It was quite a shindig. There was a grand meal, with a whole steer barbecued, and three or four javelinas, plenty of roasting ears, and all a man could want.
There was a little wine but no drinking liquor. That was because of Ma, and because we wanted it to be nice for her.
Vicente Romero himself, he was there, and a couple of times I saw Chico Cruz in the crowd. Everybody was having themselves a time when a horse splashed through the creek and Tom Sunday rode into the yard. He sat his horse looking around, and then Orrin saw him and Orrin walked over.
'Glad you could make it, Tom. It wouldn't have been right without you. Get down and step up to the table, but first come and speak to Ma. She's been asking for you.'
That was all. No words, no explanations. Orrin was that way, though. He was a big man in more ways than one, and he liked Tom, and had wanted him there.
We had a fiddle going for the dancing, and Orrin took his old gee-tar and sang up some songs, and Juan Torres sang, and we had us a time. And I danced with Dru.
When I went up to her and asked her to dance, she looked right into my eyes and accepted, and then for a minute or two we danced together and we didn't say much until pausing for a bit when I looked at her and said, 'I could dance like this forever ... with you.'
She looked at me and said, her eyes sparkling a little, 'I think you'd get very hungry!'
Ollie was there and he talked to Don Luis, and he talked to Torres, and he got Torres and Jim Carpenter together, and got them both with Al Brooks. They talked it over, and Torres said the Mexicans would support Orrin, and right then and there, Orrin got the appointment.
Orrin, he walked over to me and we shook hands. 'We did it, Tyrel,' Orrin said, 'we did it. Ma's got herself a home and the boys will have a better chance out here.'
'Without guns, I hope.'
Orrin looked at me. 'I hope so, too. Times are changing, Tyrel.'
The evening passed and folks packed into their rigs or got back into the saddle and everybody went home, and Ma went inside and saw her house.
We'd bought things, the sort of things Ma would like, and some we'd heard her speak of. An old grandfather's clock, a real dresser, some fine tables and chairs, and a big old four-poster bed. The house only had three rooms, but there would be more--and we boys had slept out so much we weren't fit for a house, anyway.
I walked to her carriage with Dru, and we stood there by the wheel. 'I've been happy today,' I told her.
'You have brought your mother home,' she said. 'It is a good thing. My grandfather admires you very much, Tye. He says you are a thoughtful son and a good man.'
Watching Dru drive away in that carriage it made me think of money again. It's a high card in a man's hand when he goes courting if he has money, and I had none of that. True, the place we had, belonged to Orrin and me but there was more to it than that. Land wasn't of much value those days nor even cattle. And cash money was almighty scarce.
Orrin was going to be busy, so the money question was my chore.
Orrin, he worked hard studying Blackstone. From somewhere he got a book by Montaigne and he read Plutarch's Lives, and subscribed to a couple of eastern papers, and he read all the political news he could find, and he rode around and talked to folks or listened to them tell about their troubles. Orrin was a good listener who was always ready to give a man a hand at whatever he was doing.
That was after. That was after the first big night when Orrin showed folks who was marshal of Mora. That was the night he took over, the night he laid down the law. And believe you me, when Orrin takes a-hold, he takes a-hold.
At sundown, Orrin came up the street wearing the badge, and the Settlement men were around, taking their time to look him over. Having a marshal was a new thing in town and to the Settlement outfit it was a good joke. They just wanted to see him move around so they could decide where to lay hold of him.
The first thing Orrin done was walk through the saloon to the back door and on the inside of the back door he tacked up a notice. Now that notice was in plain sight and what was printed there was in both Spanish and English.
No gun shall be drawn or fired within the town limits.
No brawling, fighting or boisterous conduct will be tolerated.
Drunks will be thrown in jail.
Repeat offenders will be asked to leave town.
No citizen will be molested in any way.
Racing horses or riding steers in the street is prohibited.
Every resident or visitor will be expected to show visible means of support on demand.
That last rule was pointed right at the riffraff which hung around the streets, molesting citizens, picking fights, and making a nuisance of themselves. They were a bad lot.
Bully Ben Baker had been a keel-boat man on the Missouri and the Platte and was a noted brawler. He was several inches taller than Orrin, weighed two hundred and forty pounds, and Bully Ben decided to find what the new marshal was made of.
Bully Ben wasted no time. He walked over to the notice, read it aloud, then ripped it from the door. Orrin got to his feet.
Ben reached around, grinning cheerfully, and took a bottle from the bar, gripping it by the neck. Orrin ignored him, picked up the notice and replaced it on the door, and then he turned around and hit Ben Baker in the belly.
When Orrin had gone by him and replaced the notice, Bully Ben had waited to see what would happen. He had lowered his bottle, for he was a man accustomed to lots of rough talk before fighting, and Orrin's punch caught him off guard right in the pit of the stomach and he gasped for breath, his knees buckling.
Coolly, Orrin hit him a chopping blow to the chin that dropped Ben to his knees.
The unexpected attack was the sort of thing Ben himself had often done but he was not expecting it from Orrin.
Ben came up with a lunge, swinging his bottle and I could have told him he was a fool. Blocking the descending blow with his left forearm, Orrin chopped that left fist down to Ben's jaw. Deliberately then, he grabbed the bigger man and threw him with a rolling hip-lock. Ben landed heavily and Orrin stood back waiting for him to get up.
All this time Orrin had acted mighty casual, like he wasn't much interested. He was just giving Bully Ben a whipping without half trying. Ben was mighty shook up and he was astonished too. The blood was dripping from a cut on his jawbone and he was stunned, but he started to get up.
Orrin let him get up and when Ben threw a punch, Orrin grabbed his wrist and threw him over his shoulder with a flying mare. This time Baker got up more slowly, for he was a heavy man and he had hit hard. Orrin waited until he was halfway to his feet and promptly knocked him down.
Ben sat on the floor staring up at Orrin. 'You're a fighter,' he said, 'you pack a wallop in those fists.'
The average man in those years knew little of fist-fighting. Men in those days, except such types as Bully Ben, never thought of fighting with anything other than a gun. Ben had won his fights because he was a big man, powerful, and had acquired a rough skill on the river boats. Pa had taught us and taught us well.
He was skilled at Cornish-style wrestling and he'd learned fist-fighting from a bare-knuckle boxer he'd met in his travels.
Ben was a mighty confused man. His strength was turned against him, and everything he did, Orrin had an answer for. On a cooler night Orrin would never have worked up a sweat.
'You had enough?' Orrin asked.
'Not yet,' Ben said, and got up.
Now that was a mighty foolish thing, a sadly foolish thing, because until now, Orrin had been teaching him. Now Orrin quit fooling. As Ben Baker straightened up, Orrin hit him in the face with both fists before Ben could get set. Baker made an effort to rush and holding him with his left, Orrin smashed three wicked blows to his belly, then pushed Ben off and broke his nose with an overhand right. Ben backed up and sat down and Orrin grabbed him by the hair and picking him off the floor proceeded to smash three or four blows into his face, then Orrin picked Ben up, shoved him against the bar and said, 'Give him a drink.' He tossed a coin on the bar and walked out. Looked to me
