Two things happened the day after Brown had that awkward meal with Miss Clayton and Linton Avery. The first was that the teacher heard about the conduct of the Texans working for the Parker ranch. They were beginning to lean on the tradesmen in Barker’s Crossing; taking goods and then suggesting that they be given credit. A couple of them pulled this trick in the general store and made off with thirty dollars’ worth of stuff. Nobody present wanted to be the one to challenge the men as they left with their booty and the owner knew that he would be unlikely ever to see a cent for the things they had taken.
Nathan Dowty found himself in difficulties as well, when some of the Southerners who had taken to hanging out in the Luck of the Draw offered to act as his helpers in dealing with any fighting or other trouble which might erupt in his saloon. He tried to explain that there was seldom any trouble in the place and that he didn’t really need any help, but they reminded him of the recent shooting. It took a time for the coin to drop, but in the end, Dowty realized that he was being made the victim of a racket, whereby these men would undertake to behave themselves if they and their friends were guaranteed free drinks all night. The question was left open, but he could see that those men would either drink the place dry for free or smash up his saloon to punish him for not giving in to their demands.
Mark Brown heard about these events as he walked to and from church the next day, but by themselves, they would not have been enough to make him change his mind about becoming more involved in the town’s future. That was all to change, later that day, when he went for his Sunday afternoon constitutional and chanced to see Sally Sadler and her two young children coming into town on an ox wagon. The young woman was having difficulty in getting the ox to do as she wanted and so Brown called out, ‘Need any help there?’
‘Oh, could you? The beast has just stopped dead and won’t move.’
They introduced themselves and when he heard her name, the teacher said, ‘I was right sorry to hear of your loss, Mrs Sadler. Will you be holding the funeral here in town?’
‘We had it yesterday. I thought it right to bury Tom on his own land. If I’d known though. . . .’
‘Known what, if you don’t mind me asking? Here, if you’ll allow me, I’ll hop up on to that there seat and endeavour to show your ox just who is in charge.’
‘Don’t start moving yet,’ said the young widow. ‘I’d like to tell somebody about last night. I was minded to stop right where we were, even with my husband dead. Like Aggie McDermott, you know. But I surely can’t now.’
‘What happened?’
‘Yesterday, some of Parker’s boys fetched up on our land. They had a wood cabin on the back of a wagon and dumped it down by the river. I asked what they were about, but they just laughed at me.’
‘This cabin. Was it about seven foot high, with two little windows at the front?’
‘Yes, how d’you know that?’
‘Called on Randolph Parker yesterday and saw it there in front of his house. I wondered what was afoot. Go on.’
‘Last night, as we lay in bed, I heard somebody outside our soddie. Maybe there was more than one. Anyways, it was men. They was whispering a lot of dirt, saying what they would do to me if I stayed there another night. I got these little ones to care for, I can’t take the risk. So here I am.’
‘Meaning that now Parker has a claim to your land, on account of he has somebody living on it and you’ve given up your own claim by leaving.’ The teacher said this more to himself than to the woman at his side, as though he were ravelling a thread out loud.
‘I never seed it so,’ said Mrs Sadler. ‘You think I was wrong to leave?’
‘I don’t say so. I think any woman in your position would o’ done the self-same thing.’ Brown shook the reins viciously and succeeded in getting the ox to start moving in the direction of Barker’s Crossing.
After he had safely manoeuvred the ox cart into town, Mark Brown jumped down and went off to the church, which was empty now until the evening service. Once inside, he settled down in a quiet corner and prayed for guidance.
‘Lord,’ he said, ‘Seems to me like there’s a heap of things need dealing with in this town and folk being pushed about. I know you hate to see the widow and orphan being mistreated, or so I apprehend from reading the Book of Amos, and I have seen such goings-on this very day. I can’t sit idly by while there are such goings-on, so I hope you’ll understand if I feel as I have to set this right before I can start serving you properly as a minister of your church.’
Having received no reply from the Deity, the teacher stood up and left the church. He wasn’t at all sure whether he was doing the right thing, but if nobody else was going to act on behalf of the weak and vulnerable, then he supposed he would be compelled to do so himself.
When he got back to the house, Miss Clayton was sitting quietly, sipping a cup of coffee. She invited Brown to join her, which he did.
‘Is your friend, Mr Avery, in town today?’ he enquired.
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ replied the old woman, ‘Why, did you want to see him?’
‘I have a little business to talk over with him, that’s all.’
‘You must be right vexed with us after chivvying you about yesterday?’
The teacher laughed. ‘No, not really, ma’am. I’m old enough to take care of myself. If a couple o’ folk want to badger and pursue me, I reckon I’ll live. ’Sides which, you might have a point.’
‘Oh?’
‘I came across Tom Sadler’s widow on the road out of town. You recall that man as was murdered a few days ago?’
‘I remember it well enough,’ said the old woman grimly.
‘Seems like she’s had to leave her own land on account of Parker’s men. Time that sort of thing was halted.’
Later that day, Mark Brown went down to the livery stable to collect his mare from the field there. Old Mr Brady said, ‘Goin’ out to see more o’ your pupils?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘You play your cards close to your chest, don’t you?’
‘It’s just that news travels so fast in this town, I’m afraid to tell anybody what I’m doing. It’s nothing personal.’
‘I ain’t about to start a gossipin.’
‘Well, then, I’m off to see Linton Avery.’
The old man looked at him hard. ‘You goin’ to join this famous town council as he’s talkin’ of? Wouldn’t have thought you were the type for committees and councils and all that foolishness.’
‘Why d’you say that?’
‘Just the way you have with you.’
As he rode out of town, Brown wondered again if he was doing the right thing. It had now been two months since he had quit being a marshal and if he was honest with himself, he did miss some parts of the work. But after the last shoot-out in which he was involved, he had been so sickened at the slaughter, that he had firmly resolved to lay down his gun for good. Not only that, he honestly believed that the Lord had called him into His service. It was to test whether or not he had a genuine vocation that he had come out here to this little town and taken a humble job, serving those little ones that the Lord so loved.
Most of the homes out on the grasslands were no more than simple soddies; low, single-storey buildings with the walls made of cut turf. Avery’s house was a little different, though. He had paid somebody to haul a lot of cut timber out here and build for him a neat little house that wouldn’t have looked out of place in New England. It had even been painted white. Brown had heard somewhere about a French Queen, MarieAntoinette, was it? Any way, this woman had played at being a shepherdess, dressing up for the part and even spending time in a quaint, rustic hut. Something about that story reminded him of this attorney, living out here on the range and pretending to be a settler. Not for the first time, Brown wondered what Avery’s game was.
Linton Avery appeared pleased to see the younger man. ‘Come right in, Mr Brown,’ he said, when he opened the door. ‘Will you have a drink?’
‘Coffee would be nice, if you have any. Thanks.’
As he pottered about in the tiny kitchen, Avery called out, ‘What brings you out here? More than just a social call, I’ll be bound.’
‘You might say so.’
‘Well, out with it, man,’ said Avery, as he brought in a tray with the coffee pot, cups and saucers and milk jug on it. ‘You’ll find it good policy with me to state your case plainly, with no shilly-shallying.’
‘The way you do?’ asked Mark Brown laconically, which provoked a gale of laughter from his host.
‘I like you, Brown. I really do. Well then, what can I do for you?’
‘Is it true that you’re a Justice of the Peace?’
‘That’s true enough. Why d’you ask?’
‘You can solemnise marriages and suchlike, bury folks too and issue ’em with certificates of birth?’
‘Yes, yes, get to the point, man. I don’t want to be chasing round the woodpile all afternoon.’
‘And you can swear in sheriffs as well?’
‘Yes, of course. . . .’ Avery said impatiently, then stopped and stared at the teacher in astonishment. ‘My God, you want me to swear you in, so you can take down Parker.’
‘Let’s take it a step at a time. You can swear in a peace officer?’
‘I can do it in an emergency and then seek to get the thing confirmed later, yes.’
Mark Brown said nothing more for a space, just sipping his coffee and looking out the window. Avery said, ‘Mind, I’d need to know somewhat about you, before I could do that. Be sure you were a man of good character and suchlike. Where were you a lawman? Before you turned up here, that is?’
Still the teacher remained silent, as though he hadn’t even heard the question. Then he said quietly, ‘I started off as a deputy in Springfield, Illinois. Later, I was in Louisville, over in Kentucky. I was marshal there until two months gone. There’s plenty as’ll vouch for me there, if you can wire the marshal’s office.’
‘Why did you leave? What caused you to give up a good career like that?’
‘Does it matter?’ ‘I reckon.’
‘You want to show me round your place?’ asked Brown. The two men walked round the land surrounding the preposterous little white clapboard cottage. Avery had made no real effort at cultivation. Near the door, he had stuck a rosebush in the ground and a little further off, there were a few stunted twigs which indicated that a hedge around the place had been contemplated at some time. Beyond that, it was just grass as far as the eye could see.
‘You never thought to do any actual farming round here?’ asked Brown.
‘This is my retreat. I divide my time between here, Barker’s Crossing and Cheyenne. I don’t really have time for digging and ploughing.’
The teacher stood and gazed towards the horizon. He said, ‘You asked why I handed in my badge. Here’s the way of it. I was with a few other fellows, trying to rescue a woman and her child who were being held in a bank. We jumped the robbers, see, and they grabbed ahold of this woman and her six year-old daughter. Upshot was, there was a shoot-out and everybody was killed.’
‘Was it your fault?’
‘No. Young man with me started the shooting. That woman and her little girl were nonetheless dead for that, though.’
‘That what made you want to be a man of God?’
‘I was that before those deaths. They just made me think o’ devoting my life to the Lord.’
‘Well, you want me to swear you in, under the powers that I have, I’ll do it.’
‘Let’s get on with it then.’
Back in the house, Linton Avery went to a bureau and took out a sheet of paper. He handed this to Brown, saying, ‘I reckon this oath might be familiar to you. It’s pretty much the same kind of rigmarole as you went through when you signed up as a peace officer before. Read out the words on this paper.’
‘I, Mark Brown, do solemnly swear that I will perform with fidelity the duties of the office to which I have been elected, and which I am about to assume. I do solemnly swear to support the constitution of the United States and to faithfully perform the duties of the office of sheriff for the Territory of Wyoming. I further swear that I have not promised or given, nor will I give any fee, gift, gratuity, or reward for this office or for aid in procuring this office; that I will not take any fee, gift, or bribe, or gratuity for returning any person as a juror or for making any false return of any process and that I will faithfully execute the office of sheriff to the best of my knowledge and ability, agreeably to law.’
‘I have witnessed your oath, this fourth day Of April, in this year of grace eighteen hundred and seventy five. You got a gun?’
‘I have. Back at where I’m staying.’
‘You brought a gun with you when you came to teach elementary school? You sure you weren’t half expecting to slip back into upholding the peace?’
‘Not a bit of it.’
‘I’ve got a badge somewhere. I’ll hunt it out and then drop it off at Jemima’s house for you.’
And so the die was cast. It had, thought Brown, taken him less than a month to sign up again as a lawman. He still hoped to find that he had a vocation for the ministry, but before he could even think on that matter, he would need to sort things out here in Barker’s Crossing. It had taken him only a few minutes to be sworn in and it would take even less time for him to hand in his resignation when things were dealt with. Doing a spell of law-keeping didn’t signify; it wasn’t like he had given up his ambitions in that other and more godly direction.
He passed by Aggie McDermott’s house on the way back into town and found that it was a hive of activity. Aggie was wrestling with some calves, trying to separate them from their mothers and get them into a pen. When she saw the teacher, she stopped what she was doing and came over to say hello. ‘You must think me a right one, working like this on the Sabbath,’ she said, half-jokingly. ‘But the roundup starts tomorrow and I want to make sure all my stock are branded. Parker has been known to get a little tetchy about mavericks. The word “rustling” has been bandied about before.’
‘You have your own brand registered?’ asked Brown, interested. ‘I thought that the big stockmen tried to prevent small farmers like you from having their own brand?’
‘I guess you know as Parker’s head of the WSA, the Wyoming Stockman’s Association. They fought tooth and nail to stop any of us small folk having our own brands.’
‘You seemed to manage it.’ Aggie McDermott winked at him. ‘Helps if you’ve got a good friend who’s also a slick city lawyer.’
‘You mean Mr Avery?’ Brown felt suddenly embarrassed. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. . . .’
Aggie roared with laughter. ‘I declare, you’re blushing. It’s no secret about me and Linton.’
‘So what is it with these mavericks?’ asked the teacher, anxious to change the subject. ‘I never really understood what that was all about.’
‘It’s no great mystery. Every year in the spring, there’s a round-up of all the herds on the open range. The boys separate out those belonging to their ranch and then any calves get branded. There’s an old tradition that any unbranded calves, what you call mavericks, are fair game for any as want to take them. The big fellows like Parker claim that we are stealing his calves and then pretending they’re ours. Most o’ the time, it’s just a way to stop us having any cattle of our own. That’s why they don’t want us to have official brands. That way, if we have any steer that’s not branded, they can claim that we’re rustling.’
Aggie McDermott’s son came out of her soddie at that moment, saying, ‘Ma, the coffee’s ready now.’ Catching sight of the teacher, he said, ‘Oh, good day, sir. I’m pleased to see you.’
Patrick McDermott was a tall, good-looking boy of eleven. He was the oldest of Mark Brown’s pupils and although very well-behaved and polite, it was clear that he thought himself too old to be sitting in the schoolroom. He was just itching for the day that his mother would allow him to become the man of the place around their little farm. For her part, Cattle Aggie was determined that the boy should soak up as much book learning as was humanly possible. She herself had never even been to school and could barely read and write. She had had to fight, every inch of the way, to get where she was now and did not want the boy’s life to be a similar grim struggle. She sensed instinctively that the key to his future lay in a sound education.
‘Will you come in and set down with us, Mr Brown?’ said Aggie, ‘And have a coffee?’
‘I’d love to, ma’am, but I have urgent and pressing business back in town. Thanks, any way.’
‘Urgent business on a Sunday? That don’t listen right for a man who’s aiming to be a preacher.’
‘Recollect that the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.’
And so Mark Brown parted amiably from Aggie McDermott, joshing and laughing. He never saw her again alive and was glad later that his last contact with her had been so good-natured and pleasant.
Back at Miss Clayton’s house, the evening was approaching and the old woman was preparing for her second outing to the church that day. When the teacher came through the door, she could see at once that something about him had changed. ‘Mr Brown, I wondered where you had got to. Will you be accompanying me to the evening service?’
‘I can’t, ma’am. I have what you might call a pressing matter to attend to here.’
‘More pressing than divine worship? How shocking!’ She said this with a twinkle in her eye, to show him that she was only joking.
Brown waited until Miss Clayton had left for church, before going up to his room and hauling his trunk out from under the bed. Linton Avery had been quite right. It was odd that when coming to this town to work as a schoolmaster, he had at the last minute felt impelled to pack his holster and gun at the bottom of all the other things which a teacher might legitimately need when instructing a group of young children.
The teacher removed bundles of papers and books which dealt with various matters relating to education. Beneath those were some rougher clothes than the black suit he always sported since coming to Barker’s Crossing. Under those old duds was a bulky package, wrapped in oil cloth. He fished this out of the trunk and then laid it on the bed. As he did so, there came unbidden to his mind, the memory of that last fatal shoot-out in which he had been involved.
The marshal’s office had received a tip-off that an attempt was going to be made to knock over the biggest bank in Louisville. They never did find out where this warning had come from, but it sounded like a true bill. Brown and three other men had surrounded the First National Bank before it opened for business that day. The youngest of their party, Abe Miller who was only nineteen, had been hidden in an upper storey of a building overlooking the bank. It had been impressed upon the young man most forcibly that he was under no circumstances to open fire, unless somebody else started shooting first.
Mark Brown himself had been walking up and down the street casually, trying to look like any other citizen. The robbery had begun and then, as the bandits were leaving the bank, Abe Miller had shot at them, in flat defiance of his instructions. The men had darted back into the bank and grabbed the only other customers in there at the time, a mother and her little girl. Everything happened so fast after that, that there really wasn’t time for anybody to get up into that second floor office and knock young Miller over the head, so that he couldn’t fire again. Ten seconds after the robbers had ducked back into the bank, they came charging out again, with their hostages held in front of them. Abe Miller had shot one of them through the head. It was a fine piece of shooting at that range, Brown had to give the boy that. Only thing was, it triggered a general gun battle as the men tried to make their way down the street to where they had left their horses. They never made it.
Once the firing began, it became a free for all. Since the officers were all firing from cover and the men who had robbed the bank were right there in the middle of the road, it was clear who had the advantage and how it would end. What nobody had bargained for, though, was that in addition to the five outlaws lying dead in the dirt, there would also be a young woman of perhaps twenty-five and her little daughter. Brown had been so angry that he’d marched straight up to Miller and knocked the young man unconscious with his pistol butt. It hadn’t brought the little girl back to life, though.
When Miss Clayton returned from church, it was to find Mark Brown sitting at her kitchen table, in the process of stripping down and cleaning a Colt revolver.
I can’t help reading it in your voice Simon 😂