On the Trail with Packer

WEST TEXAS, SPRING 1885

DEPUTY U.S. MARSHAL JAKE Packer sat as easy in the saddle as his aching back would allow. After ten straight days in the saddle, often riding from dawn to dusk, it was a wonder to him that it was only his back that ached. He halted his buckskin on a slight rise in the oft-used trail to get his bearings. His boss, Marshal Ruel Oldfield, had sent him into the Texas hinterlands to round up a convicted murderer named Simon Kessler. Kessler had somehow managed to escape from his two guards while he was being transported to the Huntsville prison.

On his sixth day out of San Antonio, Jake found the murderer in a beer joint on the outskirts of a small hamlet called Flat Gap. Kessler was dead drunk at the time, which made his capture a cakewalk. Jake lodged the fugitive with the local authorities and thought his days on the trail were behind him for a spell.

Not so. On his way back to San Antonio, Sheriff Bob Nettles sidetracked him with a plea for help. The Augsburg bank had been relieved of $8,000 at gunpoint, and Nettles needed someone to round up a known crook named Lester Skiles who had been identified as one of the hold-up men. Nettles and his posse were going after Skiles’s two cohorts who had split away from Skiles after the holdup.

So, just like that, he was on the trail of an outlaw again.

Jake stood in the stirrups, shaded his eyes, and glanced at the sun. He guessed it was close to noon. His weary body told him it was time to find a place to loosen up his aching bones with a pot of hot coffee. That usually worked to raise his spirits. If he could find a stream, he might even take the time to scrape off a week’s worth of Texas sweat and grime.

Sometimes he wondered why he had put up with this kind of unpredictable life for as long as he had. Here he was, a forty-two-year-old deputy marshal, in reasonably good health, with a dependable horse and little else to show for twenty years of wearing a badge. He had once heard a fellow lawman call him a lone wolf. Maddie, a lady friend he had come close to marrying not too long ago, referred to him as plain anti-social. He suspected there was some truth in both of their sentiments. But they failed to notice that, of late, he had begun to yearn for a change in his life. The manner of change, he had yet to decide.

While he sat on the buckskin and pondered the whys and wherefores of his life, Jake caught an unmistakable whiff of wood smoke. He lifted his head, sniffed a couple of times, and caught another trace of the smoke. He nudged the buckskin forward, then halted minutes later when he spotted a farm wagon parked in a makeshift camp around three hundred yards below. A pole hung in the forks of two trees with a canvas tarpaulin draped over it to provide a temporary shelter. Five hobbled horses grazed near a narrow, shallow stream.

Jake leaned over and patted the buckskin on the neck as he whispered, “Well, well, pal, what do we have here? I’ll be hanged from a rotten apple tree if that’s not a wagon I see down there.”

From Augsburg, he had followed the tracks of a horse that Sheriff Nettles said belonged to Lester Skiles. He lost the tracks late in the afternoon of that first day, then found them again the following day. But here was what made Jake scratch his head. He had found the tracks of a heavily loaded wagon alongside Skiles’s horse tracks. At first, he thought it might have been a coincidence. Hours later, he became convinced they were traveling together.

Why would a man who had held up a bank hook up with a slow-moving wagon?

Maybe the answer lies down there, he thought.

Jake dismounted and moved into the trees to get a better view of the camp. Below him he could make out a woman who hovered over a black cooking pot that hung above the firepit. A stocky man stood behind her with a rifle in the crook of his arm. Jake had begun to inch backward to his horse when he saw another man walk toward the firepit.

If it was the same wagon, it was possible that Lester Skiles wasn’t too far away. Jake didn’t know Skiles by sight, but he knew of Skiles’s reputation. Skiles wasn’t known to be a gunman or a violent man, he simply liked to steal. Even so, he had never heard of Skiles going as far as robbing a bank.

Jake squatted next to his horse while he mulled over his options. He realized he had to be sure of what—and who—he was dealing with before he made any rash judgements. The people at the camp could simply be travelers passing through or folks searching for a place to build a future. He needed to figure out a way to get a closer look at them without giving himself away.

A few minutes later, a smile creased his lips when a foolish idea came to mind. Foolish—and dangerous to be sure. He stood and slapped his hat at his dusty jeans. The dirty, shabby clothes he wore, plus his less than pleasant odorous condition would easily fool anyone into believing that he was a common out-of-work drifter. That is, if he could pull it off without getting shot.

—

“YO, THE CAMP,” JAKE shouted from the ridge near the camp. “Friendly visitor coming in.”

He clicked his tongue and walked the buckskin slowly toward the campfire. As he approached, he got a better look at the woman and the two men at the fire. The woman was tall and reed-thin, around fifty years of age, give or take, with brown hair pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a blue gingham dress that was dotted with an array of different colored petunias.

The stocky, muscular man with the Winchester was younger than the woman by several years, with a face that had seen its share of brawls. It was hard for Jake not to notice that the barrel of the Winchester was tilted upwards slightly and aimed directly at his mid-section. The second man was the shorter of the two men, but they had similar builds and a close facial resemblance. Both wore clothes not much different from his own grungy outfit.

Jake rode up to the firepit, leaned over with his hands crossed on the pommel, and said, “Ma’am, that coffee smell shore does set my mouth to watering. I’ve been in the saddle since daylight stopping only to answer nature’s calls.”

“I reckon we’ve got enough coffee and beef stew to share,” she said. “Climb down, and I’ll fix you a plate.”

The second man took a step toward the firepit and said, “He ain’t got time to—”

“Shut up, Clyde,” the Winchester man said. “Go ahead, mister, eat your fill, then be on your way. We’ve got plenty of chores to take care of before dark, and we don’t need any distractions.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake noticed the woman glance up at the man with a frown on her face. There was a bushel of questions he wanted to ask, but now was not the time to push it, not with the woman caught in the middle.

Jake dismounted and took the cup and plate from the woman’s hands. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said as he dropped down on a log and forked a chunk of beef into his mouth.

“I’m Alma,” she said.

The Winchester man nodded at the second man and said, “He’s Clyde. I’m Ross.”

“We’re brothers,” Clyde said. “He’s older than me. And he’s smarter, too. Ain’t that right, Ross?”

“Clyde, that log over there is smarter than you.”

Clyde had a wide grin on his face when he said, “Ain’t Ross funny?”

Ross nodded at Alma. “Alma here is our momma.”

Alma jerked her head around and glared at Ross as she said, “I’m not—”

Jake saw Alma wince as Ross quickly reached out and squeezed her shoulder before she could finish her sentence. She pulled away from his grip and gave him a hard look but didn’t say anything else. Jake pretended not to notice, but he knew there was something amiss here.

“What’s your name, mister, and where are you headed?” Ross asked in a not too friendly way. “Don’t see many drifters out this way.”

“My friends call me Leroy,” Jake said. “I’m headed to Salyersville where I’ve got a job waiting. My cousin Willie runs a freight outfit there and sent for me. I’ve had enough of cow-punching to last me a lifetime. This past winter was a bad’n and pert near did me in.”

“Yeah, me and Ross ain’t much for cowpunching either,” Clyde said. He broke out in a loud laugh, pointed a finger at his brother, and added, “We done found a better way to make a dollar, ain’t that right, Ross?”

“I told you once to shut up, Clyde. I don’t aim to tell you twice. Now, get over there and see to the horses.”

Clyde lowered his head, spun around, and skulked back to the wagon like a scolded pup.

Jake was certain that neither of these two yahhoos was Lester Stiles. Ross looked to be in his early to mid-thirties and Clyde three or four years behind him. Both were too young to be Skiles who was said to be in his fifties. Jake figured Ross to be the chief honcho of the two, with Clyde following along behind like a lap dog, ready to do whatever his big brother ordered.

Even though he didn’t find Skiles in the camp like he had expected, Jake was more than a little satisfied that he had stumbled on Skiles’s two cohorts. But all he had to go on were his gut feelings. He needed more than that before he could make a move at them.

He finished off his meal and set the tin cup and plate aside. “I shore do thank you for your hospitality, ma’am. That was the best camp meal I ever tasted. I would love to stay and chat a bit, but I’m in kind of a hurry.”

“Don’t you want another cup of coffee?” Alma asked.

“Leroy said he needs to go,” Ross said. “We don’t want to hinder him.”

Jake took a professional interest in the walnut-gripped Colt that rested in a well-worn holster strapped around Ross’s waist. Whatever else he might be, Jake figured that Ross was no greenhorn—and it was also patently clear that Ross wanted him gone from the camp.

Rather than create a situation that might get out of hand, Jake said, “No, thanks, ma’am, I gotta get going.” He took the reins and led the buckskin toward the trail. All the while he made sure to keep the horse between him and Ross. When he reached the trail, he mounted up and rode away without a backward glance.

—

JAKE RODE A MILE from the camp before he stopped. Once he was sure he had not been followed, he turned the buckskin into the trees and circled back toward the camp. What he was going to do once he got there, he had not yet decided. All he could do would be to watch and wait for an opportunity to present itself. But he realized that patience was not among his greatest virtues. More than once, his im- petuous nature had taken charge and nearly put him six feet under.

When he got within a couple hundred yards of the camp, he tied the horse to a tree branch and crept forward on foot. He found a clump of bushes that would conceal him, as well as provide him with a full view of the campsite. He settled down to wait and watch.

After an hour, little had changed. Alma knelt at the edge of the stream while washing the cooking utensils. Clyde leaned back against a chunk of wood close to the hobbled horses. Probably dozing, Jake thought. Ross leaned lazily over the side of the farm wagon with cigarette smoke spiraling above him and his ever-present Winchester propped next to him.

But there was still no sign of anyone who could be Lester Skiles.

Jake realized the odds were against him if he tried to sneak into the camp in broad daylight, but he had to get the proof he needed somehow—and keep Alma out of harm’s way in the doing. As he watched the camp, he saw Alma leave the stream and duck under the tarpaulin. He sat up quickly. This might be his best chance to get closer without being spotted. Or was that his impetuous nature talking?

Jake moved slowly toward the hobbled horses. He skirted the stream where he mingled with the horses, which thankfully were intent on their grazing. As he moved closer to the edge of the clearing, he noticed two saddles and a pair of saddlebags lying in the grass above where the horses were held. The confirmation he needed could very well be in one of those bags. It would be a dangerous gamble to take, but he knew he had to get his hands inside those bags.

Neither of the brothers had moved from where he had earlier seen them. If he kept low to the ground, he would be blocked from Ross’s view by the farm wagon, and Clyde had his back to him, with two massive cottonwood trees standing between them. Jake took a deep breath, then dropped on his stomach and snaked his way toward the bags. As he got closer, he could see that one of the leather bags had a huge bulge that threatened to pop open at the seams. He unbuckled the leather strap, reached in, and pulled out a heavy sack. He rolled over on his back and glanced at the stenciled print on the sack. Augsburg Bank. That was all he needed to know.

Clyde still had his back to him, snoring lightly, when Jake crept up behind him. Jake hesitated briefly to make sure he had not been seen, then moved quickly toward the younger brother. He hated to do it, but Jake smacked the butt of his Colt hard against Clyde’s head. He tossed the outlaw’s revolver and rifle into the brush. After he had secured Clyde’s hands with the outlaw’s leather belt, Jake moved toward the wagon to deal with Ross.

Jake had crept to within thirty feet of the wagon when Ross walked around the front of the wagon. Jake momentarily froze, but Ross did likewise. The outlaw recovered quickly and jerked up the Winchester and fired a quick shot that went wide, as Jake had quickly thrown himself behind a cottonwood tree.

He sat up quickly and got himself ready to return fire should Ross charge at him. But Ross disappeared after the sudden, unexpected encounter. Where was he? He couldn’t have gone far—there were few places for him to hide. Jake had to draw him out somehow.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Ross, give yourself up. Throw out your guns.”

“Well, if it ain’t the cowpuncher come back for a second helping,” Ross shouted from behind the rear of the wagon.

“Jake Packer is the name, and I’m a U.S. Marshal. In case you are interested, your brother is temporarily incapacitated and can’t help you.”

“I won’t be as easy to take as that idiot brother of mine. If you think you’re up to it, come on and take your chances. But I’ll tell you this. I ain’t going back to prison.”

At that moment, Ross let loose with a volley of fire. Jake dropped low and buried his face in a pile of moss as the bullets struck the tree above him and rattled through the leaves. During a brief lull that followed, Jake jumped up, zig-zagged through the trees, then dove headfirst into an open area near the wagon. There, he caught a glimpse of a surprised Ross and fired a shot at him, then rolled to his left and fired a second time.

Ross got off a wild shot as he slumped against the wagon, then fell to the ground. Jake hurried over to him, his gun still in his hand. The bank robber lay on his back with blank eyes staring at the blue Texas sky while a red blotch formed on his shirt pocket.

Jake holstered his six-shooter and backed away, relieved that his gamble had paid off. But he knew it was not over yet. Where was the third man? Where was Lester Skiles?

When he turned away from the fallen outlaw, he found himself staring into the business end of a double-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun.

“Stand real still, marshal,” said the man.

Alma, with her hands pressed hard to her mouth, stood a step behind him. “Do as he says,” she said. “Please. There has been enough shooting.”

“I wouldn’t want to pull the trigger on this shotgun for no good reason,” the man said. “Put your hands out where I can see them.”

Alma circled behind Jake and removed the Colt from his holster.

“I guess you would be Lester Skiles,” Jake said.

The man nodded. “I’m Lester. I knew that you had been tracking me, and I kept hoping that you would give up the chase and turn back. I guess I shoulda knowed better. I had always heard there was no give up in Jake Packer when you’re on the hunt. Then those two Welker hooligans showed up and complicated things for me and Alma.”

Skiles was a thin, wiry man around Alma’s age. Jake thought Skiles was dressed more like an ordinary homesteader in his bib overalls than a man accused of holding up a bank. But then, during his twenty years of corralling lawbreakers he had seen all types.

Skiles pointed the shotgun toward the firepit. “Over there, Marshal. We’ve got some business to take care of.”

Jake sat on a log while Lester and Alma sat on another log across from him. He stared at the two of them and waited for whatever came next.

Finally, Alma poked Lester in the side and said, “Go on Lester, get it over with.”

Lester Skiles lowered the shotgun and placed it on the ground near his feet. He held out his empty hands for Jake to see. “I’ve been accused of doing a lotta bad things in this life, Marshal, and I ain’t denying I did most of them. But robbing the bank back in Augsburg weren’t one of those bad things. I know the folks in Augsburg think it was me who helped rob that bank, but it weren’t.”

“Sheriff Nettles said that you were seen by half a dozen people as you whipped up the dust hightailing it out of town. Those were people who knew you by sight. Not a one of them had a doubt that it was you they saw running away after the bank was held up.”

“I ain’t saying I weren’t in Augsburg. And I ain’t saying I didn’t hightail it outta town like you say. What I’m telling you is, I didn’t have anything to do with the bank robbery.” He turned to Alma.“Tell him.”

Jake heard a touch of sincerity in Skiles’s voice. They were far out in the Texas back country where Skiles could have put a bullet in him had he so desired, and no one would ever have known. Instead, he chose to talk of his innocence.

Alma twisted at a ragged dish cloth in her lap as she said, “Me and Lester are headed to a small place in Oklahoma where my folks walked away from a few years back. When me and Lester got married, we decided to go back there and try to make something out of it. It’ll take some doing, but we’re going to make it work.”

She hesitated as she glanced at Lester with obvious affection. “I’ll swear that Lester here didn’t have anything to do with the bank robbery in Augsburg, Marshal. We had stopped to get supplies at the general store when we heard the shouting and shooting. Lester was waiting in the wagon while I was in the store. His horse was tied behind the wagon for traveling.

“When I heard all the hoo-rah, I ran out of the store to see what was going on. Two men came racing by us. We didn’t know it at the time, but it was them two Welker boys we saw, Ross and Clyde. We saw people running out into the street with rifles and revolvers. One of the men in the street spotted Lester and started yelling and pointing at him. I reckon he knew Lester and assumed he was guilty. Lester panicked and jumped on his horse and lit out.”

Lester nodded. “Yeah, Alma’s right. I got plum panicky.”

“I waited around for a while,” Alma said. “Then I took off in the wagon after him. Lester stayed off the trail and outta sight, but he was always close by. We thought we were in the clear until Lester caught sight of you. After a while, we decided to set up a camp and let you catch up to us and… well… do what we are doing now. Lay it out plain for you.”

Lester broke in. “Before we could do that, them ornery Welker brothers showed up hungry and all wore out from dodging the sheriff. They tied me up in the shelter to keep me outta the way.” He took Alma’s hand as he continued. “When we got hitched about six months ago, I promised her my old life of raising hell was behind me. I meant it then, and I still do. So, Marshal, you heard the straight of it. It’s up to you now.”

Jake sat silent for a minute, then he got to his feet. “It’s a long haul back to San Antonio. I’ll gather up the Welker boys and leave you two to your business. I’ll return the bank’s money and set things straight with Sheriff Nettles, so you won’t have that worry hanging over your head.”

Alma jumped up and planted a kiss on Jake’s cheek. “Lester said you were tough as a hickory knot but a fair man. I see what he meant now. I’ll see to it Lester keeps on the straight and narrow path.”

“I believe you will, Alma.” He pointed a finger at Lester and said, “You’d better take care of her, or I’ll come after you.” He hesitated a second, then added, “I hope you two make a go of it in Oklahoma.”

When Jake rode away from the camp, he found himself envious of Lester Skiles. That old ex-outlaw had found a good woman to spend his life with and a place to grow deep family roots.

Jake decided he’d call on Maddie as soon as he got back to San Antonio.

Ben Goheen is a former secondary-school teacher and human resources manager in the chemical industry. He is a graduate of MurrayState University and currently lives in WesternKentucky, near Kentucky and Barkley Lakes. Ben’snovels of the Old West are Echoes of Massacre Canyon,which won the 2016 Peacemaker Award as Best FirstWestern, and his follow-up novel, Mabry’s Challenge.A third western novel entitled The Cowboy and theScallywag is came out last year. Several of his shortstories have made it into print, as well, includingseveral within the pages of Saddlebag Dispatches. Ben took particular pleasure in writing his nonfictionbook, With Shirttails Flying. It is a true-tolife,exciting Hoosiers-like story of the Kentucky highschool state championship basketball team of whichthe author was a member. When not writing, Benspends much of his time whacking a golf ball aroundthe picturesque courses of Western Kentucky withhis buddies and spending time with his son and fourgranddaughters.