Justice Finds Whaley by Gary Rodgers

The last thing a man wants to hear when a barber has a razor to his throat is gunshots. Fortunately, Henry doesn’t carry a guilty conscience like mine. The razor nicks my neck as I jerk at the sound of gunfire. I can’t blame his unsteady hands.

“Sounds like it came from the saloon, Marshal. You want me to look?” Henry asks.

“No. Give it a minute. I saw riders from the Lazy B headed over there before I came in. They get rowdy early on a Saturday. You don’t need to catch a stray bullet from one of those fools before you finish my shave.” I smile.

I focus one eye on the window, with my hand on my pistol, as Henry returns to shaving my week-old beard. Yells erupt in the street. A rider races out of town, leading several saddled horses behind him. Boots pound the boardwalk louder than the horses racing away. Henry stops his razor mid-stroke. “Someone’s coming.”

I slide my pistol from the holster under the barber’s cloth. Manny Howell bursts through the door.

“Marshal, you gotta come now. Jess Hayes killed one of the Lazy B riders over a card game. The vaquero with Jess held the Lazy B hands at gunpoint while Jess took their horses and rode out of town. Then he high-tailed it out of there. They mean to kill Jess. Luther is keeping them calm with his shotgun.”

“Henry, it looks like you’ll have to finish my shave later. Manny, run tell Charlie to meet me at Luther’s.” I don’t need this today. “Henry, I need to borrow your scattergun. It might help calm them boys down.”

“It’s loaded, and here’s a box of shells for it,” Henry says, as he hands me the shortened ten-gauge double-barrel.

Half-shaved, I leave, not knowing how many men are at Luther’s. But I know I need to talk them down. An all-out war between the Lazy B and Hayes ranches will only increase the population at the cemetery.

Curly Hayes won’t be friendly to anyone hunting his son. His ranch is bigger than the Lazy B, and he keeps a tight rein on his hands. I haven’t met the owner of the Lazy B, but if a war breaks out, Curly’s hands, a mix of former soldiers and vaqueros, are experienced fighters. The soldiers came with Curly to the area after the war. I was one of them. But I’m not cut out for punching cows. I agreed to be the town marshal of Whaley instead.

The townsfolk of Whaley like having a peacekeeper when ranch hands come to town for a drink. The make-shift jail lets me hold one or two men till they sober up, but it won’t hold all the riders I saw come into town earlier.

As I step off the boardwalk, a rider races out of town. One of the Lazy B hands. I can expect the mysterious owner of the Lazy B in a few hours with more of his hands. Inside the saloon, I find the Lazy B riders sitting against a wall. Luther leans against the bar with his shotgun. Their holsters and guns are on a table.

“Marshal,” Luther says as I enter, not taking his eyes off the riders.

“Luther, it looks like you might lose some customers. These boys don’t look none too happy to have you pointing that scattergun at them.” I smile as Luther shrugs his shoulders.

A Lazy B rider interrupts. “Marshal? What a joke. This town isn’t big enough to need a marshal. Luther, if you put the shotgun away, we’ll handle the thief ourselves.”

Charlie walks in behind me and whistles. “Looks like that little cell at the jail is gonna get crowded tonight. Want me to take these fellows down there and lock ’em up?”

“Can’t, Charlie, as much as we’d enjoy it. You stay here with Luther and make sure they don’t go anywhere.” I think for a minute. “We can’t arrest them, but I can take their guns down and lock them in the jail. I’ll go to Curly’s and talk to Jess, but I’ll send Henry over to get this body out of here first.”

“Is that smart, Cleve? They say Geronimo escaped from the reservation. You know several of his braves are with him by now,” Charlie protests. “Riding out to Curly’s by yourself could be risky. I can fetch the new sheriff of Cochise County from Tombstone.”

“No time to get the sheriff, Charlie. It would take almost a week. I’m betting Jess will head back to the ranch. If I decide to lock him up, then we’ll get the sheriff. Make these fellows stay here for as long as you can. You can expect more Lazy B riders to show up later. Don’t get yourself killed holding these fellas here. You either, Luther.”

“Did your deputy call you Cleve, Marshal?” A short, bearded man asks.

“He did,” I answer.

“Your name wouldn’t be Cleve Hawkins, would it?”

I try to place the man’s face and can’t. “That’s my name. How do you know it?”

“Captain will be glad to hear that. Shoot, he might even pay one of us a reward to bring you to him.”

“This captain rides with you fellows?” I ask.

He laughs. “Not exactly. He owns the Lazy B. He’s Captain Thomas Bentley. Maybe you remember him?”

I remember him all right. I spent months chasing him and his renegade Confederate soldiers after the war with my captain, Curly Hayes. We quit looking for them after they disappeared into Oklahoma Indian Territory. We heard he was dead. If Bentley owns the Lazy B, I now know the type of men working for him. Cattle rustlers, gun hands, and thieves.

I don’t believe Jess Hayes is a cold-blooded killer or a horse thief. Bentley’s arrival with more riders makes going after Jess seem less important. It’s a two-hour ride to the Lazy B and two hours back. Four hours before they would get to town. Riding fast, I could make the two-hour trip to Curly’s and back. Whaley men have a history of fighting. But Bentley is ruthless. I need Curly and his men to keep Whaley from being burned to the ground.

“Charlie,” I whisper, “let these men go if Bentley and his men arrive before I return. Don’t fight them unless they give you no other choice. You can tell them where I went, and maybe they’ll leave town. I’m going to get Curly and his men. You get the word around town for folks to be ready for a fight. They can’t trust Bentley.”

With the holsters locked away in the jail cell, I saddle the dapple mare, my best trail horse, and ride for Curly’s ranch. The horses Jess led out of town graze on some grass near Cave Creek crossing. He’s stripped their bridles and saddles off. I can pick them up on my way back and take them to town. Jess, being a horse thief, is no longer a question.

To save time, I cut through Raven Pass. Had it rained in the last week, it would be impassable. We hadn’t seen rain in weeks. With any luck, the mountains haven’t had rain. Near the upper end of the pass, I see two Apache on the ridge. More will be nearby.

I let the mare pick her way up the rocky slope out of the pass and loosen the rifle in its scabbard. The Apache is not visible on the ridge, meaning, I need to be ready if they attack. I’d hoped Geronimo and his followers would stay higher in the mountains. But with the silver mine boom in Tombstone, the west side of the Chiricahua Mountains is getting crowded. We’ve had a few run-ins with the Apache since Whaley became a town. But Curly made a deal to supply them with beef, and they left us alone. The Army breaking its word with Cochise several years back, now with Geronimo, might put us all in danger.

As I reach level ground above the pass, I spur the mare into a gallop, looking over my shoulder for pursuit from the Apache. Not seeing any, I slow to a trot. After a few minutes, I see the two riders following me but not gaining ground. Even more reason to worry about what lay ahead.

On top of a rise, I stop and dismount. A swig from my canteen allows me to watch the Apache on my backtrail. They stop, as well. Curious, I look toward Curly’s, still a good way off, and see black smoke rising.

After offering a drink to the mare from my hat, I climb in the saddle and spur her into a gallop. I don’t need to run the horse to death, but I might still help Curly. Or I might get myself killed.

I reach the valley and can see at least one building on fire. Smoke obscures my view of the main house. I ride hard with my head low the last half mile. Close enough to see the main house and other buildings still standing, I slide the mare to a stop. When I see Curly surrounded by Apache, I draw my pistol as two Apache raise their bows.

“Hold up, Cleve. Everything’s okay here,” Curly shouts when he realizes I’ve pulled my pistol.

“It doesn’t look fine. I came to talk to Jess and found your place on fire and Apache surrounding you,” I growl back. “What’s going on, Curly?”

“We had some trouble this morning, but it’s being taken care of. Now come on up here and tell me why you’re looking for Jess?”

I keep the mare between me and the Apache and make my way into the yard. Holstering my Colt, I look over my shoulder and see the two Apache from earlier ride in. Still not satisfied, I pull the rifle from the scabbard and walk over to Curly.

“He shot one of the Lazy B’s men earlier today,” I say. “Then he rode out of town with their horses. I found the horses at Cave Creek. So, I figured he came home after he turned them loose.”

“He didn’t come here. If he knew there was trouble, he went to the only place he knows he’d be safe.”

“Curly, if it’s not here, where else could it be?”

“Your place. I always told him to go to your house if he faced trouble in town. Hell, the Army couldn’t get inside that cave house you got outside town.”

I should have known. Jess once told me Curly told him to go to my house if he was ever in trouble. I hadn’t thought about it. But now I have even more questions.

“Okay. Trouble explains why your barn is on fire, but not why you have a yard full of Apache. I rode out here with two of them following me.”

“Take a seat on the porch and have a drink. I’ll tell you about it.”

I follow Curly onto the porch and take the whiskey he offers. This day gets stranger by the hour. Maybe a drink would help.

Curly is calm as he speaks. “Two days ago, Geronimo and some of his warriors showed up. I knew he had escaped the San Carlos reservation, so I kind of expected him. He and I made deals for beef in the past. Now he needs food for his people. I agreed to give him some steers in exchange for him leaving my ranch and Whaley out of his personal battle. I’m not here to do the Army’s job, Cleve. Hell, I think the Apache got a raw deal.”

“I can’t disagree with you on that.” I shake my head.

“Anyway, according to one of his warriors, this morning, before daylight, they noticed several riders coming toward my ranch. Geronimo sent some warriors to follow them and make sure we were okay. When those riders rode up shooting and set fire to the hay barn, the warriors attacked them. My men joined the fight. Didn’t take long for them to realize we outnumbered them. The ones we didn’t kill high-tailed it out of here toward the mountains. The Apache and some of my vaqueros are tracking them now.”

“Do you know who attacked your place?” I want to see if he already knows.

“Not for certain. But I suspect the Lazy B had something to do with it. We caught two of them rustling some of my cows last week. I left them where they could give the others a message.”

I start to ask what kind of message, but I know how Curly deals with rustlers. It also gives me a hint that what happened at Luther’s had nothing to do with a card game leading to Jess shooting the Lazy B rider.

“Do you remember Captain Thomas Bentley?”

Curly’s eyes grow cold at the name. “Remember him?” He spits. “If I’d caught the murdering coward, I’d have hanged him from a tree and skinned him alive.”

“He’s the owner of the Lazy B., according to one of his men. Charlie’s holding some of them in town. But he can’t keep them long. I’m sure his men are the ones rustling cows and herding them into Mexico.”

“Jeb, have the boys saddle up,” Curly shouted. “We’re riding to the Lazy B to kill a murderer.”

“Let me deal with this, Curly. I have five of his men in town, and you have several more hiding in the mountains. Can’t be many at his place. I can take him up to Fort Bowie where he can stand trial.”

“Cleve, go back to town. Finish shaving or have Henry do it for you. But Bentley is mine to deal with. He sent someone after my son. He attacked my ranch and tried to burn me out. I know the justice he deserves.” He rose and stormed into the house.

I can’t talk to Curly when he gets this angry. It’s a waste of time. I mount the mare and head back to Whaley. The least I can do is keep Bentley’s gunmen in town. My job as a marshal is to keep Whaley safe. I might send Charlie to Tombstone to get the sheriff, after all. Curly might not listen to me, but he would obey the real law.

I consider checking my house for Jess but decide against it. I need to see what’s happened in town. If Charlie had to let the Lazy B riders go, I might need to get word to Curly.

I circle behind the jail and dismount. If the holsters are still in the cell, it’s safe to believe Charlie has kept things under control. If they aren’t, I need to keep an eye out for trouble.

The rear door squeaks as I open it, and splinters sting my face as I hear the gunshot. I stumble backward, slamming the door, and draw my pistol before I trip and fall flat on my back. I aim my pistol at the door and await my attacker.

“Sergeant Hawkins, are you still alive and kicking out there?” I recognize the voice. It’s Bentley. “Your deputy refused to let my men loose at the saloon. He suggested I wait here for you to talk about their release. But you know me. Not much of one for talking. I thought we could settle this a lot faster my way.” Two more shots shatter the wood in the door.

I scramble to untie my horse. The mare doesn’t need to get shot by a crazed man shooting at something he can’t see. My legs feel weak as I stand. I raise my hand to find blood pouring from a large gash in my head. Maybe more than splinters caught me in the doorway. I sink to my knees and let the mare go.

The door creaks open. I try to raise my pistol but can’t. I’m too weak.

“Looks like you had an accident, Sergeant. I feel obliged to put you out of your misery.” Bentley smiles and raises the shotgun.

“You never deserved to be called captain, Bentley. You’re a coward and a murderer. Even in war, you hid behind the deeds of your men. So don’t call me by my rank. You’re not worthy.”

“I’ll still be breathing after today, Sergeant. I can’t say the same for you. When my men return from your dear Captain Hayes’s ranch, I sincerely hope it will answer my prayers of being rid of both of you.”

I hear the hammers click back on the double barrel and close my eyes. When the gun roars, I expect to feel pain but nothing. My eyes open, and Thomas Bentley lay dead a few feet away.

“Let me have a look at you, Marshal.” Jess Hayes puts his arm under mine and lifts me to my feet. “I’ll get you over to Henry, and he can patch you up.”

“What are you doing here, Jess?” I ask.

“When you didn’t come to your house, I came looking for you. I saw that fellow ride into town and argue outside Luther’s with Charlie and several of the men from town. Then he came to the jail. So, I watched the jail. I didn’t see you ride in the back way. Hearing the shotgun, I went to the front of the jail and saw what was happening. I couldn’t let him kill you.”

“Thanks, Jess.” Then everything goes black.

When I wake up, Charlie is grinning at me with all four of his remaining teeth. “Glad to see you awake, Cleve.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Three days. Henry wasn’t worried about you dying, but he said it’s because you have a hard head.” Charlie laughs.

“Bentley?”

“Dead.”

“His men?”

“Well, with their boss dead, they headed to Tombstone. Some outfit over there called the Cowboys is looking for riders to help them deal with a new marshal over there. Fella named Earp. Hopefully, we won’t see them anymore.”

“Where’s Jess?”

“Curly took him and some hands out to the Lazy B to round up any cows them outlaws didn’t take off to Mexico with. Said he might even start another ranch there if he likes the looks of it. Figures there will be less trouble if they have the place instead of a bunch of outlaws taking it over.”

I feel the bandage on my head with my fingers, then rub my jaw. “Charlie, go tell Henry I need him to finish my shave. It sounds like justice found its way to Whaley before the law did.”

“We have you, Marshal Hawkins. It’s all the law we need in Whaley.” 

——————

Gary Rodgers was raised sitting around listening to stories his granddad, dad, and uncles told around campfires and living rooms. He later used those stories, with a little twist, to earn extra credit in English class. That was the beginning of his interest in writing. After high school, he enlisted in the Army for one tour of duty, then returned home to Pangburn to start a drywall business with his brothers. As construction slowed, he moved to Northwest Arkansas to start a new career in restaurant equipment maintenance. Work and family consumed his life until his mid-fifties, when the writing bug returned. In 2014, he entered his first writing contest with the urging of his friend, Kim Vernon. He won an award, and the writing bug took hold. Old family stories and new experiences gave him ideas to draw upon. He has since won several more awards. One of his winning entries, “One Arm of the Law,” won the Oxbow Award and was published in Saddlebag Dispatches. His message is simple; the old stories need to live on. Putting them into written word secures the stories better than memory alone.