2.
The sun was low in the sky when they came
over a rise to see the town of Cactus Junction below them. It wasn’t much to look at; a few structures
laid out in a small rectangle, with two dusty intersecting roads serving as the
main streets. As they got closer, it was
even less to look at.
The two streets were rutted from wagon
tracks, and would be a sea of mud after the rare rains. Most of the buildings were wood frame,
although a couple were constructed of irregular stones. A two-story wooden building at the
intersection of the roads dominated the area; the town saloon and hotel. On the left of the saloon was a stone
structure that looked from the distance like a store. A few people could be seen walking on the
grassy paths that served as sidewalks.
When the detachment rode into the town on
the road coming from the east, they were at first ignored, but as people got a
closer look, they began to stare, and soon, there was a crowd on the grassy
sidewalks, walking along pointing and murmuring. Ben quietly ordered his men to keep their
eyes front and pay the crowd no mind. He
rode with his shoulders back and his spine straight.
Their destination was a small stone
building at the end of the east-west road.
Ben could see the crudely lettered sign over the wooden door in the
center, ‘Sheriff’s Office and Jail.’ He’d
been ordered to report to the Sheriff of Cactus Junction, a man named Angus
Woodman.
He called the detachment to a halt in
front of the building, and ordered them to dismount. They tied their horses and the three mules
carrying their equipment and supplies to the two hitching rails. Ben walked up to the door. He debated knocking, but decided that since
it was a public building, there should be no need. He pushed the door open.
A tall, broad shouldered man, with snow
white hair and piercing blue eyes was reaching for the door as Ben pushed it
open. He looked up and for a moment his eyes widened.
“I heard the commotion out here,” he
said. “I was just comin’ to take a
gander and see what was up. I reckon I
see now what caused the stir.”
“Are you Sheriff Woodman?” Ben asked.
“That I am, son; and, who might you be?”
“I’m First Sergeant Ben Carter. My detachment was sent here in response to
your request for help.”
“Well now, don’t that beat all,” Woodman
said. “I’d heard they was takin’ colored
men in the army, but you the first one I seen.
Sorry, forgot my manners.” He
stuck out a gnarled, sun browned hand.
“Welcome to Cactus Junction, sergeant.”
Ben had long since become accustomed to
the first response of most white people to the sight of a black man armed and
in the uniform of the cavalry. He
grasped the man’s hand. He had a firm
grip.
“If you’d tell me where I can put my men
and supplies, sheriff,” he said. “Then,
I’d appreciate knowin’ just what we’re up against here.”
“Sure thing, son. The livery stable’s just behind the jail
here. Got a bunkhouse out back, too,
oughta be big enough for you fellas.”
Ben turned and relayed the information to
Toussaint.
“Now, sheriff,” he said. “Just what is the problem?”
“You get right down to business,
sergeant. I like that in a man; ain’t
got time for all that small talk myself.
Come on in and set down and I’ll tell you.”
Ben followed the man into the small,
crowded office, not much larger than the two barred enclosures to the right of
his battered wooden desk. Wanted posters
were nailed to the wall behind the desk.
The cells were empty. Woodman
motioned Ben to a rickety looking chair in front of the desk, and went behind
it and sat in a wooden armed chair that looked like it might collapse under his
weight.
“I’d offer you somethin’ to drink,”
Woodman said. “But, ain’t had time to go
to the saloon and refill my water jug.
Don’t drink no hard stuff. Would
you like a bite to eat?”
“That’s fine, sheriff,” Ben said. “We ate on the trail.”
“Okay, here’s the situation. We ain’t got too many people ‘round
here. ‘Bout a hundred live in town; rest
live on ranches scattered all over. Got
some folk working a silver mine up in the hills. They come into town now and then to get
supplies or get lickered up. I don’t
usually have much to do; now and then, somebody gets a little too much whisky
in his system and starts a fight, and I have to lock ‘im up so he can sober
up. Lately, though, been a gang of
outlaws rustling cattle and horses from some of the more isolated ranches. Ain’t kilt nobody yet, but I figure it’s just
a matter of time. Folks gettin’ real
spooked ‘bout it, and demand somethin’ be done.
I’m just one man, and I ain’t gettin’ no younger; so, I sent a request
for the cavalry.”
“I was told this gang’s about ten men,”
Ben said. “Do you have any idea who they
are?”
“Yup, looks to be ‘bout ten; maybe twelve;
but, ain’t nobody seen ‘em up close.
Couldn’t tell you if they was white or Mexican. We ain’t that far from the border; so, it
could be a bunch from Mexico. You think
you boys can handle ‘em?”
“We’ve faced worse,” Ben said. “I’ll need a list of the places that have
been hit. Then, we’ll start patrolling
first thing in the morning. You have any
maps of the area?”
“I got an old survey map, but, it’s out of
date.”
“Well, I reckon we’ll just have to make
do. I’d appreciate it if you could give
me that list in the morning.”
“I’ll do that, son,” Woodman said. “There’s just one more thing I got to tell
you, and I hope you’ll take it in the spirit it’s meant. Like I said, I heard they had colored men in
the army. Don’t bother me none; I figure
a man’s known by what he can do, not the color of his skin, but, there’s a few
folk here in Cactus Junction might feel different. We ain’t never had no colored folk here, and
a lot of people here come west from slave states durin’ the war. They was all
poor farmers what didn’t own no slaves, but I reckon they might still have
pretty strong feelings about your people, you understand?”
Ben understood all too well. They were charged with protecting people who
often refused to accord the status of human to them. It rankled, but he’d taken an oath and would
stand by it.
“I understand, sheriff,” he said. “We get that back in the towns around Fort
Davis, and they got lots of black people there; Indians and Mexicans, too. Can’t control how people think, but I can
assure you, me and my men won’t make any trouble. We’re here to help you with your rustling
problem. We’ll be out on patrol most of
the time, and when we’re in town, I reckon we’ll just stay to ourselves.”
“That might be best, at least at
first. Give folks time to get used to
you. Mind, not everybody’s likely to be
hostile, but better to be cautious.”
Ben thanked the sheriff and took his
leave. He mounted his horse and pulled
the reins, heading around the jail toward the livery stable and bunkhouse. He ignored the silent, sullen looking group
of men and women standing across the street from the jail.
No comments:
Post a Comment