A Matter of Honor

By Larry Auerbach

Set in 1877, in New Mexico Territory, former Union sniper Jonah Berryman is presently working as a bounty hunter who is known for bringing his man in alive, but Jonah is here on personal business and is hunting someone on his own time. He has some unfinished business with a doctor who saved his life but left his cousin to die. He has been lookin

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: Feb 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781949574630

Larry Auerbach

Larry Auerbach is a practicing psychotherapist of twenty-three years in Pt. St. Lucie, Florida, where he lives with his wife of 32 years. He earned his Master's in Social Work from Barry University in Miami Shores, Florida, in 1991 and has maintained a busy practice ever since. He has traveled out West for numerous pack trips, re-enactment rides and his interests include chess and horseback riding. He is a collector of frontier memorabilia, and maintains an extensive library of the people, places and events of the American Wild West. He is a member of the Western Writers of America, and this is his fourth novel. He can be reached at [e-mail].

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Copyright © 2018 by Larry Auerbach.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Printed in the United States of America.

Book Vine Press

505 W. Lancaster Court

Inverness, IL 60010

To my wife, for encouraging me to put my ideas to paper. To all the people who love the feel of a real book, and the excitement of turning a page. And most of all, for all the people who lived the lives described in these pages.

Also by Larry Auerbach

Common Threads

The Spirit Of Redd Mountain

A Matter of Justice

The Troll Bridge

Prologue

On a wet day of March 30, 1865, Jonah Berryman was walking toward the small hamlet of Persimmon Creek, Virginia. It was a hot day, and he was sweating profusely.

Jonah was a young man, about twenty-five, but he looked worn and tired—worn down by the war—and could easily pass for thirty-five. He was wearing a pair of dirty and torn overalls over faded red flannel long johns. He had on a pair of scuffed and nicked work boots, the type worn by many farmers in the area. A grimy handkerchief hung out of his back pocket. His face was streaked with dirt, and his gray hair was uncombed and greasy with sweat. There was a patch over his left eye, held on by a piece of cheap, soiled twine. He had a sweat-stained, ragged cap tucked into his side pocket. There was a scent of cheap whiskey about his clothes and on his breath, if someone were brave enough to get that close to him, that did nothing to cover up the smell of stale sweat and body odor that emanated from him in waves.

Once in town, he looked for the nearest saloon and saw three on the long, dusty street. He took a deep breath and headed for the one that looked the busiest. He stepped inside and immediately took a step to the right to give his eyes time to adjust to the dark and smoky interior, and avoid drawing a lot of attention from the regulars. He looked around the saloon as he stood, to the side of the swinging doors, surveying the dim surroundings. It was a typical dingy place with several rough-cut tables and chairs placed all around the small room. He noticed that all of the tables were occupied by one or two men, some with the same style of dress as Jonah—some wearing faded and patched uniforms of the Confederate Army. Jonah took in all of this with a quick sweep of the hazy and poorly lit room, noting with relief none of the men appeared to be armed. He shuffled forward to stand at the bar, and hanging his head, put his elbows on the bar.

The bar was no more than three smoothed out planks resting on four evenly spaced beer barrels. The mirror had several cracks in it, and one corner was broken off. There were several worn out soiled doves plying their trade, trying to get the customers to buy them watered down drinks before they went upstairs or into the back rooms for a few minutes. The bartender walked over to Jonah and, using the soiled rag he took from his back pocket, wiped off the plank that passed for the counter, and stood there waiting impatiently.

Whatcha’ want, mister? I ain’t got all day, and if you ain’t buying, then git the hell out of here and quit taking up space for them who does, he growled.

Jonah ordered a beer, and reached into his pocket to pull out a scrap of Confederate script to pay; but when the bartender saw what he was using to pay, he pulled the beer back.

I don’t take that paper no more, mister. I got a whole back room full of ‘em. They ain’t good for nuthin’ but startin’ fires now. Iffen you ain’t got real money, you best git on outta here and move on down the road, the bartender said gruffly. He was a fat man, unshaven and unclean, wearing a torn rough cotton shirt, covered with old food and beer stains. An unlit cigar jutted out of his mouth, where Jonah could see several blackened and even a few missing teeth. When the man spoke, Jonah inwardly cringed from the man’s foul breath, but he fumbled around in his pockets until he found a few coins and dropped them onto the bar. The bartender snatched up the coins, and bit down on each one to make sure it was real before moving the glass of beer back to within Jonah’s reach. That’s enough for a second beer, whenever you want it, stranger, he said before moving back down the length of the bar.

Jonah nursed the warm beer for a while until everyone returned to their conversations, the disruption of a new face in the tavern wearing off quickly. After he finished the first warm beer, he began complaining about the state of affairs his country was in, his voice gradually became more belligerent and quickly began slurring and mispronouncing his words as he drank the second warm flat beer.

Where’s the damn army when you need them? They’s all out chasin’ Yankees instead of pertectin’ propity here, he grumbled, low but loud enough to be heard. A man’s got to pertect hisself best as he can and cain’t get no help noways. Wisht they was ‘round heah to he’p out some, Jonah muttered loudly to himself.

Hey there, you drunk, what you think yore doin’ criticisin’ the boys what’s doing all the fightin’? The army’s got more to worry about than yore sorry little farm, a big man in butternut brown with one sleeve pinned up called out to him.

Jonah didn’t turn around at first; he waited for the man to tell him to turn around. His head was hanging down over his glass of beer, but his eyes were on the cracked mirror over the bar so he could see the man’s approach. Jonah knew he could take the man without any effort, but he didn’t want any trouble here in a strange town. As he expected, however, it wasn’t long in coming.

Hey, drunk, I’m talking at you! the man called out again as he neared Jonah.

You talkin’ to me, mister? Jonah mumbled as he turned around to show unfocused eyes.

Who else is talking ‘bout the best damn army in the world? the man retorted.

Hey, mister, I don’t mean no disrespect to the boys in gray. I’se just letting off some steam is all. I ‘spect them all, from Gen’rl Lee and Gen’rl Longstreet down to the privates on the line. It’s just all the news I heerd lately seems to be they is runnin’ away. I ain’t seen a one of them in a coon’s age. I reckon they’s all up in the north or the west, is all I mean, mister. Here now, let me buy you a drink to show I don’t take no offense at nothin’ you said, Jonah mumbled contritely as he groped in his pocket to pull out a few Confederate notes. He dropped them all on the bar and started to paw through them as if looking for the right denomination. The man came over and with his one good hand picked up the wad and started to push it back in Jonah’s shabby coat pocket; but the bartender had hurried over as soon as he saw the money hit the bar and quickly grabbed the wad of bills, and put two dirty glasses on the counter. He put a bottle on the counter, and looked closely at Jonah, but backed away as the other man approached.

Hey, stranger, I didn’t mean any harm either. I’m just a little bitter since this happened, the big man apologized as he fingered the pinned up sleeve.

I’m powerful sorry that you done lost your arm, mister. I meant no disrespect to you fighting men. Can I ask where it happened or that be too personal a question? Jonah asked.

Chancellorsville, right after we lost Old Jack. That was a dark day for the South, by God!

How about we all raise a glass to Gen’ral Jackson? Jonah offered.

The bartender brought up another dirty glass from under the bar, and poured a drink in all three glasses. The three men raised their glasses and knocked back the burning liquid. Just then, another man called out from his table and signaled for the bartender, who went over to attend to him.

I’m right sorry for being disrespectful, mister, Jonah apologized again. It’s just that I aint’ seen no soldiers that ain’t wearing Yankee blue in a long time. I kinda fergot what they look like, is all, Jonah mumbled his words as he swayed on his feet.

That’s okay, mister. I unnerstan’, the man said, more sociable now. Say, iffen you want to see some of the boys, and you ain’t in a hurry, they’s gonna be a whole passel of them come down the Turnerville Road sometimes near noon I hear. They’s headin’ up Appomatox way I hear tell. I know, whyn’t we go watch ‘em march by and give a Rebel yell as they pass? the man suggested eagerly.

That’d be a good idea, I’d be right pleased to join you and show our boys we be supportin’ them. Just let me finish my drink. He picked it up and threw his head back and allowed the raw alcohol to go down without actually tasting it. He took a step away from the bar and suddenly stopped, a look of distress coming over his face

Uh-oh, he said as he grabbed his stomach and bent over. I think I’m gonna be sick. What kind of slop you servin’ me here? he growled at the bartender.

The bartender came rushing around the bar, grabbed him by the collar and torn pants, and rushed him to the door. I don’t need no drunk soiling my floor! You want to get sick, you do it outside! he yelled as he threw Jonah out through the swinging doors and into the street.

Lying there, Jonah scowled at the bartender and threatened to come back when he was sober and wreak havoc on the man and his miserable establishment. Then he slowly and unsteadily got to his feet and staggered off down the road out of town in the opposite direction from where he had come into town. As he stumbled and staggered his way down the street, he could hear the cruel laughter of the men from the bar behind him. He waved his arm in anger at all the mocking voices as he walked unsteadily down the street toward the woods. Once Jonah was out of sight of the bar and its patrons who were laughing at his undignified exit, he straightened up and nimbly ran the rest of the way into the safety of the woods where he quickly turned and ran back in the direction he had originally come from, suddenly no longer incapacitated by the cheap whiskey.

After a ten-minute jog, he reached his horse, a glossy chestnut mare hobbled near a narrow burbling creek, where he dug into his saddlebag and pulled out a comb, a towel, and a small piece of soap. He reached back into the bag and fished around until he found a small bottle, a toothbrush, and a small tin of toothpaste. He looked around and, seeing no one within view, he stripped off his soiled clothes and eye patch with a sigh of relief and buried them in a quickly dug hole. He took a deep breath and opened the bottle, then drank the contents as quickly as the slow moving substance would come out before throwing the bottle against a nearby tree to break it and then covered up the pieces with dirt. Suddenly, he fell to his knees as his stomach began to heave and roil. A moment later, the entire contents of his stomach came rushing upward and exploded out of his mouth. He sagged onto all fours and, head down, braced himself as another heave forced its way upward. This continued for a few moments, then, finally he was done. He staggered into the creek and picked up a mouthful of water from the stream. Swishing it around, he spit it out to remove all of the sour taste. Tasting a trace of the sourness remaining, he took another mouthful and washed his mouth out again. Using the toothbrush to open the tin, he wet the brush in the stream and put the paste on it before brushing his teeth and washing out his mouth. Running his tongue over his teeth, Jonah shook his head and repeated the entire process. Finally satisfied that his mouth was clean, he sat down in the swiftly flowing creek and savored washing off the week’s accumulated grime, sweat, and dirt. With a sigh of regret, he climbed out of the creek and, after he had dried himself off with the small towel, dug into the other saddlebag and found his change of clean clothes. In just a few minutes, he was back in his regular clothes—the uniform of a master sergeant in the Union Army.

Jonah Berryman was a sniper for General Sam Grant, and he was a good one. He had a record of over eighty kills in just the last ninety days, and was hoping to make it an even one hundred to win the prize the major had put up for the first man to reach that mark. He was in the lead by five; Oscar Kransel was right behind him with seventy-five kills. But Oscar had recently come down with the chills, and now Jonah had a chance to get his twenty remaining kills before Oscar was back in the field.

Jonah was an expert at getting information, and he knew how to get people to tell him things he wanted to know. He had put on some ragged clothes he had previously liberated from several outlying farms, one item at a time. He had gotten a bottle from the camp hustler and, after taking a good mouthful and swishing it around for a few minutes, he had spit out the fiery liquid. He had splashed a little of it on his clothes for effect and then rolled in the dirt and brush. In doing so, he had been able to convince the saloon full of enemies to open up about the whereabouts of the local Confederate unit. Jonah knew getting caught in civilian clothes meant getting hung as a spy, while just shooting as a soldier meant only a prisoner of war camp.

Now, he was patiently waiting in the underbrush near a small village in Virginia for the Confederate army unit he had learned about in the saloon to come down the road because he was plannin’ to give them a good Yankee greeting—which meant he was to kill as many of the officers as he could, and then get the hell out of there. The talk was that the war was almost over, that Grant had finally cornered old Bobby Lee somewhere nearby at some place called Appomatox Court House, but hell, rumors were always flying around this man’s army. Anyway, he had a prize to win, and his chance to win it was coming down that road sometime very soon.

From his position, Jonah could see the dust cloud indicating movement of the army unit coming down the road quite a ways in the distance, so he settled down to a comfortable position where he could still see them, hoping they wouldn’t be able to see him until it was too late. Jonah heard something behind him and, slowly turning his body slightly to shield whoever was behind him from seeing that he was reaching for his pistol, softly squeezed the trigger and then thumbed back the hammer so that it wouldn’t give off the telltale sound of the sear ratcheting back. Just as Jonah was about to fall to the left and swing the gun around for a quick shot, he saw the squirrel pop out of the brush and stand there looking at him before it scolded him for disturbing its hunt and then bounding off in the opposite direction.

I’m busy right now, squirrel, or I’d take you back to my tent for dinner. I’ll look for you later, maybe, Jonah said with a soft chuckle.

Jonah never thought about the lives he was about to end, or the fact that they were someone’s father, brother, or husband. It wasn’t because the thought didn’t occur to him, it was because he wouldn’t allow himself to think about it. This was war and in war, people died. That was just the way it was. Jonah would tell himself this truth every day, every time he squeezed the trigger and took a life—but it was getting harder and harder for him to believe. He only focused on the contest, a race between himself and Otto Kransel, to see who could shoot the most targets in a certain time. Targets—that was how he saw them—not as men. Just targets.

Jonah heard the tramp of the soldiers coming down the lane and shook himself out of his trance. He carefully repositioned himself behind a tree to be able to see the officers in the lead. He saw a colonel, a major, and three captains. Figuring he could get three of them before he had to run away, Jonah drew a bead on the colonel, the highest ranking officer, simply as a matter of practical efficiency. Jonah knew that eliminating the lead officer would help create panic in the unit, which would make his second and third shots easier. Jonah had done this so many times before that it was not even a conscious thought so much as it was an instinctive reflex awareness.

Just as he was ready to squeeze the trigger, the officer turned in his direction, and Jonah froze in shock. It was his cousin Earl Mayhew. He had almost killed his favorite cousin! He started to call out a warning only his cousin would understand when a shot rang out behind him, and he saw Earl knocked out of his saddle to the ground, a big red flower beginning to bloom in the center of his tunic.

Jonah jumped to his feet and began to turn around when a Confederate soldier from the road raised his rifle and fired a shot at Jonah. The big Minie bullet cut across his head, spinning Jonah around and throwing him backward into a tree, knocking him out cold. When he came to, Jonah felt someone next to him. He looked up to see a youngish face looking at him. He couldn’t make out the details of the face through the blood running into his eyes, but at least he could tell the man was wearing Union Blue. He knew that he wasn’t going to find himself in a Rebel prisoner of war camp, probably Andersonville.

Are you a doctor? Jonah asked weakly, with his rapidly fading strength. Am I going to die here? Can you look at my cousin, over there in the road?

The man looked over at the body in the road and gently spoke, The war is over for him, sir. He’s beyond help.

Jonah sank back down, a groan escaping his lips. He tried to sit up again, but suddenly the world began spinning. The war also ended for Jonah in that moment as he blacked out completely.

Tuesday, January 23

It was a Tuesday, January 23, 1877, when the stranger rode into the town of Willow Springs, New Mexico Territory. He was riding a dusty roan stallion that appeared to be as tired as the man was. The horse was just plodding along, head down, and the man was slumped in the saddle as well. The stranger was wearing black, from the dusty flat crown Stetson with the front brim turned down to the whipcord pants and his dusty high-top boots. He had a black duster that hung down over the back of his saddle, still in the motionless air. He was wearing a black gun belt with all the loops filled, and a single holster riding high on his waist. The people could see the butt of a large pistol, facing forward, in the holster and the stock of a Winchester Model ’73 jutting out of the rifle scabbard, also riding butt forward.

The roan headed for the nearest water trough and began to drink as if he hadn’t seen water in days. The man sat there for a moment, and then dismounted and stood there stretching himself. His face was also dusty, and he was unshaven. He gave himself a shake and went to the water pump beside the trough and pumped the handle until a stream of water began to flow. He took off his hat and stuck his head under the water to let the cool water thoroughly drench his head and shoulders. His hair was also jet black, except for the white streak on the left side of his head. He scooped up some water and washed his face before standing up. He put his hat back on and watched his horse drink for a moment, then gently pulled him away from the trough, speaking to him as he did.

Come on, Sparks. You know not to drink too much at first, boy. You don’t want to founder. You can have some more in a little bit. His voice was surprisingly gentle and soft for a man so hard looking. The scar that ran across his nose and down his cheek did not soften his appearance, but made him look even more menacing. As the man stood there rubbing his horse’s nose and talking to him, the sudden creak of a plank on the boardwalk behind made him spin around, the gun appearing in his hand as if by magic. No one saw him draw, it was just there. At the sight of the man standing there behind him, with his arms folded, he relaxed and lowered the hammer and then replaced it in the holster with a spin of his wrist.

Hello, Marshal. Nice quiet town you have here.

Yes, it is. My name is Stu Keefer, and I’m the town marshal. I keep the order here. And I’d kinda like it to stay that way… Mr. Berryman. You are Jonah Berryman, I believe. You match his description, Keefer said calmly, though his heart was racing. He knew he was in trouble if this was Berryman, and he was hoping he was wrong.

Yes, Marshal, I’m Jonah Berryman. Now, we both know that I’m not wanted anywhere. I’m not looking for any trouble. You know that I never start anything. If you know anything about me, you also know I’ve only taken one man in over his saddle. All the others were riding in, Jonah said as he studied the lawman standing in front of him.

The man with the star on his shirt was tall, about six feet, but he was starting to thicken in the middle. His short hair was salt-and-pepper, he had green eyes, and a smile that didn’t quite reach those green eyes. His face was tanned and deeply lined from years of looking into the sun, the sun draining the life from the skin and leaving it with the look of old leather. Jonah looked at the marshal’s hands and thought he detected a slight tremble in them. He didn’t see a ring on his left hand, but he didn’t see a lighter band of color on his ring finger either. Nervousness, excitement, or fear, he couldn’t tell… yet. His fingernails were clean and rounded, not bitten off. A small point, but a significant one, Jonah thought to himself. The lawman’s vest and shirt were both clean, as were his brown whipcord pants. His shirt cuffs were slightly frayed at the ends, and the gun belt around his waist was showing some signs of wear but not abuse. He took a quick glance at the lawman’s rig, and saw that while the butt of the gun was worn, it was clean. He was willing to bet the gun would be clean and oiled as well. Jonah thought he looked like the kind of lawman he had seen in most of the frontier towns he had passed through, maybe a little better than most. He saw all of this, and more, in an instant, but not a flicker of emotion ran across his face.

You look tired, Mr. Berryman. Come a long way, did you?

Yes, Marshal. I’ve been in the saddle for the last eight days, and we’re both due for some rest. I’m looking forward to laying up for a few days, and giving Sparks some rest and good feed to build up his strength again. And mine, too, for that matter. You have a good stable and a hotel in this quiet town? And a good restaurant too? Jonah asked him politely.

Nothing you’d like, Mr. Berryman. Elk Springs is just down the road a piece, only twenty-five miles more. In that direction, the marshal suggested as he pointed west.

Jonah looked in the direction Marshal Keefer had indicated and nodded. The star packer had a very cold way of talking, almost monotone. He was clearly making a suggestion he expected Jonah to follow. He wasn’t threatening him, he was just suggesting another town would be a better choice for both of them. The problem was, Elk Springs wasn’t where Jonah wanted to be. Willow Springs was the town Jonah was looking for; he had some business with a man in Willow Springs—some overdue, unresolved business that couldn’t be put off any longer.

Sorry, Marshal. I think I’d rather stay here in Willow Springs a few days, Jonah replied after turning back to the marshal.

I don’t think you understand me, Mr. Berryman. Let me try to make myself a little more plain. There is nothing in this town to hold you here…

But there is, Marshal, Jonah interrupted. I’m here to find a man. I have some personal business to conduct with him, and then I’ll be on my way. I know he’s in this town, and I’ll find him. And when my business is done, I’ll leave, not until then. I haven’t broken any laws, I’m not wanted by the law, and I’ll cause you no trouble. If no one comes looking for trouble with me, I’ll bother no one. If I do foresee trouble, I’ll come to you first and let you know so you can handle it. How’d that be? Jonah asked evenly.

Fine. Just make sure you do… Mr. Berryman, Keefer said just as evenly. His eyes narrowed a trifle, evidence of the frustration in his voice he couldn’t quite hide. But he knew that Jonah knew there was nothing he could do if Jonah didn’t cause any trouble.

Jonah was well known for not causing trouble in any of the towns he had visited in his travels. Not for any of the citizens, that is. But, for the one person he was there to get, he caused a lot of trouble—usually when they realized he was there for them, and they tried to run. Jonah Berryman was known across the western states as a man hunter. He had a reputation of always taking his man in alive. He never advertised who he was after, but the person he was hunting always rode out of town with him and arrived in whatever court he was running from in one piece and with no marks on him. Even those he had tracked down had nothing bad to say about him. The one time he had brought someone in over their saddle hadn’t been his fault; the man had died from a rattlesnake bite. Tracking people down for the law was how Jonah made his living, and now he was looking for someone in Willow Springs.

Jonah asked the marshal again about the hotel and stable. Marshal, about that hotel, do you have one? And a stable and restaurant? Do you have one that you could recommend?

Keefer just looked at him and turned on his heel and walked off. Jonah looked at his retreating back and smiled to himself. This wasn’t the first time he had been urged to leave town before he was ready, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Jonah turned back to his horse and relaxed his grip on the reins, allowing his horse to drink again. As he stood there, he looked up and down the dirt street and took inventory of the stores. On the north side of the street, he saw the usual businesses he saw in all the other towns—a butcher shop, a hardware store, a bank, a ladies millinery shop, and a feed and grain store. He also saw Willow Springs was supporting a land agent, a courthouse, a surveyor, and two law offices. He looked on the east side of the street and saw a saloon, the hotel, another saloon, and even an ice cream shop. There were other businesses on that side of the street, but he couldn’t make them out from where he was standing. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew there had to be a newspaper in town, and that was where he planned to start looking for his man.

He also looked around for something he hadn’t seen yet, something that would tell him where his second stop would be. He took off his hat and, taking a handkerchief from his back pocket, wiped out the lining of the hat as he scanned the rooftops around the town. As he was deciding what to do, he felt a hand tugging on his duster. Jonah looked down to see a young boy standing there, looking up at him.

The boy was about ten years old with had a freshly scrubbed face, and though his clothing was patched, it was clean. His hair was dark, his eyes were wide open, and there was a dusting of freckles across his face. He had his left arm in a sling and had tugged on Jonah’s coat with his right. His voice was polite as he waited patiently for Jonah to acknowledge him. Mister?

Yes, son?

Are you really Jonah Berryman, mister?

Jonah knelt down to look him in the eye as he answered his question. Yes I am, son. Why do you want to know? he asked equally polite.

My ma saw you talking to Marshal Keefer, and she told me that’s what Marshal Keefer called you. I wanted to see if it was you, sir. Mr. Berryman, sir, I mean. I heard of you, Mr. Berryman. We, that is, all of us kids, we’ve heard of you, and we read about you in one of Jimmy’s dad’s books by Mr. Buntline, the boy said in a rush. He took a breath and then continued, this time for himself. Mr. Berryman, are you really a bounty hunter? You go out and track bad men down and kill them? the boy asked, wide eyed, either in fear or hero worship, Jonah wasn’t quite sure.

Who told you that, son? I don’t kill people. I go find bad men and take them to the judge, yes. But I don’t go around killing people, Jonah said in an even tone, but he was angered by the accusation. He collected himself and changed his tone, so as to not take his anger out on the boy. There are people who do that, son, but that’s not what the law is about. That’s not what I do. He stood up and looked around, then spoke to the boy. So, now you know the truth about me. It was nice to meet you, son, but I’ve got some business to take care of. Do you know where the stable is?

The stable’s down there, the boy pointed down the street. It’s Mr. Haygood’s place. He’s not very nice to most people, but he’s always been nice to me. Sometimes he lets me ride the horses in his corral when nobody’s around, the boy said happily as Jonah began walking away. I want to hire you, Mr. Berryman, the boy blurted out to Jonah’s retreating back.

Jonah stopped in his tracks, then slowly turned around. He looked around the street and then back down at the boy. What’s your name, son?

Grover, Mr. Berryman.

You have a last name, Grover?

Grover Welden, Mr. Berryman.

How about you ride Sparks down to Mr. Haygood’s, and I’ll walk with you, then we’ll find some place to talk about whatever it is you want me to do, Jonah said. Grover nodded enthusiastically, so Jonah picked him up as if he weighed next to nothing and gently deposited him in the saddle. Jonah handed Grover the reins and walked alongside of them as they walked down to the livery stable.

When they reached the stable, Grover called out for Haygood who came out from the storeroom at the back of the stable. A moment later, an older boy came out of the storeroom and walked right past Grover and Jonah without saying a word. Haygood didn’t say anything about the boy who left, but looked up at Grover and then over at Jonah.

Grover, how are you doing, son? Who’s your new friend? Haygood asked in a very sugary voice. Jonah took an instant dislike to the man, and he started to have a bad feeling about Haygood’s generosity to Grover, so he decided to put the man on notice.

My name is Jonah Berryman, Mr. Haygood, he said in a low voice, and by Haygood’s reaction, Jonah knew the man knew who he was and what his reputation was. This made him curious, because Haygood seemed to be afraid of him. He figured a little white lie wasn’t going to hurt anything and might even prevent some problems.

His ma asked me to keep an eye on him. You know, protect him from harm. Any kind of harm, Jonah said, looking Haygood in the eye. He saw a flicker of fear in Haygood’s eyes, and he knew his suspicions were real. Jonah made a mental note to check into Mr. Haygood’s habits when his business in Willow Springs was completed. I need to put my horse up for a few days. I want him to get good feed, oats, and fresh water twice a day and brushed down carefully. Can you do that?

Absolutely, Mr. Berryman. I have some boys who…

You didn’t hear me, Mr. Haygood. I asked if you can do that. I don’t want boys doing it if I’m paying you to do it. Can you do it or not?

It will take up a lot of my time, but…

Jonah turned to lead Sparks out of the stable, but Haygood put his hand on Jonah’s arm to stop him. Jonah just looked at the hand on his arm and didn’t say a word, but Haygood got the message quickly and pulled his hand back quickly like it had been burned.

Yes, sir, Mr. Berryman. I can do it for you, but it’ll cost more, Haygood said sullenly.

How much more, Mr. Haygood? Jonah asked calmly.

Four dollars a day, Haygood said sullenly, hoping the cost would send him away.

Fair enough, Mr. Haygood. Here’s money for the first week, Jonah said as he counted out six five dollar gold coins into Haygood’s palm. He turned and lifted Grover down from the saddle and untied his saddlebags and flipped them over a stall rail. He put his right hand on Grover’s shoulder and steered him out of the stable without a further word to Haygood.

See you later, Mr. Haygood! Grover called out over his shoulder, but Haygood wisely did not respond to him and focused his attention on taking care of Sparks.

Now then, Grover, let’s go talk about this job you have for me, and if I’m the man for it. Lead on, Chief, Jonah continued as he took the boy’s hand and walked back toward the hotel.

Haygood was worried. He certainly knew who Jonah Berryman was. He had read the newspapers, and he had seen The Penny Dreadfuls. Edgar Haygood was the name over the door, but it wasn’t the name he had been born with. Haygood knew all about Berryman, and he knew that when he showed up someone was going to be in trouble. He thought he had covered his back tracks pretty well, so the sight of Berryman in his town made him very anxious about what he had possibly overlooked. He decided to leave the boys alone for a time, until Berryman left town. There would be plenty of time to play after he left. In the meantime, he wasn’t going to give Berryman any reason to look at him closer, or to complain about him. He put the horse in a stall and began to fork fresh hay into the stall. He could afford to be patient, Berryman wouldn’t be here long. If he was here for me, he would have said something, so I’ll just stay low and out of his way. Just don’t panic, Ethan, don’t get spooked. You can do this, he muttered to himself.

*      *      *

Marshal Keefer sat at his desk, worried. He knew what Berryman’s reputation was, and though he didn’t expect to find anything on him, he decided to go through his wanted posters anyway.

Why is Berryman here, anyway? Who is he after in my town, what does he know about me? Keefer asked himself. That happened a long time ago, and it wasn’t my fault. No one saw me there, and no one saw me leave. I had no part in that situation, I was just a young kid. That was over thirty years ago anyway. How could he be after me now? He has to be here for someone else. What a mess this is becoming. If he brings someone in, I have to put them in jail. Then what? If I have to testify at a trial, maybe something comes out. I need to get him out of town as soon as I can. I need to know who he’s after. Maybe I can get a break here. Maybe the person he’s after can be persuaded to leave town for awhile. I need to go back through these posters and see if I recognize anyone in town. If I put him in jail, maybe Berryman will leave on his own and let me be.

He sighed and picked up the stack of wanted posters from the top of his desk. As he began to look through them, he remembered something and went to the file cabinet and opened the bottom drawer. Keefer pulled out a stack of posters covered in dust and added that to his pile. He looked at the stack, now three times the size it had been just a few minutes ago, and sighed again. He opened a bottom drawer in the desk and looked at the bottle lying there on a small flat box, next to a small glass. Keefer took out the bottle and the glass and set them aside. He looked at the box and put his hand on it, but he didn’t take it out. He shook his head and took his hand off the box and picked up the bottle. He sat there for a minute then pulled the cork out of the bottle. He poured himself a drink and recorked the bottle. He sat there, looking at the glass full of whiskey, his hands in his lap. He could hear the big clock on the wall ticking and wondered if it was ticking off his time as well. He could hear the whiskey glass daring him to pick it up. Keefer shut his eyes and tried to drown it out in his head. He reached down to his holster and slowly pulled out his Peacemaker and checked the loads. Seeing that all six chambers were loaded, he laid the pistol on the desk beside the glass of whiskey. He looked at both of them, hoping to get a message on which one to choose. Finally he made his choice.

*      *      *

Grover led Jonah down to the hotel, talking a mile a minute as they walked down the dusty street. He had a million questions for Jonah, and he asked them as fast as he could get the words out, not even giving Jonah a chance to answer a single one.

Son, why don’t you just call me Jonah? That ‘Mr. Berryman’ stuff is gonna get old real quick, Jonah said tiredly, as Grover was showing no signs of winding down.

Grover finally paused in his rapid fire questioning to take a deep breath. Jonah suspected the big question was coming next.

Mr. Berryman, sir… are you… here… to kill someone? Grover asked fearfully.

I already told you, I don’t just go around killing people. I just find them and take them back to court, and whatever happens after that is up to the judge and a jury to decide. I’ve got a question for you. What happened to your arm?

Grover’s well of words suddenly ran dry. He stopped walking and looked down at the ground. I fell, was all he said.

Jonah knelt down beside Grover and put a hand on his good shoulder. Grover, look at me. I want to know how you broke your arm. Did someone do that to you? Jonah asked him gently, putting his hand on the boy’s other shoulder. Who did this to you, Grover? And more importantly, why? he asked.

Grover didn’t answer, he just shook his head. I can’t tell you, Jonah. They said I’d get it worse if I tell anyone what happened, he whispered.

Okay, Grover. I won’t ask you anymore. Jonah said reluctantly. But I’ll sure keep my eye on you and watch how you react to the people in this town, he thought to himself. Now then, son, why are you so interested in why I am here? Is there someone you want caught and sent to jail? Jonah asked the relieved boy.

No, sir… I mean, no, Jonah. But there is someone I want you to help me find. I can pay you for your time, Grover said seriously.

Jonah started to laugh at the offer, but then he saw the tears forming in the boy’s eyes and bit back his response as he realized the boy was serious.

Who is it you want me to find, Grover? It must be very important to you to be willing to be pay me to find him. Did he do something to you that you want him in jail?

He’s my pa. He went off on a business trip about three years ago, and didn’t come back.

*      *      *

Jonah looked around for the front desk as soon as they walked into the hotel and saw it was over to his left. He steered Grover by the shoulder to the front desk and rang the bell on the counter to get the desk clerk’s attention.

Yes, sir? Can I help you?

I want a room, for about a week, maybe longer. I want it on the top floor, at the end of the hall, and looking out over the street. Can you do that? Jonah asked him with a smile.

I… don’t… the clerk stammered, looking over Jonah’s shoulder for some directions.

Jonah didn’t have to look to know who the clerk was looking at. Won’t you be happier knowing just where I am and where you can find me, or would you rather I go somewhere you can’t find me and do my business without telling you what’s going on? Jonah asked the person standing behind him without turning around.

Give him the room, Hostetler, came Marshal Keefer’s tight voice from behind him. Give him Room 6 or 14. Either of them should fit your needs, Mr. Berryman. So you’ll be here about a week, then? You figure you’re going to need that long to find someone here in Willow Springs? Keefer asked sarcastically.

You can never tell, Marshal, Jonah said casually as he signed the register. One never knows what surprises will turn up or what detours any road will take us on, now do we? he asked pleasantly, turning to face the scowling Keefer. He looked down at Grover and gave him a wink, which Grover responded to with a big smile.

Keefer saw this and thought Jonah was making fun of him. I’m talking to you, Mr. Berryman, and I’m not in the mood for any more games. Grover, go on home now. Get along!

But, Marshal…

No buts, Grover, get on home now. That’s an order! Keefer demanded, never taking his eyes off Jonah, and lowering his arms so that his hand was at the level of the butt of his gun.

But, Marshal, my ma asked me to bring Jonah here to meet her! We’re waiting for her to get here, then I’ll go home with her, Marshal, Grover explained.

Jonah slowly straightened up as he saw Keefer assume a more ready-to-fight stance, he took a step to the side away from Grover, just in case. Hostetler saw him do this, he found something to do at the other end of the counter… far away from them.

Marshal, if you want to talk with me, why don’t you come with me up to my room, and we can talk there in private? Jonah offered. I’ve got to go down to the stable and get my pack roll and saddlebags, then I’ll come back here, and we can talk as much as you want. Or, you can walk with me, and we’ll talk on the way, Jonah suggested. He turned to Grover and knelt down to talk to him.

Grover, I’m going to go with the marshal back to the stable to get my gear, I’ll be right back. If your mother gets here before I get back, you tell her I’ll be right back and we’ll talk then. Can you do that for me, partner? Jonah asked him, looking for some reaction to his returning to the stable with the marshal. All he saw was relief, but what he was relieved about, Jonah couldn’t be sure just yet.

Sure thing, Jonah. I’ll wait here for Ma, and I’ll tell her just what you said, Grover promised.

Okay, Marshal. Let us take a walk down to Haygood’s and get my stuff. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, just so far as it doesn’t cause me any problems getting done what I came here to do, Jonah promised him as they walked out of the hotel and headed toward Haygood’s livery stable.

Okay, Berryman, let’s have it. Who are you here to run down? What’d he do and where is he wanted? I want to know everything, and I want to know it now, Keefer demanded.

Marshal, this time I’m not after anyone in that sense of the word. This is more of a personal matter I’m on now. I’ve been tracking him for almost twelve years. I’m not a lot closer to him now than I was when I started. I think he’s here in Willow Springs, but I’m not sure, Jonah explained.

That don’t make any kind of sense, Berryman. You’ve never failed to bring anyone back before. What makes this one so hard to find? Keefer asked him skeptically. Willow Springs isn’t a big town. I can tell you about everyone who lives here. What does he look like?

Jonah sighed as he admitted why he was having a problem. The fact is, Marshal, I don’t know what he looks like. I’m not sure about his name, because when I started hunting for him, I learned the name I had for him wasn’t his real name. He’s using another name now, and I don’t know what it is.

So you’re hunting someone, but don’t know what he looks like or what his name is?

That’s it, Marshal. That’s why I can’t tell you how long it will take me to find him. The only thing I know for sure is that he has some medical training. I think he’s a doctor, but I’m not certain. That’s about all I know about him, and now you know why I’m having a hard time finding him.

Keefer stopped to look around him, considering what Jonah had told him. He felt a sense of relief knowing that Berryman wasn’t after him; he could afford to be more cooperative and relaxed now. He relaxed his stance and his animosity toward Berryman.

Well, can you tell me what this man did that has you chasing him down? Keefer asked.

That’s kind of personal, Marshal. It doesn’t have anything to do with whether I find him, only with what I’ll do when I find him. I will tell you this, however, I owe him something; and I want to give it to him myself. He has it coming, and it has to come from me, no one else. I can use your help in finding him, Marshal, if you will. If not, then don’t get in my way, Jonah said, his voice hard.

Maybe I’ll help, and maybe I won’t. I don’t want you causing any trouble in my town. I told you that. You tell me what it is he did to you, and I’ll help you. If you don’t tell me, I won’t. I won’t allow you to cause any of our citizens any trouble, Berryman, I promise you that, Keefer said as he began walking again toward the stable.

Marshal, you know as well as I do that everybody has their secrets, and sometimes those secrets can poison a person if they’re hidden too long, Jonah replied as he walked beside Keefer. I can’t give you any guarantee that someone won’t try to start something with me. I never look for trouble, but anyone with a secret will usually get nervous when I come to town. I’ve seen it happen before. Their guilty conscience makes them give me credit for knowing a lot more than I do, and their fear of what I do spooks them into doing something stupid. I just clean up the mess they create, Jonah explained.

The men walked in complete silence the rest of the way. When they reached the stable, Haygood was nowhere in sight, but the pitchfork was standing idle in another stall under a window in the back. Jonah looked for his horse, he saw him in a far stall and walked over to him. There was fresh hay in the corner, and the water bucket was full. He looked in the feed bin, there was a large quantity of oats where Sparks could easily eat his fill. Jonah heard Keefer calling for Haygood and idly wondered where he was, but his attention was on Sparks. He put his hand into the oats and brought a handful up to his nose to smell, they were indeed fresh. At least Haygood had taken his warning seriously. He looked around and saw his saddle and saddlebags draped over a back rail, so he walked over and untied his bedroll from the back of the saddle. Picking up the saddlebags with his other hand, he slid his rifle out of the scabbard and called out to Keefer, who was still looking for Haygood.

Okay, Marshal, I’ve got what I need. Let’s go back to the hotel and talk, Jonah called out to Keefer, who had stopped calling for Haygood.

That’s okay, Berryman, you go ahead. I found Haygood, Keefer responded tiredly.

There was something in his voice that made Jonah turn around. He saw Keefer kneeling down, his back to Jonah, digging around beneath the straw in a nearby stall. Jonah walked over to find Keefer staring down at Edgar Haygood. His eyes were wide open, he was lying on his back, the pitchfork sticking out of his chest.

Well, you can’t blame me for this one, Marshal. I’ve got the best alibi in the world—I’ve been with you since me and the boy left Sparks here. Someone else did this to your man. You have any ideas who might have done it? Or why?

No, but it doesn’t concern you, Berryman. This is my business, not yours. You go find your mystery man, and just let me know before you do anything. You understand me, Berryman? I don’t need any more problems, Keefer warned him.

Not a problem, Marshal. I’ve got my job, you’ve got yours. Hopefully, we’ll both solve our own without either of us getting in the other’s way, Jonah said as he stood up and headed for the hotel. He hadn’t gone thirty feet from the stable when he saw a man walking toward him. The man was wearing a checked shirt with a red bandana around his neck. His vest was cowhide, rough side out and decked out with silver conchos. Jonah could see several stains on it that could have been blood. The man had on black whipcord pants tucked into dusty black high-top boots. On his boots, he wore a pair of spurs with large Spanish-style star with rowels. His hair was slicked back, and his black hat sported a hatband made out of silver conchos matching those on his vest. The look in his eyes was one of pure meanness, and there was a sneer on his thin lips. A hand-rolled cigarette drooped from the corner of his mouth as he continued walking toward Berryman. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in weeks, and the faint breeze blowing toward Jonah told him the man smelled like he hadn’t bathed in at least that long. The fact that the man was wearing two guns in crossed belts—also made of black leather, and they were worn low on his hips and tied down—was a sign that he was looking for trouble. Then Jonah saw something that confirmed his suspicions.

He knew this stranger was trouble by the way the man was walking, heading right for Jonah, his hand never swaying from the butt of his gun. He had two friends with him, and the three began to spread out as they approached Jonah. The other two men were dressed in a way that made them indistinguishable from range cowboys, except for the fact neither of them wore spurs. They were very clearly his buddies and there to provide not just encouragement, but very likely to back him up in the coming fight.

Jonah sighed and put down his saddlebags and rifle, but held his bedroll in his left hand. He evaluated the three men to assess which one presented the greatest threat, then turned to face the one on the left. While the one in the middle was wearing the two guns and seemed likely to be the talker, the one on the left was more furtive in his movements. Jonah knew he would be the one to take advantage of Jonah’s being distracted by the big talker. The one on the right was clearly a follower, as he was allowing the other two to be closer and more out in the open.

You boys want something? Jonah asked coldly.

Yeah, bounty hunter. We want something, don’t we, boys? the middle man responded in a mock friendly tone. He didn’t take his eyes off Jonah, however, and kept his hands near the butts of his guns. You see, we don’t like bounty hunters. We want to know what you’re doing in our town, bounty hunter. Who are you here for? he asked in a challenging manner.

Who are you, mister? Jonah asked him calmly.

My name is Willy Barker, bounty hunter. Maybe you’ve heard of me? Willy asked.

Jonah just looked at him coldly for a moment before responding. No, Willy. I’ve never heard of you. If I had, you wouldn’t be standing in front of me with that eager look in your eyes. You’d be on the ground, either in handcuffs or dead. Same as your two friends there, Jonah added, not taking his eyes off Willy. Out of the side of his eye he saw a fleeting hesitation on the face of the man on the right, and he knew that he was going to run away as soon as the fighting started. The man on the left started moving his hand slowly down toward his gun.

Willy, I’m not looking for you or for trouble, but your friend on your right is about to get himself and you killed. If his hand touches his gun, both of you are gonna be dead a second later. Just thought I’d tell you so you could either tell him to stop, or say him goodbye, whichever you prefer, Jonah warned him in a causal tone.

Willy hesitated for a second, and then went for both guns at once, getting off two quick shots that whistled past Jonah’s head, one of them stopping somewhere behind him with a meaty thunk. Jonah threw his bedroll into Willy’s face and dropped and rolled to the left, pulling his own Peacemaker as he did, throwing two quick shots into the middle of the chest of the man on the left as he rolled. The man’s shot went wild, behind him Jonah heard breaking glass and a scream. As expected, the man on the right just turned and ran off as soon as the gunfire started. Confident the man on the left wasn’t going to be a problem any longer, Jonah considered the situation and then shot Willy in the right shoulder. As Willy fell spinning to the right, he lost his grip on his right hand gun as he hit the ground. This didn’t stop Willy, however, from getting off another shot with his left hand gun, his wild shot grazing Jonah’s left arm. Reluctantly Jonah shot him again, this time in the head. Willy flew backward about three feet and lay still. Just then, Keefer ran up to him, his gun in his hand.

Berryman! Drop it! Drop it now! he yelled, pointing his gun at Jonah’s head.

Marshal, I didn’t start this, Jonah said calmly as he slowly put his gun on the ground.

You started it by coming here, Berryman. I told you, don’t start anything without telling me, but you couldn’t keep it in the holster, could you? Keefer demanded as he picked up Jonah’s gun, and, after looking at the remaining loads, he tucked it into his belt.

Stand up now, real slow. No funny stuff, Berryman, I’m warning you, Keefer cautioned him, his gun never wavering in his grip.

"Marshal! You’ve got the wrong