OT - An Old Friend and a New Enemy - fiction

[Doc Hudson]

An old friend and a new Enemy


Since there was no great hurry to reach New Orleans, I took my time getting to Tucson. I traveled slow and easy so that Beau and the packhorse would both be in good shape when we arrived. In fact, I traveled so easy; I didn’t get to Tucson until the first week in October. That left me another two weeks to make it to New Orleans.

The first thing I did when I got to Tucson was to find my old friend from Ranger days, Frank Mason. As I expected Frank was holding down the City Marshall job. And as expected, I found him chewing the fat in Spangenberg’s Gun Shop.

As I entered the shop, I heard Frank grousing to a customer, “Dadburnit Joe! I know Winchester makes some fine rifles, but that new .45-70 of theirs is too heavy to my notion! The darned thing out weighs my Marlin M-1881 by a good two pounds. ‘Sides, fer long range work I’d rather have my old Sharps anyway. The balance point don’t change on you after every shot with a Sharps.”

“You don’t need a long range rifle you bandy legged, gooch-eyed old fanny burp,” I cheerfully called. “You couldn’t hit a bull in the butt with a bass fiddle much less shoot ‘em past ten feet.”

Frank tried to look put out by my comment, but he quickly joined Spangenberg and the other fellow in laughter.

“You are a fine ‘un to talk! I ain’t th’ one that shot at a Mexican bandito and killed Captain McNelly’s favorite hoss!” Frank retorted with a laugh. “How the hell are ye Evan? I ain’t seen you since you went to work for the UP.”

“I’m tolerable Frank. I’m getting older and slower like you are, but I’m still getting’ the job done. What sort of yarning you boys doing?”

“Spangenberg here is trying to get me to buy this new Winchester M-1886. I guess he thinks I can’t get close enough to a desperado to use a pistol or shotgun. What do you think of it?” he said as he passed me a shiny new rifle.

I examined the rifle closely and found no faults, other than the weight. The action was glassy smooth, and the trigger was crisp and light. I flipped up the tang sight, closed my eyes and threw the rifle to my shoulder. When I opened my eyes, the sights were lined up on barber pole across the street, just as I’d intended.

“Mighty nice rifle,” I said. “I guess it’s a good thing I ain’t staying in town long, you might talk me into buying it. But for now, I’ll stick with my Winchester ’73.” as I handed the rifle back to Spangenberg. “Frank, can we go have a word or two in private?” I asked.

“Sure Evan,” He said, “I need to be making my afternoon rounds anyway. Walk with me and we can talk on the way. See you boys later.” and we left Spangenberg’s Gun Shop.

As soon as we’d walked out of earshot, Frank asked, “You alright Evan? You in any kinda trouble?”

“I’m alright Frank. A few more battle scars and more grey in my hair is all. And I ain’t in any trouble. Leastways I’m not in trouble if Perry Owens hasn’t put out any papers on me.” I quickly filled Frank in of the falling out I’d had with Perry Owens.

With a chuckle, Franks said, “I’d have paid five dollars to watch that fight. Perry Owens is a tough little scudder. Him and me was on opposite sides of a barroom brawl up in Las Vegas a few years ago. That old boy’s got a punch like a mule’s kick and bites like a snapping turtle. I’d have loved to watch you knock the stuffin’s out of him. Don’t worry about any warrant for that little dust up. If he issues a warrant, I won’t serve it and I doubt if any lawman would once he knew the circumstances. Besides having you arrested would get him laughed out of the Territory.”

“I’m glad you find my troubles entertaining,” I said, “But I need a little help.”

“You name it Evan. I’d be happy to help anyway I can, even if you hadn’t whipped Perry Owens.” Frank said with a grin.

“First off, I need to know where I can get the best price for my packhorse. And second, I want to know if I can get you to keep Beau for me for a few months. I’m heading East and don’t want to sell him until I know how long I’ll be gone.”

“Sure, I’ll be glad to keep old Beau for you. How long you gonna be gone?” Frank asked.

“I don’t really know Frank. It depends on what I find out in New Orleans. If I’m going to be gone more than a month, or so, I’ll wire you. Me and Beau have been together for a long time and I don’t want to sell him if I’m coming back in a few weeks.”

Curiosity aroused, Frank asked, “Mind if I ask where you’re heading that might keep you gone long enough to make you sell Beau, and how long might you be gone?”

Chuckling, I replied, “I can’t say right now Frank, but if I ain’t back in a month or two, I’ll be gone out of the country for two years or more. If I see I’m going to be gone that long, I’ll wire you to sell Beau and wire me the money in New Orleans.”

“I’ll tell you right now. If you set that high a store on that horse, I’ll buy him myself. Just tell me your price and I’ll wire it to you as soon as you say sold. In the mean time, let’s mosey over to Swindle’s Stable and I’ll introduce you to Matt Swindle. Matt is about as close to an honest horse dealer as you are likely to find.”


Matt Swindle turned out to be a bandy-legged Irishman with twinkling eyes and an infectious laugh. He also drove a hard though fair bargain for my packhorse and packsaddles. When he saw Beau, and heard I was heading East, he made a very fair offer for him. In fact, I had a hard time turning him down.

As we walked toward the Silver King Saloon, I asked Frank if he still wanted Beau at the price Swindle had offered.

Without hesitation Frank replied, “Hell yes! Now more than ever! Matt Swindle is the best judge of horseflesh in the Southwest. If he offered that much for Beau on a first offer, he is worth a darn sight more than that. I’ll be glad to meet Swindle’s price and even guarantee to sell him back to you when you get back.”

“You’ve got a deal,” I said and stuck out my hand. “I’ll even buy a drink to seal the deal. Then I need to go down to the railroad station and see when the next East-bound train leaves.”

“I’ll take the drink, and I’ll save you a walk. The next East-bound train won’t come through until late tomorrow morning.”

“Then let’s get that drink and I’ll even buy your supper. I’m tired of eating camp cooking and want a big steak with all the trimin’s.” I said as I slapped Frank’s back and headed into the Silver King.

The Silver King was a large and richly furnished saloon. No plank bar and sawdust on the floors here. The long bar was polished mahogany carved with fanciful scenes from mythology, and a gleaming brass foot rail. Behind the bar was a huge mirror in a gilded frame and a most impressive collection of liquor bottles. I could tell this was not the place to find home brew and Taos Lightning.

The tables were spaced widely apart and covered with green baize. To the right were tables for faro, blackjack, keno, and roulette. At far left end of the bar were two billiard tables separated from the rest of the room by a low half wall topped by a latticed screen. The walls were flocked and hung with paintings and prints of sporting scenes, and voluptuous ladies not encumbered by an over abundance of clothing. At the right hand end of the bar was a piano with a piano player quietly playing. At the left end of the bar, near the billiard enclosure, a stairway with an ornate banister and a newel post topped with a fancy bronze statue holding a lamp lead to the second story landing. Across the balcony was another ornate handrail and a wall flocked to match the main floor’s walls and a number of stout looking doors opening of the balcony. All in all, it was one of the fanciest saloons I’d seen south of Denver.

Scattered about the room, there were several card games in progress. As we made our way toward the bar, I noticed that the clientele were about evenly divided between working stiffs and the more prosperous citizens, with a sprinkling of professional gamblers. We were greeted by several people and given a close scrutiny, which I returned, by several others.

Frank and I situated ourselves at a bend in the bar so we could watch the door and most of the barroom without much effort. We ordered our drinks and began reminiscing about our Ranger days when a disturbance drew our attention. About half way across the room, at a table a middle-aged cattleman was raising his voice in anger toward a well-dressed gambler across the table.

Frank sighed and said, “No rest for the wicked. I guess I’d better stop this before it gets out of hand.” as he headed toward the disturbance. On a whim, I decided to tag along and give him any assistance I could. Frank approached the rancher’s left side and I swung around and approached the gambler from his left rear.

“Quiet down!” roared Frank in a commanding voice. “Just what the devil is going on here? I’m trying to have a quiet drink and talk with an old friend and here y’all are disturbing my peace. Tell me what’s goin’ on here Carter.”

“It’s this darned tinhorn Marshal. He has been cheating me for the last two hours and I finally caught him at it.” declared the irate cattleman.

“That’s a darn lie!” spat the gambler as he leapt to his feet. “You’ll take those words back or I’ll feed ‘em to you!”

“Settle down Bailey! There will be no trouble here.” snapped Frank. “Carter, you’d better be able to make those words stick. You know good and well an accusation like that can ruin a professional gambler like Bailey. Can you prove your accusation?”

“Sure I can,” replied Carter. “Just look up that sumbitch’s sleeve. He’s got cards up both sleeves.” At that, Carter reached toward Bailey’s hands.

With a growl, Bailey started to draw a pistol from a shoulder holster under his left arm. I don’t think he even knew I was nearby until the butt of my old Colt came down on top of his head. As Bailey crumpled in a heap, Carter jumped back in surprise.

I looked at Carter’s surprised expression and said, “What the hell did you expect him to do? Kiss your boot or something? How did you live to get this old?” Carter’s lack of preparedness thoroughly disgusted me. I knew that if Frank and I had not been present, Bailey would have killed him and a jury would probably have acquitted him of the crime.

I turned toward the dazed Bailey and relieved him of a pearl handled S&W Double Action 3rd Model .38 from his shoulder holster, and a Remington Double Derringer from his vest pocket. I also removed several Aces and Kings and assorted lower cards from his sleeves.

As Frank eyed the cards and the gambler, he asked Carter, “How much did this yahoo skin you boys for?”

“He took me for a little over two hundred dollars and he got Ray and Oscar here for about a hundred bucks apiece,” said Carter.

“Is that right boys?” Frank asked the other two men at the table. After murmured assents from both Oscar and Ray, Frank said, “Then take you money and git. Git out of here and don’t come back into town for a while! I don’t want to see any of y’all back any time soon!”

All three men scrambled to gather their money and head toward the door. Carter stopped and asked, “What are you gonna do with that darned cheat?”

“I’m gonna lock ‘im up over night and then run his butt out of town tomorrow. Any objections?” snapped Frank

“No objections. Errrrr, can we come back to town next week?” Carter asked sheepishly.

“Yeah, as long as you stay out of my sight and out of card games.” growled Frank. “ Come on Evan, since you knocked him out, you can help drag this idiot to jail.” As we dragged Bailey out the door, Frank called to the bartender, “Joe, gather up his money, and send your swamper to bring his baggage from the hotel to the jail.”

By the time we got him to a cell, Bailey was waking up and not very happy. With a curse and a groan, Bailey became aware of his surroundings. “What happened? Who the hell hit me?” he whined.

“He did,” growled Frank, pointing at me with a thumb over his shoulder. “And you’d better be glad he did. If he hadn’t cold-cocked you, I’d have shot you. Now you listen and listen good. I don’t allow crooked gamblers in my town. I’m keeping you in jail over night. Tomorrow morning at 9:45 a.m. there is an East bound train, and at 11:00 a.m. there is a West bound train, you will be on one of those trains, I don’t care which. If you ever come back to this town I’ll lock you up and weld the door shut. Am I clear? Do you understand me?”

“I understand Marshal. I’ll go. There are better pickings in San Antonio anyway. And I’ll be remembering you too mister, and the lump you gave me. One day we’ll have to discuss the matter.” Bailey said in a sullen monotone.

I tipped my hat to him with a slight bow and said, “I am at your service when ever you wish.” With that I turned and walked out.

Bailey’s parting comment almost managed to ruin the whole evening. Frank spent the entire evening trying to convince me to take a later train rather than take the same one Bailey would be taking. One good thing was that Frank was so intent of “saving” me; he didn’t pay much attention to his cards. I managed to skin him for about $10.00 playing cribbage.

[RustyJr]

Great post Doc. keep em comin please.

Thanks,
RustyJr

[ceb]

This is good!!