden, looking up from hand-weeding. He went to whipping his arm at them, and they came on the run.
They unloaded the luggage and saddle on the lawn. Marsha was out of breath and looked at her soiled palms when Herschel introduced Thurman.
“Honey, this is my father.”
“Well, I am so dirty—”
Thurman hugged her and told her to never mind, that she was pretty enough for him. The girls surrounded Mary and were appraising the baby.
“Mother, Mother, his name is Cheyenne. And we can hold him.”
“My name is Mary.” She put the baby in Kate’s arms. “There.”
“You girls must be easy on him. Babies are fragile,” said Marsha.
Then she stuck out her hand and Mary shook it. But the two looked magnetized, and they were soon embracing each other.
“How far did you come from?” Marsha asked.
“The other end of this world,” Thurman said, and put his arm around her shoulder. “Maybe even farther than that. But I found her on the way and that was worth the whole trip, besides finding you and the girls.”
He broke off from her. “Excuse me. Hersch can’t carry all that in. I better help him.”
Nina stopped him on the porch as he was carrying his baggage inside. “Sure took you a long time to find us, Grandfather. How far away do you live?”
“Nina,” her mother scolded.
He waved her away. “On the other side of the moon, Nina. I’ve been coming for a long time to get here.”
She nodded, satisfied. “That would be a long ways. Even farther than the Soda Springs schoolhouse, I guess. That’s a long ways, too, to sit on your butt.”
“Young lady—”
“That’s what I sat on,” she said.
Thurman laughed and agreed. He looked around. This place of theirs was sure a long ways from the dirt-floored hovels of south Texas. Damn.