guns.”
“Well, I have a stack of John Does for the others, so that doesn’t make no difference.” Reeves rose to his feet. “Can you recollect where was you robbed, peddler?”
“Why should I not recollect? Was it not me who was robbed?”
“Tell me straight now,” Reeves said, his face grim. “For I plan to start after those men at first light.”
Rosenberg nodded. “To the west of here, maybe twenty miles. Maybe more.”
“Over to the Salt Fork country?”
“Further west. By Sandy Creek.”
Reeves thought that through, then said: “That’s wild, empty country to the west of us. I’d guess Yates is holed up there, figuring to lay low until the heat over the Lawton bank robbery dies down.” The big lawman threw his cigarette butt into the fire. “Bully Yates was always a damn careful man.”
“He’s not laying so low,” Rosenberg pointed out, his face bleak. “He stole my ring and the seven dollars and eighty-three cents I had in my purse.” The little peddler shrugged. “He also took some bacon, salt and flour and most of my coffee.”
“I don’t know about the money,” Reeves told the peddler. “But when I get your ring back, I’ll give it to the clerk of Judge Parker’s court in Fort Smith. You can pick it up there.”
Before Rosenberg could reply, I said: “Bass, you can’t go after those men alone. Hell, man, there’s six of them.”
“And hard,” the peddler said, shaking his head. “All of them hard.”
“I don’t have time to go back to Fort Smith and round up more marshals,” Reeves said. “By the time we all got back here, Yates could have lit a shuck.”
Reeves reached down and placed a hand on my shoulder, an unusually friendly gesture for a man as reserved as he was. “Dusty, you have your own trail to follow. I won’t think any less of you if you don’t follow mine.”
Truth to tell, up until that moment I hadn’t even considered going after Yates and his gang. But now, when I looked up into Reeves’ eyes I saw a deal of shrewd speculation going on there. He was saying one thing, but thinking another, like he was determined to judge me as a friend and a man by what I said next.
I realized then that the cat that had my tongue was a wildcat and I sure had it by the tail.
So far we had seen neither hide nor hair of Lafe Wingo and the others. If I didn’t catch up to them soon, Simon’s money would be gone and his SP Connected doomed to foreclosure. Ma Prather would be thrown off the ranch and then what would become of her? I didn’t even want to think about the answer to that question.
Yet how could I stand by and let Bass Reeves ride alone into a one-sided fight with six outlaws? Nobody needed to tell me that he’d saved my life and I owed him. Now that thought nagged at me, yammering to my conscience that I was an ungrateful wretch, giving me no peace.
Torn, I was about to speak when Amos Rosenberg’s voice bridged the widening gulf of silence stretching awkwardly between me and the big lawman. “Mar shal, I would ride with you, but I am too old and slow,” he said. “I know of calico and cotton, pots and pans, but of tracking men and of guns and gunfighting I know nothing.”
I rose to my feet, my mind made up. “I’ll ride with you, Bass,” I said, “if you’ll have me.”
The lawman stuck out his huge hand and I took it. “Proud to have you along, Dusty.” He dropped my hand and slapped me on the back. “You’ll do, boy. You made a man’s decision here tonight, and by God, you’ll do.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “From this moment on, consider yourself a deputy of Judge Parker’s court, duly sworn and appointed.”
He turned to Rosenberg. “Thanks for the offer, peddler, but you best stick to the business you know.”
Rosenberg shrugged. “Every man has his own business. You are right, Marshal. I’ll stay with my own.”
Absently my fingertips wandered to my top lip, touching only fuzz, and above me the bright moon lost itself behind a cloud and suddenly the land around me was shrouded in shadow, dark with foreboding.
Chapter 5
We rose before first light, drank coffee and ate some hastily broiled bacon; then we saddled the horses.
As Rosenberg hitched up his mustang, Reeves dug into his saddlebags and produced a thick sheaf of papers. “Thumb through these, Dusty,” he said. “Make sure Bully Yates is there and pick me out five John Does.”
I leafed through the warrants and sure enough found Yates. I passed the warrant to Reeves. “This is the one. Read for yourself.”
The big lawman shook his head. “Never did learn to read or write or do my ciphers. I was born to slavery, Dusty, and my owner didn’t see much need for a field hand to have book learning.”
For me, reading was a pleasant way to while away idle hours and Simon Prather had an extensive library at the SP Connected, where I got acquainted with the works of Mr. Dickens and Sir Walter Scott, to name just a couple of the fine scribes who had opened up new worlds to me.
By not being able to read, Bass Reeves was missing out on a sight of adventure and excitement. But I didn’t tell him that because I’m sure it was a thing he knew already. Besides, a man like Reeves made his own excitement and adventure, so maybe, after all was said and done, he didn’t miss the books that much.
Reeves took the warrant for Yates and the John Does and stuffed them in the pocket of his coat, then walked away and started to tighten the girth on his horse.
I stepped beside him. “How do we play this when we catch up to them fellers?” I asked.
Reeves turned to me. “Well, I’ll follow Judge Parker’s instructions in these matters. I’ll ride into their camp, identify myself as an officer and tell them I have warrants for their arrest.”
“And suppose they don’t want to be arrested?”
Reeves’ face didn’t change. “Then, boy, I reckon all hell will break loose and we’ll have ourselves a Pecos promenade.”
I felt my throat tighten. The odds were six against two and Yates and his outlaws would be no pilgrims. I found myself fervently wishing that Simon Prather had trusted banks because then I wouldn’t be in this mess.
We made our farewells to Rosenberg, who gave each of us a little sack of peppermint candy and wished us luck, then took to the trail west.
The sky was brightening with the dawn, streaked with bands of scarlet, and a strong prairie wind was blowing, rippling the grass like waves on a vast green ocean.
The red light stained Reeves’ face so he looked like a cigar store Indian and he was just as wooden and expressionless. I realized then that this man didn’t know the meaning of fear. The big lawman would not take a backward step for any man, and he’d do his duty, no matter the cost.
From all this, I drew no comfort. I reckoned I was about to ride into a situation where I could easily get my fool head blown off and such thoughts do nothing to console a man.
We rode into rolling land cut through by numerous sandy creeks, none of them deep, and once we came across an old trail, probably made by Indians, that branched away from us to the north before disappearing between a pair of flat-topped mesas.
Reeves didn’t push the pace, and by the middle of the brightening morning he insisted we camp by a narrow creek, just a shallow spring branch coming out of the hills, and boil up some coffee.
Sitting with his back against the trunk of a cottonwood, the lawman drank his coffee and then went to checking his guns, thumbing more loads into his Winchester.
Taking my cue from him, I did the same. I didn’t feel much like talking. I tried to analyze why I had a knot in my belly and decided it wasn’t fear, but something else. But what?
Then I understood what was eating at me—I was mighty worried that I would fail to play a man’s part in whatever lay ahead. Had my gun battle with Clem Kennedy and Luke Butler proved that I could stand up, take my hits and go on fighting?
Maybe. Maybe not. That scrap had been almighty sudden and I’d had no time to think about it.
What I didn’t want was to look into Bass Reeves’ eyes when this was all over and see only contempt and accusation. There would be no living with myself after that.
As though reading my thoughts, Reeves looked over at me and smiled. “You’re mighty quiet, Dusty. You scared?”
This was no time for lies and I answered his question straight up. “I don’t know, Bass. I feel something, like
