Gasher Creek Part 22

"Same goes for you, Charlie," Billy said. "I'll not have you leaving without a bite and a rest."

"Thank you," Charlie said. "But I've imposed enough."

"Nonsense," Billy said. "You can't walk when you're hungry and tired. You'll make your ranch that much quicker with a full stomach and a light foot."

"I suppose you're right," Charlie said. "Thank you, Billy. For all you've done."

"Yes, let's all thank Billy," Silas said. "We finished? Good. Let's go."

"And just where do you think you're off to?" Billy asked.

"It takes time to make a good meal," Silas said. "Just enough to wet our wicks and our throats."

"Blast you Silas," Billy said. "How much money you got?"

"Enough."

"You don't know the meaning of the word."

"Sure I do," Silas said. "Means when I'm smiling ear to ear." Slapping Jack and Charlie on the back, he said, "Come on boys, let's have us some fun!"

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Tracker never wanted to see Don Kivel again. He would have run him out of town if his parents weren't decent, hard working folks. He was good for nothing, a b.u.mmer with no respect for the badge. He hadn't even bothered to wear a badge. A man like that did not deserve forgiveness.

Shutting the office door, Tracker paused in the darkness.

Still, he wished he'd show up. Not because he forgave him, but because he wanted to go home. He didn't know if he could handle another double s.h.i.+ft. Another double meant another night without Caroline, another night of little sleep and barroom brawls. And in the morning? It would start all over again. And then on into another night...

Tracker grit his teeth against his aching wrists. He didn't know how long he could hold out. One man could not manage a rush town by himself.

We're a gold town, Tom, and yet you've never employed more than two deputies. Do you really think that's because you're some big shot policeman from Bear Hunt? If it wasn't for the Dupois family, the longriders and b'hoys would've rolled into Gasher Creek like dynamite and blown this town to Heaven.

The idea that Hank had kept the peace still burned at Tracker. He hoped Don was wrong, but feared otherwise. Shortly after Hank died, the church was torched. What else would happen now that the Dupois name had lost its power? Rampant lawlessness had destroyed Morton Falls and Six Stone. It nearly happened in Brush before Chuck Garnell showed up.

But Tracker was no Chuck Garnell. He'd need more help, and fast.

After lighting the lamp, Tracker moved over to the cell and noticed Ed's stool. He sat down, the stool wobbling beneath him. "What do you think, Ed," Tracker said. "Reckon I can find someone else foolish enough to take this job?"

The office door opened and Ben Tunn walked in, flushed and sweating.

Glancing at the ceiling, Tracker said, "Anyone else?"

"Sheriff," Ben said, "it's-"

"Catch your breath," Tracker said, standing. He carried the stool back with him and set it down beside the desk.

"Thanks," Ben said, plopping down. "Lordy, I hate walking."

Tracker pretended not to hear that. "Ben, let me ask you something."

"But Sheriff-"

"This is important," Tracker said. "It's about hogs."

"Hogs?" Ben said.

"Do you like hog farming?"

He shrugged. "I suppose."

"But you'd rather read your dime novels."

"Well sure," Ben said, patting his forehead with a coat sleeve. "Chasing after Blind w.i.l.l.y McGee and the Six Shot Posse is always better than tossing slop."

Tracker smiled. "How'd you like to do it for real?"

Ben stopped patting. "I thought Blind w.i.l.l.y got himself knifed in Tinsville?"

"I'm talking about becoming a deputy," Tracker said.

"Oh," Ben said, nodding. Then, "Oh!"

"Don quit on me," Tracker said. "I need a new man to handle nights. You'll be alone at first, but I'll hire more men as fast as I can. From now on, I reckon we'll need our own posse."

Thrusting out his hand, Ben said, "I'll do it."

"You don't need to think about it?" Tracker asked.

"No sir," Ben said. "I've wanted to be a lawman ever since I was a boy."

"It's not going to be easy," Tracker said, shaking his hand. "You'll be dealing with some rough folks."

"I raise hogs," Ben said. "People ain't much different."

Tracker couldn't argue with that. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out Ed's old badge.

It could work. Perhaps the giant, lumbering boy would even surprise him and become his greatest deputy. In Bear Hunt, policemen came in all shapes and sizes. A man's appearance didn't determine his character. All that mattered was his dedication to the law.

He looked up. Ben pulled his finger from his nose.

"Maybe we'll work together tonight," Tracker said, handing over the badge.

"All right," Ben said. He held the badge in his palm. "Gosh. It's heavier than I reckoned."

"It gets heavier," Tracker said. "Try it on."

Pinning it to his coat, Ben beamed and said, "Well how about that. I'm a deputy."

"Not until you've lasted at least a week," Tracker said.

"Don't you worry about that," Ben said. "I won't quit."

"That's not what I mean," Tracker said, tapping his badge. "You got yourself a target now. The days of strolling through town are over. You have to look, listen, and be aware."

"I can do that," Ben said. "I spend most of my days looking and listening."

"I'm sure you do," Tracker said. "Okay, let's get started."

After handing him a shotgun from the cabinet, Tracker led Ben out of the office and locked the door behind them. "By the way," Tracker said, "what was it you came to tell me?"

"Oh, right," Ben said, straightening his badge. "Liza's gone missing."

Tracker stopped. "She's what?"

Chapter Twenty-Three.

It didn't take long for Jack to miss the prairie. Brush boasted more of everything he hated about Gasher Creek. It had more rustlers and ranchers, more street hustlers, pickpockets, and vendors. More horses.h.i.+t on the streets, more stay dogs running between his legs. More noise: from the rattling wagons and crackling crowds, to the competing pianos that burst from the saloons and mixed into a tuneless mash. He hated all of it and couldn't wait to leave.

Silas, on the other hand, looked as if he might break into a jig at any moment. He marveled at the buildings, hugged lampposts, said howdy to all the men and winked at all the women. He paused at each saloon to press his face against the gla.s.s like a child gazing inside a toyshop. Pointing at a large, square building with a balcony, he said, "It's the Turtle Dove! I heard legends about that one all the way back on the farm. Hands we'd hire would jaw about it for hours." Rus.h.i.+ng ahead, he shoved an old man out of his way, stepped on a woman's dress (she nearly cuffed him), and pushed open the batwing doors. "Hoo!" he cheered. "I'm home!"

Jack and Charlie followed, reluctantly.

The saloon stunk of sweat and cigar smoke-it stunk like The Ram. The Turtledove was larger but not by much. Like The Ram, it boasted two floors: the first for the saloon, and the second for the rooms. The saloon was ma.s.sive, with a long, oak bar running the length of one wall. Above it hung a series of trophy heads: bear, moose, and deer. No turtledoves that Jack could see. Out on the floor, games of chuck-a-luck, poker, and faro were underway. Some of the players were farmers from the wagon camp. Wh.o.r.es sauntered around the tables, running their fingers over shoulders, getting pulled onto laps and groped. Above them, other wh.o.r.es leaned on the second floor railing and made eyes at any man that fancied a glance. Smoke lingered above their heads like clouds.

Silas ran for the stairs. "Come on!" he shouted over the clanging piano. "They got redheads!" He made it halfway up the stairs before realizing he was alone. He spun around. "You boys coming?"

Jack shook his head. Charlie looked for a place to sit down.

Silas shrugged and bounded up the rest of the stairs. "Gots my money for the honey!" he declared, grabbing the wrist of the nearest girl and sprinting for a room.

Jack followed Charlie to a table in the corner. He stared at the floor, not daring to look around. He didn't know how fast word could spread to Brush, but he did know that most of the men in this saloon would cut his throat for a reward.

Sitting down, he hoped Silas was fast.

"Jack, if you need to go upstairs, I'm sure Silas would give you some money," Charlie said.

Jack shook his head.

"I may not fancy these places myself, but I understand if you-"

"No," Jack said. "Stop talking about it, okay?"

"All right," Charlie said, plunking his hat on the table. "Sorry."

Jack looked up and saw a girl at the second floor railing. She wore a rose colored dress and had long blonde hair. She was probably no older than sixteen. She would barely reach Jack's shoulders on her tiptoes and was skinny- You'd break her like a twig.

Jack clenched his teeth and dropped his gaze. He wouldn't do that- You might.

Hush yourself.

You would.

"Hush," Jack said.

"What?" Charlie said.

"Nothing."

An empty gla.s.s sat on the table next to them. A little dark liquid lingered at the bottom. Maybe whiskey. Jack thought about grabbing for it, but it wouldn't help much.

The piano stopped. Jack spotted the upright wedged into the far corner. As he watched, it started playing again. His mouth dropped open.

No one was there!

"What's wrong?" Charlie asked.

Jack pointed. "Look at the piano. How in creation."

Charlie smiled. "You've never seen a player piano before?"

"How does it work?"

"You see that white roll in the cabinet? It rotates and the keys move according to the perforations on its surface."

Jack thought of old Foster, the piano player at The Ram. He'd never believe a piano could play itself. Even if someone brought him one and showed it to him, he still wouldn't believe it. He might fetch an axe and hack it into splinters, but he wouldn't believe it.

A peel of laughter caught Jack's attention. He looked up. The girl was still leaning on the railing, now accompanied by another with tar black hair.

Like father like- "Son of a b.i.t.c.h," Jack spat.

"What's wrong with you?" Charlie asked.

"Nothing."

Leaning forward, Charlie said, "A man doesn't curse for no reason."