Orv Pickett walked out of the livery barn’s large doors and grinned widely in surprise as Charlie Martell rode up. “By God!” Orv exclaimed. “We sure been hearing things about you here in Wichita!”
“Howdy, Orv,” Charlie said. He dismounted and handed the reins of the old gray to the livery owner. “I’m returning the horse you loaned me.”
“Hell, Charlie, I’d be proud to let you keep him.”
“I got this other’n when I was swore in as U.S. marshal at Fort Smith,” Charlie informed him. “Thank you just the same.”
“Yeah! We heard all about that. It was in the Eagle and ever’thing. A nice write-up about you, Charlie. Come by telegraph from Arkansas ‘bout you arresting Cimarron Gleason and turning him in. O’course we heard about you gunning down Dandy Kilgallen before that.” Orv shook his head in wonder. “Boy, you’re really the ol’ Charlie we used to know, ain’t you? You got on some damn nice store-bought clothes and your skinny face is sure filled out. You’re just like you was before you got shot up.”
Charlie smiled a little in spite of himself. “I suppose so; but a mite slower, that’s all.”
“Maybe walking, but not gunning!”
“How ‘bout boarding my horse for a day or two?” Charlie asked. “I got some business here in Wichita.”
“Hell, yes, Charlie! I’ll store your rig back in your old room.”
Charlie pulled his saddlebags free and settled them across his shoulders before he waved a goodbye and clumped back to the street.
His first stop was a local gunsmith he’d dealt with in the past. The man’s name was Walt Kenney and he’d known both Charlie and Nolan Edgewater. He grinned at Charlie as the lawman stepped through the door. “It’s good to see you in such fine fettle, Charlie.”
“Thanks,” Charlie replied, pushing the shotgun with its shattered stock across the counter. “A bullet pretty much smashed it up.”
“Is that your old shotgun?”
“Yeah,” Charlie answered. “I had the barrels sawed short in Caldwell.”
“Not to worry, Charlie. I can fix you up with a new stock.”
Charlie shook his head. “I don’t want it new’un. I want you to take it all off up to the stock grip.”
Walt smiled and nodded. “Sure thing. You want to shoot her with one hand, eh, Marshal?”
“You got it.”
“It’ll take a couple or maybe three days. I’ll have to sand and shape her some.”
Charlie felt a sudden regret at this delay in getting back to Mattie Koch. “Fine,” he said in resignation. “I’ll check in with you day after tomorrow. His impatience at getting back to Caldwell also included the fact that Dougherty might already be there planning an ambush with Harry Green.
When Charlie left the shop he noted that people on the street eyed him closely as he scuffled down the boardwalks. This was like the good old days as far as he was concerned. He would take no guff from any man now and no one would offer any. He walked into the town marshal’s office.
“I got business here,” he announced to the deputy at the desk.
The law officer, the same youngster who had been there the last time he was at the jail, looked up in happy surprise. “Howdy, Mister Martell.”
“Marshal Martell,” Charlie corrected him curtly, pointing to his Federal badge.
“Oh, yes, sir, Marshal. What can I do for you?”
“First thing I want to do is file a report involving three jaspers that tried to drygulch me in the Injun country.”
“Sure thing, mister…er, Marshal. Let me get a pencil and you give me the particulars. Then I’ll write it up real nice in ink.”
“Fine,” Charlie said, settling down in a nearby chair. “Then I want a report of the incident telegraphed down to the U.S. court at Fort Smith, Arkansas.”
The young lawman sat poised over a sheaf of papers. “Start talking—not too fast, if you please—and I’ll get her all down here good and proper.”
Charlie spoke in a slow, deliberate monotone. “While on my way to Kansas to serve a warrant duly give me by His Honor Judge Isaac C. Parker, I was jumped by three hardcases I ain’t never seen before. They claimed they was pals of Cimarron Gleason who I had arrested and turned in to the U.S. Court at Fort Smith, Arkansas. One of ’em was a big ol’ husky blond feller about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old. The second was a short, skinny jasper in his forties with graying hair. The final’un was heavyset, ‘bout the same age as the second, with thinning sandy hair. I killed all three and left ’em there. Their horses was blowed and wore so I unsaddled ’em and turned the critters aloose. There was no personal gear of the bushwhackers, other’n a couple of guns, worth the U.S. gov’ment to worry ‘bout. Respectfully submitted, C.H. Martell, United States Deputy Marshal.”
“I got it all, Marshal, ever’ word,” the kid said.
“Fine. Have you heard anything involving a John Dougherty hereabouts or maybe over in Caldwell?”
“Cain’t say that we have, Marshal. I know the name though. That Dougherty likes to shoot first, then discuss the situation second. ’Cept the other feller generally ain’t in any shape for conversation. And backshooting is another bad habit of Dougherty’s.”
Charlie nodded. “Yeah. Well, I’ll be around Wichita two or three days and I’ll check in now and then.”
“Sure thing, Marshal. You gonna be over at the livery stable?”
Charlie shot him a mean glance that caused the younger man to cringe. “I’ll have a hotel room! The only thing I got at the livery is my saddle and gear.”
“Yes, sir!”
Charlie went outside and stood for several moments surveying the street. He nodded politely to people who greeted him as they walked by. Then he slowly hobbled down to Sly Webster’s Barbershop.
“Howdy, Charlie!” Sly happily greeted him as he entered the establishment. The man who was getting his hair cut lifted a hand in greeting under the cloth that covered him.
“I thought I’d use your bath,” Charlie said. “No hurry.”
“I’ll get to it right now!”
The customer spoke up cheerfully, saying, “I don’t mind, Marshall. There’s nothing for me to rush about.”
“I said I’d wait,” Charlie said with a finality that convinced the two that further conversation on the subject was not in order.
Sly happily snipped away as he talked. “By God, Charlie, we been hearing exciting things ‘bout you. I reckon you just about cleaned out that saloon down there at Caldwell.”
“Somebody’s exaggerating,” Charlie said. “I shot Dandy Kilgallen. Nobody else jumped into the showdown.”
“I cain’t get over it,” Sly said sincerely. “We’re proud as hell of you. I tell folks around here how you and me was always friends.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Charlie agreed. “You showed me some consideration when other people didn’t.”
Sly stopped and looked serious. “Y’know, Charlie, when I mention how you took supper with us lots of times, there’s some here in Wichita think I’m a damn liar.”
“Well, they’re wrong,” Charlie said. “I reckon I ate over at your house on many an occasion.”
“You see?” Sly said to the customer.
“Hell, I never said you was a liar!” the man protested.
“Anyhow, ol’ Charlie here’s a lawman again and I reckon just as good with a gun as always,” Sly declared. He pulled the cloth from his client and brushed the hairs off the man’s shoulders. “That’ll be fifteen cents.”
The man paid, then continued sitting in the chair to talk for awhile. But Sly opened the door for him. “I’m gonna have to tend to the marshal now. I know he don’t want to wait no longer.”
The customer took the hint, but paused long enough to say goodbye to Charlie before leaving. “It’s good to see you looking so well, Marshal.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said, standing up. He looked at Sly. “I can sure use a hot soak.”
“C’mon in the back,” Sly said. As they started for the rear of the establishment, the door opened and the barber’s wife entered.
“Sly,” Alma Webster said, “I’m gonna need…” She stopped at the sight of Charlie and smiled. “Why, Mister Martell, how nice to see you! And don’t you look grand in them new clothes.”
“Thank you kindly,” Charlie said.
Alma was fairly bubbling. “You must come to supper tonight, Mister Martell.”
Sly interrupted. “It’s Marshal Martell now, Alma. He’s a United States deputy marshal.”
“Oh, my!” she exclaimed with a giggle. “Pardon me, Marshal. At any rate, how does fried chicken sound to you?”
“Well…” Charlie said, trying to come up with a response. He remembered what she’d said about him when he was walking up to their door that last time.
“By God!” Sly exclaimed happily. “Just wait’ll folks hear that Marshal Charlie Martell is eating at our place tonight.”
Charlie felt uneasy. “Mrs. Webster…”
“Oh!” Alma said. “We’ve knowed each other for years. Call me Alma, please.”
Sly grinned at Charlie. “Come on by the shop at closing time. We’ll walk over to the house just like we used to.”
Charlie sighed. “Why, yes, I’ll be happy to. I’m obliged Mrs.…er, Alma.”
“That’s better Charlie,” she said, then turned her attention to her husband. “Sly, I’ll need a dollar for shopping. You ran off this morning without leaving me a cent.”
“Sure, darling,” the barber said, fishing around in his pockets for the money. “Now you get two of the fattest hens you can find. Me and Charlie’s really gonna have appetites, ain’t we, Charlie?”
“Yes, I reckon,” Charlie responded.
“That’s exactly what I’m looking forward to,” Alma said. She went to the door and paused before leaving. “You do look mighty nice dressed up like that, Charlie.”
“Thank you kindly.”
“Now let’s get to that bath,” Sly said, taking his arm. “I’ll have you fit and spry with a half hour, Charlie, you wait’n see.”
~*~
Charlie’s stay in Wichita dissolved into three days of hot soaks, suppers with the Websters and constant checking in with both the gunsmith and the marshal’s office before he was ready to leave for Caldwell.
That final morning at the livery barn just at daylight, he saddled the government horse, then impetuously stomped over to his old room. It looked even worse than he remembered. He leaned back on the bad leg and kicked out with the good one, splintering the bunk into pieces that flew up against the wall.
It was a simple act of ridding the past once and for all.
~*~
Charlie hitched the horse to the rail in front of the Caldwell town marshal’s office and went inside. Harry Green was dozing with his feet propped up on the desk. Charlie reached out and roughly shook one boot. The marshal snorted and opened his eyes.
Charlie looked down at him. “I’m here on official business.”
Green grinned when he recognized him. “Yeah. I heard tell you been made a U.S. deputy marshal. Congratulations. Anything in particular I can do for you?”
“I got a warrant for John Dougherty,” Charlie said. “Since he’s an old pard of yours, I figgered you might know where he is.”
“Damn, Charlie, I don’t have no idee where he is, but I sure as hell know where he’s gonna be. And that’s right here smack in the middle of Caldwell, Kansas.”
“You sure of that?”
“As sure as I now there’s shit in a goose,” Green replied. “Seems ol’ John’s really riled at you for shooting Dandy down. He was rather fond of that feller. And I know damn well he’s also heard ‘bout how you turned in Cimarron Gleason to that hanging judge in Arkansas. I reckon that John Dougherty figgers he’s got the best reasons in the world to gun you down.”
“He’s picked a good place for it if he comes to Caldwell,” Charlie said in a calm voice. “Especially since the town marshal happens to be his pal and is a knowed backshooter too.”
Green’s face blanched with anger. His eyes narrowed as he stood up. “You listen to me, Charlie Martell. U.S. marshal or no, you’re gonna end your days on the streets of Caldwell. And when Dougherty come to shoot, he never comes without no backup.”
“Will that be you?”
“Not this time,” Green said.
“In that case I’ll deal with you when I’m finished with Dougherty and his bunch. I still hold you responsible for Nolan Edgewater.”
“I never took part in that shooting!” Green declared.
“You didn’t try to stop it neither. And as far as I’m concerned you’re just as guilty as the others.”
“Like I said before, Charlie, I owe you, so I’ll be looking forward to it. But when Dougherty and his pals get done with you there ain’t gonna be a piece left big enough to put a forty-five slug into.”
“You talk a hell of a gunfight, Harry. It looks like there’s gonna be a lot of bragging coming to the test soon.”
“I don’t think you’ll pass,” Green said to Charlie’s back as the U.S. marshal limped from the office.
Mattie Koch and her maid were boiling sheets in the backyard when Charlie rode up. Mattie’s auburn hair was mussed and damp from the steam, and wisps of it blew in the gentle breeze that wafted across the area from the prairie. She smiled in delight when she saw Charlie.
“Why, Mister Bartell! How nice to see you again.”
“Howdy, Mrs. Koch,” he said. He felt a surge of happiness at the sight of the willowy woman, and he found her smile absolutely wonderful. “The morning I left, you said something about keeping my room for me.”
“I surely did,” Mattie said. “And it’s waiting right where it’s always been.”
“I was wondering if I could keep my horse here with yours instead of at the livery.” He patted his marshal’s badge. “I’m here on official business and might have to ride out in a hurry.”
“That’ll be fine,” she said. She pointed to the small corral with an open-sided shed that served as a stable of sorts. “It ain’t much, but I reckon your horse won’t mind, will he?”
“Not this one,” Charlie said as he dismounted. “He was rode by an outlaw in the Injun country before the law got him. The government is letting me use him since I was appointed a U.S. marshal.”
“We seen that in the Wichita Eagle,” Mattie said. “One of them railroad men brought a copy of the newspaper back from there. It seems you been making quite a name for yourself. Or should I say remaking it.”
“I reckon,” Charlie said. “But folks have a tendency to exaggerate.”
“You put your horse away and go on up and settle in,” Mattie said. “There’s a pot of coffee on the stove if you’ve a mind for any.”
“That sounds mighty good, but I’ll pass this time,” Charlie said. He led the horse into the rickety corral and relieved the animal of its burden of saddle and other gear. As he walked back toward the house he paused and watched the women at work. “Y’all want some help?”
“No, thank you, Mister Martell,” Mattie replied.
“Them wet sheets look a mite heavy,” he remarked.
“We’ll manage. You go on in the house. We’ll be having supper in a coupla hours.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Charlie did as she bid him and lugged his bedroll and saddlebags up to the second floor room where he had stayed before. The place had obviously been scrubbed down more than once during his absence and the bed coverings and curtains were sparkling clean. Charlie set his belongings down in the corner, and settled on the bed. Its softness was inviting after the trip down from Wichita. He leaned back and closed his eyes, and the image of Mattie Koch appeared in his mind.
Even with her hair sort of messed up, she didn’t seem bad looking at all.