The Marshal

“That your final word on it, kid?”

My hand hovered over the butt of the old Remington on my hip. “That depends on you, Mr. Hall.”

I couldn’t believe it had come to this. My mind flashed back to a much better time…

Edward B. Hall had always been a hero of mine. He’d been town marshal of Sweet Springs, Kansas since before I was born. My name’s Dan Bonner, and ever since I could ride a horse, I told everyone I was going to be a lawman, just like Marshal Hall. In the spring of ‘79, Hall was between deputies, and I saw my chance.

I pulled the Deputy Wanted advertisement off his door and walked inside. “Marshal Hall, sir, I’m Dan Bonner and—”

“I know who you are. Why’d you pull my sign down?”

“Well, because, um, I want the job, sir.”

Mr. Hall narrowed his eyes and stared a hole right through me. “How old are you, kid?”

“I’ll be eighteen in a month.”

“So, yer seventeen?”

I grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, but just for a month.”

Hall’s eyes twinkled and his mouth threatened to smile, but he somehow managed to head it off. “Why the hell do you want to be my deputy?”

Why did I want to be his deputy? Was he joking? The man was a living legend! Facing down the Renfro gang single-handed, tracking down all manner of thieves, outlaws and ne’er do wells, protecting the good people of Sweet Springs, Kansas? How could I possibly narrow it—

“That’s about what I figured. Can’t even tell me a single reason. Don’t you kids know what you want these days?” he asked, sounding exasperated with me.

“I—”

“—But you caught me at a bad time. Pay’s twenty dollars a month, and you can sleep in one of the jail cells unless we have a visitor.”

“So, I can have the job?”

“Ain’t that what I just said?”

“Thank you so much! I won’t let you down, I promise!”

“Yeah, yeah. You got a sidearm, kid?”

I shook my head. “I’ve been saving my pennies, but I don’t have enough money yet.”

He waved me off and went to the back room. A moment later he returned with a grungy old gun belt, half the cartridge loops torn off, and a holster holding a beat-up '58 Remington .44. It was the greatest thing anyone ever gave me!

“The man who carried this ain’t needin’ it no more,” Hall said, crossing himself. He walked to his desk and rummaged through the top drawer. He tossed me a deputy marshal badge.

I gave it a quick shine and pinned it onto my shirt. “Thank you, Marshal! I’ll do a good job for you, I promise.”

He nodded, sizing me up. “Believe you might at that. You can start now. Sweep this place out, it’s a damn mess. I’m goin’ down to the café, be back in a while. Don’t shoot yourself with that ol’ Remington. We’ll go see what you can do with it this afternoon.”

There was sure a lot to learn being a lawman, and I hung on every word the marshal said to me. I watched how he dealt with the citizens, with lawmen from other towns, even with criminals. He gave people respect, and they gave it back to him. He had a rough exterior, but inside he was decent down to the roots. My respect for him had only grown in the months I’d spent as his deputy.

One day, however, I started to see another side of him. I came back from the post office with a large envelope and gave it to him.

“New dodgers?” I asked.

“Prob’ly so,” Hall said. “Pull up a chair, let’s have a look see.” He opened it and we started poring over them.

“Ralph Wadkins, cattle thief,” I said.

Mr. Hall looked over at the poster I was referring to. “Huh. Big boy. Looks like he eats ‘em as fast as he steals ‘em.”

I chuckled and flipped to another. “Jim Foster, bank robbery.”

“Foster’s mean an’ ornery as an ol’ mule. You see him, you come get me, kid.”

I nodded and grabbed the next dodger. “Silas McGurk, wanted for horse thievin’.”

He grabbed the dodger out of my hand. His face turned red, and his mouth twisted into a snarl. He looked like a completely different man.

It was then I remembered. Silas’ older brother, Van McGurk, was the one who robbed the stagecoach several years back. He shot the driver, the shotgun rider, and the lone passenger, Lydia, also known as Mrs. Edward B. Hall. Van was arrested in Wichita, tried, and hanged for his crimes. Ever since then, Marshal Hall tends to go a little crazy at the mention of the McGurk name, and rightfully so I reckon.

“You ever see McGurk around here, you come get me, you hear me, kid? I want to know the minute he shows his stinkin’ face around here!”

“I will.” 

The marshal seemed to calm down a bit then, but his sudden anger had worried me. It was so out of character. He pulled out the bottom desk drawer and retrieved a whiskey bottle. “Go on and make your rounds, kid,” he said as he uncorked the bottle and took a pull. Again, out of character.

“All right. See you after while.”

A couple of uneventful weeks passed, until old Billy Sheridan burst into the office one day, huffing and puffing. He’d run the three blocks from the livery stable where he worked.

“Marshal!” he gasped. “Horse thief done hit us!”

Mr. Hall and I perked up. “How many did he get?” Hall asked.

“Just one, that steeldust belong to Mr. Andrews.”

Oren Andrews owned half of Sweet Springs. He’d be mad enough to chew horseshoes and spit out nails when he found out.

“Did you get a good look at the thief?” Hall asked.

Billy nodded. “Better’n that. Hell, we all know him.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Silas McGurk. He was headed straight south outta town. Jeez, marshal, Mr. Andrews’ gonna be so mad.”

I looked over at Marshal Hall and watched him turn that crimson color again. “I’ll take care of it,” he said. Billy nodded and left the office. The marshal said nothing and began collecting gear for the ride. Rifle, cartridges, matches, canteens, whiskey.

“Go down to the store, get me some bacon an’ coffee.”

I ran down to the general store, got his items, and hustled back. He was finished packing his horse, waiting on me. I’d not yet had the opportunity to ride with him after someone. “Can I go with you, Mr. Hall?”

He stopped and thought for a moment. I’m sure he was weighing the options and deciding where an inexperienced kid would do the least damage, in a posse or in charge of the town. “Yeah, sure, saddle up quickly and let’s go.”

“Thanks!” I said as I flew into action. A couple minutes later, we headed south out of town, where we picked up McGurk’s trail. 

The marshal motioned for a stop. We dismounted, and he pointed to the tracks. “See that back left track? See those three lines on the outer edge of the print?

“Yeah?”

“Billy filed that marking on that shoe. He does that for Mr. Andrews in case one of his expensive horses gets stolen. Makes our job easier. Doesn’t matter much here, though, look like he’s alone,” Hall said as we mounted up and hit the trail again, following the marked hoofprints.

As we rode on, I thought on how Mr. Hall would always take the time to explain things to me. I appreciated it a lot.

We followed the trail a couple of hours until near dark. “We ain’t that far behind, but we’re losin’ daylight, an’ we don’t want to lose his track. We’ll camp here and trail him again at first light.”

I gathered some dry wood, and we built a small campfire. After a small supper of bacon and coffee, we sat and talked a bit before turning in. Mr. Hall took a couple of pulls from his bottle and started talking about how much he hated the McGurks. He offered me a swig, but I passed. He told me to keep a lookout and to wake him in four hours. 

Four hours is a long time to stay awake when you’re supposed to be sleeping and you have no one to talk to. But I stayed sharp, listened, and watched. Mr. Hall said if we didn’t watch, McGurk might sneak back and kill us in our sleep. I woke him after my four hours was up and he took over. 

“Time to get up, kid.” Unlike the watch time, four hours of sleep went by in an instant. That doesn’t make sense at all. We had a cup of coffee and picked up Silas’ trail at first light.

“Where do you think he’s heading?” I asked.

“McGurk’s got folks down ‘round Sedan, I think that’s where he’s goin’. But I reckon we’ll catch up to him ‘fore then.”

“How long you think Judge Clay’ll give Silas for horse stealin’?” He didn’t answer, and by the look on his face, I didn’t think I ought to ask again.

We made another camp when it got dark. Mr. Hall said we were closin’ the gap and he reckoned we’d catch up to Silas sometime tomorrow. We talked for a bit. He was a nice man, ‘til he got into that whiskey bottle. It changed him. I watched his eyes grow dark and sullen, and he said things like, “McGurk might try somethin’ and we won’t be able to get him in front of the judge.” I didn’t understand, it always seemed if the marshal tracked someone, he generally brought him back alive. 

He started to talk about his wife a little, and how Van McGurk took the one person in the world he cared for, and the one who cared for him. Seemed to me he was lookin’ at Silas how he would look at Van if he was trailin’ him instead, just ‘cause they had the same last name. I thought on that a lot as I took first watch. 

We trailed McGurk from sunrise to sunset that third day. I should have been happy, I was a lawman, on the hunt with my hero, but the more he talked and the more he drank, the more I found myself wishin’ I was anywhere but here. I wasn’t sure what was gonna happen when we finally caught up with Silas, but I won’t lie, it worried me.

Mr. Hall raised his hand and we reined up. He dismounted, so I did too. He pointed at the ground. “He stopped and walked the horse here, see?” I saw the boot prints and nodded. We walked the horses as quietly as we could as Silas’ trail led through a large stand of blackjack oaks. 

Around a hundred yards in, Mr. Hall tied his horse to a tree, and I did the same. It was dark now. He smelled smoke up ahead, and figured it was McGurk. I didn’t smell the smoke, but I sure smelled the rye whiskey on him when he leaned over and whispered to me. That stuff made him mean, and I hoped it wouldn’t affect his judgment. Unfortunately, my fear was soon realized. 

Up ahead, Silas stood by his fire, his back to us. “Put your hands up, McGurk, or you’re a dead man!” Marshal Hall’s booming voice echoed off the rocks that surrounded the camp. Silas threw up his hands and swore. “Get his gun, kid.” 

Silas had taken his gun belt off and it laid uselessly beside the campfire. I grabbed it and walked back to Mr. Hall and set it down. “Tie his hands an’ feet,” he told me, and I did.

“We’re going to camp here tonight, head back in the morning?” I asked, but he just glared at Silas and kept drinking.

Finally, he spoke. "Go get your rope, kid,” he told me as he kicked Silas McGurk in the ribs. “You’re gonna hang, you thievin’ son of a bitch!”

My heart sank. I was scared to death, but I shook my head. “No.”

“What?” Hall boomed. “I told you to get your rope, do it now, boy!”

“I… this isn’t right,” I stammered.

“Whatta you know about it?” Hall slurred. “I been a lawman since ‘fore you wuz born!”

I found my nerve. “Then YOU of all people, ought to know better! We didn’t ride for three days, chasin’ this man so you could be his judge, jury, and executioner.”

“He’s a goddamn horse thief! A horse thief named McGurk! And you know what that means, he gets his neck stretched right now!”

I shook my head. “I know what the McGurk name means to you, but this ain’t right! Silas didn’t kill Mrs. Hall, his brother did, and they hanged him. Marshal… please! You’re better than this!”

“That your final word on it, kid?”

My hand drew close to the butt of the old Remington on my hip. “That depends on you, Mr. Hall.”

He nodded, and for a moment I thought everything was going to be all right. Suddenly, he went for his pistol. There’s another reason I always idolized the marshal. No one was faster with a pistol than him. I never stood a chance.

We stood there a moment, his Colt cocked and trained on me. I’d barely had time to touch my old Remington, let alone actually draw it. 

“You got sand, kid, I’ll give ya that.”

I would have celebrated that compliment from him any time but now. 

He shook his head, “But there was only one way this was ever gonna go,” as he moved his pistol toward Silas. 

Without thinking, I jumped in front of McGurk. “No sir, I ain’t gonna let you murder him.”

“Kid, get outta the way! I’ll shoot you too if I hafta!”

I shook my head. “You’re better than this!” I repeated, almost as much for me as for him.

“He’s a McGurk and he’s gonna die, tonight! Now move, dammit!”

I thought of one last thing to say. I reckoned it had about a fifty-fifty chance of either working or getting me killed on the spot.

“I bet your wife always thought you were better than this. You want to disappoint her like this?”

Mr. Hall glared at me and I half-closed my eyes, wondering how bad it hurt to get shot. His pistol seemed to shake, just a little. Finally, after several of the most intense moments of my young life, he spoke. “Goddamn you, kid. Tie him to that big oak tree yonder. Tomorrow we’ll start headin’ back with yer prisoner.”

I smiled in relief and tied up Silas, who thanked me for intervening. Mr. Hall took the first watch. When he woke me, he said somethin’ I won’t soon forget. 

“Took a helluva lot of guts to do what you did. I’m in your debt.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hall,” I started, but he waved me off. 

“No, Dan. Thank you,” he said and shook my hand. He didn’t fight off his smile this time.