Blood and Gold

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.