Charles West - Lawless Prairie

Hitching his horse at the rail out front, he took a look around before going inside. When he had been there two years before, there had been stacks of hides—buffalo, beaver, deer—piled high at the side of the building. Now there were only a few skins in a stack no more than waist high. The thing that surprised him most was the sight of a couple of plows resting against the building.

Inside, the trading post looked more like a dry goods store with tools, harnesses, and bolts of calico in addition to the regular stock of cartridges, skinning knives, and traps—all evidence of civilization approaching. Before asking about Clint Conner, he made conversation with the clerk, a young man who, it turned out, was the son-in-law of the proprietor Clayton had remembered.

“Yes, sir,” the clerk responded to Clayton’s remark about the changes. “The business in hides is way down from what it used to be, but we’ve got more settlers moving in every month, so we’re selling more dry goods. The army had some surveyors in here just a month ago. They’re thinking about establishing a fort here. We might have us a town before you know it.”

“You might be right,” Clayton replied. He then identified himself as a deputy marshal and described Clint Conner. “I’ve got a real important message for him,” he said in case the clerk might be hesitant to inform on him. “I’m just hopin’ he’s still around here somewhere. You see him lately?”

“Matter of fact, I have,” the clerk replied. “He came in yesterday with Frederick Steiner’s boy, John, to buy some sugar and flour. I knew I hadn’t seen him before. He said he was just visiting for a spell.”

“Well, ol’ Clint will be tickled to see me,” Clayton said. “Maybe you can tell me how to get out to . . . Steiner did you say?”

“Yes, sir, Frederick Steiner—just stay on the road by the river about three miles. It’ll be the second house after you cross Wolf Creek.”

“These folks, the Steiners, you know them pretty well?” Clayton asked.

“Yes, sir. They’re fine people, said they were German. They’re farming a few hundred acres by the river. There was three families that came out here together, and they’ve been trading with me right regular.”

“Appreciate it,” Clayton said, and bid the clerk good day.

He pulled the roan to a stop at the head of a wagon track that led from the road up to the second house after crossing the creek. Reaching up to the wide brim of his hat, he pulled it down snug on his head, a habit he performed unconsciously when he was about to accost a fugitive. Nudging the roan then, he rode up to the plain frame house and dismounted. He was met at the edge of the porch by Frederick Steiner.

“How do?” Steiner greeted him, and waited for Clayton to state his business.

“Howdy,” the deputy returned. “Is Clint around?”

“Clint?” Frederick responded, surprised. “You know Clint?”

“Sure do,” Clayton answered. “Is he around?”

“Why, I think he’s in the barn,” Frederick said, not really sure where Clint was. His son, hearing his dad talking to someone, came out on the porch. Frederick turned to him and said, “John, go out to the barn and fetch Clint.” John nodded and jumped off the porch. Back to Clayton, Frederick asked, “You ride out from the settlement?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“Why don’t you come on in the house and sit down while John fetches Clint? Maybe we’ve got some coffee still in the pot.”

“Why, that would be real nice,” Clayton said with a warm grin. It was the first time he had ever used this approach in making an arrest, but he was confident that he knew his man. Conner was not a killer. He was convinced that he was a decent man who had just taken a step in the wrong direction. It was fairly obvious that these folks had no inkling of Clint’s past. As for confronting Clint, Clayton felt the best place to keep the arrest from getting nasty was in the midst of the family who had evidently taken him in. He figured Clint would not want to involve the family in any violent action.

Following Frederick inside, he nodded to Karl and the two women, all with puzzled expressions to greet him. Totally confident in his assessment of the man he was there to arrest, he graciously accepted the cup of coffee offered by Joanna and answered yes when asked if he wanted sugar. When she brought the sugar, he reached for it, causing his coat to gap slightly, enough so that she glimpsed the shiny metal object pinned to his shirt. She froze, spilling some of the sugar on the table. Guessing that she had seen his badge, and by her reaction, maybe knowing Clint was in trouble, he quickly smiled and took the sugar bowl from her hand. “No need to bother,” he said, “I’ll just brush it off with my hand.”

“Clint ain’t there,” John said as he returned from the barn. “I don’t know where he is.”

“He was there a minute ago,” Karl said. Like Frederick and Bertha, he was curious about the purpose of the stranger’s visit to see Clint. Their curiosity was transformed into alarm in the next few seconds.

“Damn!” Clayton uttered, and sprang up from his chair, suddenly realizing he had been recognized. He rushed to the door and ran toward the corral. The puzzled family followed him out to the porch, astonished by his actions, and stood watching as he charged toward the barn.

“That’s far enough,” Clint warned when Clayton appeared in the barn door. Rowdy, already saddled, stood between him and the deputy marshal, Clint’s Winchester resting across the saddle and aimed at Clayton.

Clayton stopped at once. “Hello, Clint,” he said, a friendly smile upon his face. “Here you are, pointin’ a rifle in my face again.” He took a couple of steps more, but stopped when Clint cocked the rifle. “The last time I saw you, you helped me out of a jam, and then made me take a helluva long walk. My feet were sore for a week.”

“You shouldn’t have come after me,” Clint said. “Why the hell couldn’t you just leave me alone?” Glancing behind the lawman, he was disappointed to see Joanna and the others come in behind him. The expressions of alarm and dismay in their faces brought a feeling of great regret to his troubled mind.

Reading Clint’s expression, Clayton took a quick glance to confirm what he suspected. They didn’t know, with the possible exception of the young woman, of Clint’s past. Knowing their presence here now was to his advantage, he made an attempt to reason with the fugitive. “I don’t know how much you’ve told these nice folks here, so I’ll spell it out for ’em. You’re an escaped prisoner from the Wyoming Territorial Prison.” There was a distinct gasp from Bertha and a grunt of surprise from both men beside her. Clayton continued. “That’s the reason I had to come track you down. But I’m ready to tell these folks that I know you’re a good man. You made a mistake when you weren’t much more than a boy, stole a horse, but you only served half your sentence. If you come back with me peaceable, I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I figure I owe you that, seein’ as how you saved my neck back there north of Cheyenne. I’ll testify about that to the judge, that and that little stunt you pulled to save the guard’s life.” He gestured toward the stunned gathering behind him. “Your friends here probably don’t know you had no choice about escapin’ with Ballenger. I’ll remind the judge of that, too.”

Clint was not ready to surrender. “I’ve served enough time for freein’ one horse from the treatment Judge Plover gave it. I ain’t goin’ back.”

“You know I’m bound to take you back,” Clayton said, his voice still calm. “What are you gonna do? Shoot me?” He shook his head slowly. “You ain’t no murderer, Clint. And you don’t wanna be on the run for the rest of your life. You’ve already served half your time, and I’m thinkin’ the judge will shorten the rest of your sentence when I testify for you. The best thing for you to do is to wipe the slate clean with the law, come out in a short time a free man.” Although the Winchester was still pointed at him, he thought he detected a hint of indecision in Clint’s eyes. “Let’s talk about it. I don’t want this to come to bloodshed, but I’ve got no choice in what I have to do. I just hate to see you make a mess outta your life.”