Part 21 (2/2)
”Rough town?” Charlie asked.
”Sure it's rough,” Silas said. ”But that ain't the reason. Brush is the stomping grounds of old Chuck Garnell.”
”Who's that?” Jack asked.
”The sheriff of Brush,” Billy yelled back. ”Serious about firearms. If you don't surrender them willingly, he'll take them from you.”
”That means he'll shoot you,” Silas said, grinning.
They pa.s.sed a sign declaring: BRUSHTOWN.
And another sign below it: NO GUNS.
Jack leaned out of the wagon as they rolled into town. Brush was big, the size of two Gasher Creeks lashed together by side streets and back alleys. Although not a rusher town, the main thoroughfare was packed with traffic. On either side, rows of gaslights illuminated the sidewalk. They were choked with townsfolk buzzing in and out of the numerous stores and businesses: banks, cafes, restaurants, dry good stores and, of course, wh.o.r.e houses, gambling halls, and saloons.
Silas stuck his head out and inhaled deeply. ”Can you smell that? Cheap cigars and perfume.”
”All I smell is horses.h.i.+t,” Jack said.
”Look,” Silas said, pointing. ”The Lady Bird Saloon. I bet them girls make you feel like flying. What do you think, Jack?”
The wagon lurched to a stop and Silas nearly tumbled out. A man with a shotgun and a handlebar moustache appeared.
”Not in town a moment and we're already getting robbed?” Silas moaned. ”Didn't you see the sign, mister?”
The man pointed to the deputy badge on his coat. ”Out,” he said, looking at Jack.
Jack stared back. This is it, he thought. They got you now- Jack slid out of the wagon and stood before the deputy. He waited for it, for Cole to appear from around the wagon, for Sheriff Tracker to exit from a saloon with his gun c.o.c.ked and aimed. He was such a fool. Of course they'd send a posse to Brush.
Swallowing, Jack raised his hands.
The deputy raised his gun.
Jack shut his eyes.
”I said all of you!” the deputy barked. ”And bring your iron.”
Charlie and Silas slid out. ”Put your hands down, Jack,” Silas whispered. ”You look like a wanted man.”
Jack dropped his hands.
”Follow me,” the deputy said, his eyes locking on Charlie.
An older man, gripping a Remington .44, stood at the front of the wagon. His face, tanned and ruddy, looked cut from old saddle leather. A salt and pepper colored beard sprouted from his cheeks and chin like a wild bush. A gut, round as a washtub, threatened to swallow his belt. A sheriff's badge lay pinned to his coat. ”Welcome to Brush,” he said, his voice part gravel, part growl. ”The name's Garnell.”
”Billy Dorgan,” Billy said. ”This is my wife, Mary, and my brothers Silas, Jack, and Charlie.”
Garnell looked at Charlie. ”He your brother?”
”Yes he is.”
The sheriff didn't look convinced, but said, ”What's your business here?”
”Just pa.s.sing through. We'll be making camp on the other side of town.”
”Yuh,” Garnell said. ”There's a train of wagons out there, all going to Lone Pine.”
”That's where we're headed,” Billy said.
Garnell holstered his gun. His deputies-one behind him and the one still staring at Charlie-kept their aim. ”Were I a younger man, I'd make that trip myself,” he said, winking at Mary. ”Nothing like your own land.”
”No sir,” Billy said.
Garnell nodded. ”Well folks, you're welcome to our stores and gaming establishments, but I must ask you to hand over all weapons and firearms for the remainder of your stay. When you're ready to leave, you just come on over to the sheriff's office.”
Mary lowered the shotgun. Garnell touched the brim of his hat and took it from her. Charlie and Silas handed their guns to the deputy.
”Hold it,” the deputy said. ”This Indian speak English?”
”Sure he does,” Silas said. ”He can even quote you a poem if you fancy.”
Scrutinizing Charlie, the deputy said, ”Got any knives?”
”No,” Charlie said.
He swatted at Charlie's pockets, his waist. He flipped Charlie's hat off. ”Lift your cuffs,” he said.
Charlie lifted his trouser cuffs. Nodding, the deputy said, ”All right, then. Don't go causing a stir now.”
”I won't.”
”Good to hear,” he said, and nodded to the sheriff.
”Thank you folks,” Garnell said. ”Enjoy your stay in Brush.”
Billy thanked him and clicked the reins. Jack, Silas, and Charlie followed along on foot.
”Next time, turn him into goat,” Silas whispered to Charlie.
As they reached the outskirts, Jack spotted a dozen campfires burning in the darkness. The wagons stood huddled around each other, some in a semicircle, others side by side. The women tended the campfires while the men stood together, talking and smoking their pipes. He smelled roasting meat and smoke.
Billy stopped the wagon and set the brake. ”This is where we'll sit for the night,” he said, climbing down. ”I'll head into town for supplies while Mary starts supper. Jack, you're welcome to stay with us for the night, but I'll be wanting to know your direction come sun up.”
Jack nodded, although he still had no idea.
<script>