Standing at the Scratch Line (66 page)

They rode on in silence until they entered the dry riverbed. There were fresh prints of a shod horse in the fine silt. The two men followed the hoofprints when they left the riverbed at Sardis River and crossed down into Rattlesnake Canyon. The prints seemed to be traveling to the same destination, until Bass turned his horse up a steep defile and began to climb out of the canyon. King alighted from his horse and led it up the defile by the reins. When he got to the top, Bass was waiting for him. King looked back at the lone hoofprints continuing through the canyon. “Where does the canyon lead?” he asked.

“To an old abandoned miner’s camp,” Bass replied and turned his horse toward the road to Johnsonville. King mounted and followed him. They were picking their way through a heavily wooded area. There were stands of pines, sycamores, and cedars providing cover for them as they cautiously approached the site of the attack.

“How come you was travelin’ on the Johnson Road?” Bass asked in a low voice.

King dropped his volume as well. “I heard that there was roadblocks to stop whiskey runners on them new highways. I didn’t want no whites messin’ with my stuff so I come a back way myself.”

“You runnin’ whiskey?” Bass asked.

“I ain’t sayin’ yes and I ain’t sayin’ no, but as long as it ain’t in yo’ territory, it ain’t yo’ concern.”

Bass gave an understanding nod as he dismounted and led his horse into the shadows of a small glade. King jumped down from the stallion and came over to stand with Bass. Within a few minutes he outlined the circumstances and layout at the time he had come upon the attack. They were about to traverse the site when they noticed the same hoofprints that they had seen in the riverbed.

“Somebody’s been here since we was here this mornin’,” King observed. “The ground was too hard this mornin’ for prints like that, plus me and Sampson brushed down the whole area.”

“Somebody from Bodie Wells,” Bass acknowledged. “Well, ain’t no need to show ’em that we been here too. I seen enough. Let’s go by that old miner’s camp. It looks like it might be part of the puzzle.”

A brief reconnaissance of the area around the miner’s camp showed where the horse had been tied before the rider descended into the camp itself. King and Bass followed the footprints to the back of the saloon. They entered and found Frank Bolton’s body. He was lying in a puddle of congealing blood in the interior of the dark saloon.

King and Bass agreed that it was not in the interest of Bodie Wells for Frank Bolton to be found dead. They had to dispose of the body. There were several mine shafts nearby, but only one suitable for hiding a body. Bass and King carried the body far into the descending shaft, after which King threw in a couple of hand grenades.

“You always carry such?” Bass asked after the explosions had caused the shaft to collapse.

“A colored man can’t always tell what he gon’ need,” King replied. “I bought a mess of these on the black market after we was demobbed. They come in handy every now and then.”

“I’ll remember that,” Bass said, giving King a strange look. “Let’s hit the trail,” Bass advised. “Them explosions could echo a long way in this country.”

“First, we better check and see if there’s anything else in the saloon that might lead to Bodie Wells.”

“You’s a sly one,” admitted Bass. “That’s the smart thing to do, but we better hurry.”

A search of the saloon produced a torn piece of pinstripe fabric, a two-shot derringer, a .38-caliber revolver and a .44 Colt single-action revolver. Bass packed the evidence in his saddlebags and the two of them headed back toward the Black Rose Saloon. Bass took a totally different path home; picking his way between the trees, he rode his horse up a narrow ravine that opened onto Rattlesnake Canyon. Once more, King dismounted and led his horse up the steep course of the ravine.

“You always do that?” Bass asked when King joined him at the crest of the ridge.

“I weighs considerable more than you,” King answered, mounting his horse. “We done rode over twenty-five miles today. I saves my horse, ’ceptin’ for emergencies.” The trip home took longer because neither man wanted to leave a trail returning to Bodie Wells. They traveled on rocky terrain whenever possible and took periodic detours to throw off any followers. By the time they arrived at the Black Rose it was nearly eight-thirty in the evening and the stars had established themselves in the night sky.

The Black Rose was nestled at the bottom of a furrow of two large, rolling hills. It did not have electricity, but it was, nonetheless, a well-lighted establishment. From the south, its second-story lamps could be seen for miles on a clear night. It was called a honky-tonk by the temperance element, who were always seeking to close the business. But they were never clever enough to outwit its owner, Wichita Kincaid. She ran her establishment with her own particular flair. She had music six nights a week and was only closed on Sabbath. She had a stable of clean girls provided for those with the money to pay for the pleasures of feminine flesh. She ran legitimate card games in the back rooms and served decent bootleg liquor.

Adjacent to the Black Rose was T-Bone Barnett’s Corral and Livery. Barnett had one of the largest string of horses in southwest Oklahoma and was known far and wide as an expert in judging horseflesh. T-Bone was a short, dark, powerfully built man with an extraordinarily handsome, smooth baby face that was quick to break into a smile. As King and Bass dismounted, T-Bone came out of the barn and greeted Bass.

“How do, Marshal?”

“It goes, it goes,” Bass said, trying to stretch out the stiffness from being in the saddle over five hours during the day. “T-Bone, have you met—”

“I ain’t met him, but I know who he is.” T-Bone interrupted with an easy smile. “You Tremain, ain’t you?”

King nodded. “How do you know?”

“I heard you rode a big chestnut. Soon as I saw this horse, I knew who you were. Ain’t another horse like this in this county, I’ll bet.”

“No there ain’t,” King concurred. “I puts time into trainin’ my horses.”

“We’ll be in the Rose for a while, T-Bone, long enough for the saddles to come off and the horses to be fed and watered.”

“You don’t normally have long-winded business at the Black Rose, Marshal. What’s up?”

Bass answered with a question. “Is Elmo Thomas there yet?”

“Yep, him and two of his boys came in about an hour or so ago. They was packing plenty steel too. Everybody was wearin’ a sidearm. One of the boys had a scattergun.”

“Thanks, T-Bone,” Bass said and walked with King toward the Black Rose. “Let me tell you right now, King, I ain’t lookin’ for no gunplay. I’m just comin’ to remind him not to get wild in Bodie Wells. I figured if you had a peacemaker, maybe you boys might be adult enough to put this pissin’ contest on the back burner until the holiday season is over.”

“The way he and his boys is armed, I’m sho’ that Elmo got the Christmas season on his mind.” King said dryly. “Only thing is, he only want to give little lead presents.”

“I don’t plan to enter with my gun drawn, so don’t be too quick to slap leather. I just want to talk.”

“If you keep talkin’, you gon’ be by yo’self,” King observed. “You knows these people is trash and if you thought you really could trust ’em, you wouldn’t have asked me to come along. Now we both know that; let’s be on our toes.”

As they got to the door of the saloon, Bass said, “No offense meant but I didn’t want you to come with me. I’d have chosen anybody but you, but there ain’t nobody else who got as much sand as you do and can handle a gun as well. Boy, I know you’s a man-killer. I like you, boy, but I knows if’en I wasn’t retirin’, we’d be bangin’ heads and I knows I’d be gettin’ the worst of it.”

“Pops, why don’t we put this talk aside and get to gettin’?”

Bass turned to King. “Oh, now you’s callin’ me Pops, is you?”

King chuckled. “You’s callin’ me boy!”

Bass pushed open the door. “If’en I know’d you be sassin’ me I wouldn’t have asked you to come along.”

The Rose was jumping for a Thursday night. Little Boy Bones was playing a hard Texas rag on the piano, hitting every key that he thought was relevant. Behind him played a banjo and a clarinet, weaving their counterharmonies in with his body-shaking music. Every table was occupied with early New Year’s revelers. The bootleg was flowing and folks were out to have a good time. A couple of men were up shouting bets at a whist game that was going on in the corner. Several couples were dancing in the center of the floor in front of the bar and a number of people stood drinking at the bar.

“I’m gon’ follow yo’ lead,” King said in Bass’s ear. Then he walked along the wall toward the end of the bar.

Bass walked right into the center of the room and asked in a loud voice, “Anybody seen Elmo Thomas? I’s lookin’ for Elmo Thomas. I just wants to have a few words with him.”

One of the men standing by the whist game said in a loud voice, “Is that the old toothless marshal? I thought he was dead.”

A woman sidled up to the man and said in a high nasal voice, “I heard he used to have a bite, but it’s been so long everybody who knew about it is dead.” There were guffaws around the room. The crude witticisms appeared to appeal to the humor of the crowd. There was loud laughing and catcalls coming from every corner.

Bass didn’t respond, nor did he take a step back. He merely waited with his arms at his side.

“Who say he’s lookin’ for me?” The voice, brash and arrogant, came from a muscular brown-skinned man who wore his hair greased back. The man stood at the top of the stairs buttoning his shirt. “Who say he’s lookin’ for me?”

“It’s me, Elmo,” Bass answered calmly. “I wanted to talk to you before any New Year’s celebrations got started. I knows you’s got a followin’ and they’ do pretty near anythin’ you say—”

“You ought to know better than to come out here lookin’ for me, Marshal!” Elmo said as he slid down the bannister and walked over to confront Bass. “I don’t like people who come say they lookin’ for me! It gives me bad ideas!”

“I don’t want no trouble, Elmo. I just want to work somethin’ out for the law-abidin’ folks of Bodie Wells.”

“You already got trouble, Bass!” Elmo shouted.

A man to King’s right was quietly pulling a shotgun from a bedroll. King stole up behind him and waited until he had fully withdrawn the weapon. The man was standing next to a supporting pillar and he could not see King.

Elmo was quite confident. He turned and addressed everyone present. “You may be retirin’ earlier than you think, Bass, ’cause we gon’ leave you with a little somethin’ tonight!”

The man with the shotgun cocked it and started to move around behind Bass. King blindsided him with the butt of his pistol and would have hit him again, but the man collapsed too quickly. King stepped out into the room and said loudly for all to hear, “I’m lookin’ for you too, Elmo, but I don’t want to talk. I’m King Tremain and I just want to spill some of your blood!” He opened his jacket and revealed his other gun. “I’m carryin’ killin’ irons from the hips on down! Come on, let’s hear the cold steel sing!”

There was absolute silence in the room. A man who had been playing whist stood up suddenly and King had a pistol trained on him.

“The next man to move quickly dies,” King warned. Then suddenly King laughed. It was a deep throaty chuckle. “You folks don’t know me, so let me show you somethin’ just to prevent a fool from makin’ a bad choice. You folks see that red can on the table behind me? I’ll shoot it twice and still have time to kill Elmo before he moves!” Without warning, King glanced back quickly and fired two shots. The can sailed off the table and fell to the floor with a clatter. King now had both guns in his hands. “You was bold enough to come by my place when I was out of town. I heard you threatened my wife! I’m standin’ in front of you! Now, what you got? Here’s death talkin’ to you. Make yo’ move!”

“Stop it! Stop it!” screamed a woman’s voice. “I won’t have a killin’ in my place this New Year’s! Any man that fires a gun or pulls a knife is banned from ever coming here again!” It was Wichita Kincaid, the owner of the Black Rose. She was standing on a balcony adjacent to the staircase.

King ignored her and taunted Elmo. “I hear you like knives, Elmo. How come we don’t just go and do it blade to blade down by the corral? I’m sho’ all these people gon’ want to see when I cut yo’ heart out!”

Wichita shouted at King. “I don’t know who you are, but if you don’t shut up, I’ll have my men throw you out!”

“You better say joe, ’cause you sho’ don’t know!” King replied. Then he urged, “Send ’em! Ain’t nobody throwin’ me out of nowhere! I’ll leave thirteen or fourteen men dead on this floor before I die! Send ’em, sugar! Let them take three steps!”

It was as if everyone in the saloon was caught in a tableau. Nobody moved. There was absolute silence again.

Bass spoke to King. “Perhaps it’s time we were on our way, King. I’ve said my piece and I believe you’ve said yours.”

“I ain’t ready to go yet,” King countered.

“Why not?” the woman demanded. “You’re ruining my business and you’ve proved that Elmo is afraid of you. What else do you want? Will you please leave now!”

“Anythin’ you say, Miss. I don’t want to overstay my welcome. You want to come with me, Elmo?”

Elmo Thomas moved for the first time since King challenged him. He raised his open hands to show that he was not palming a weapon and went and sat at a card table. “Go with you? I ain’t goin’ nowhere with you! I come to town to play cards and have me a woman! I ain’t studyin’ you!”

King saw that the man on the other side of the table from Elmo adjusted his seat as King moved around the room. He figured the man had a gun under the table, but the man would not have a clear shot until Elmo moved. So when Elmo edged his chair back from the table, King was ready. He fired both pistols, drilling four shots into the man’s body, knocking him over backward in his chair. A revolver slipped from the dead man’s hands and he lay still. King walked over to the table and hit Elmo on the side of the head with his pistol butt. “You want to play dirty? I love to play dirty!” King stomped on Elmo’s hand. Elmo screamed in pain. King threw back his head and roared. He turned and glanced around at the silent observers. “There any more who want a piece of this?” He looked down at Elmo on the floor. “Get up and fight, dog, or I’ll kill you where you lay!”