Rosa's Land: Western Justice - book 1 (10 page)

She had prayed about it for a long time. Every day. And finally she had an idea. It seemed simple enough, so she called Faye to sit with her. They went into the parlor and sat down.

Faye asked, “What have you decided, Mother? I hope you’ll give me your blessing.”

“I’ve decided to go along with you on this matter, son, if you’ll promise me one thing.”

Showing surprise that her surrender came so easily, he said, “What is it, Mother?”

“I ask that you take any job the judge gives you and stay with it, no matter how low it is, even if it’s washing dishes.”

Faye was obviously caught off guard. He finally smiled and said, “Why, Mother, I’ll be glad to promise that.”

“Good, son. Now, we’ll just wait a few days, and then we’ll tell your father about it.”

The next day Eileen set the rest of her plan into motion. She sat down in her bedroom at the desk with paper and pen and began to write:

She blotted the ink, put it in an envelope, addressed it, and then left the house. She went at once to the post office and mailed the letter herself. Turning, she went back home again and felt that she had solved her problem.

Judge Isaac Parker had brought a letter home with him. He sat down with his wife and said, “Dear, let me read you this letter.” He read Eileen Riordan’s letter and then handed it to his wife and let her think it over. “What do you think we should do about this young man?”

“Why, it’s clear enough.” She smiled. “We have to do what she asked. This young man isn’t fit to send out into the wilds of the Oklahoma Territory with the drunken Indians and outlaws. You know how many of your marshals you’ve already lost. It would be murderous to send this young man.”

“Yes, I would never have sent him anyway, but she wants us to keep him until he gets full of this dirty side of life.”

“Well, we will pray about it, Isaac, but I feel this mother’s plea, and we must help her all we can.”

Eileen opened the envelope, her heart pounding. She quickly read the brief letter from Judge Parker.

Faye had been escorted to the railroad station by his family. It had been a hard few days for him, for when his father and brothers found out his plan, they all were incredulous. All of them warned that he was being a fool.

“You could stay here and learn to ride and shoot if that’s what you want,” Caleb said earnestly.

“Yes, we’ll help you,” Leo said. “Don’t do this crazy thing.”

Faye had listened patiently, but here they were at the railroad station. The train had pulled in. The conductor was calling, “All aboard!” He shook hands with his father and then hugged his two brothers.

Faye went to his mother and said, “Don’t worry, Mother. I know you’ll pray for me and I’ll be all right. Besides, it’s likely that Judge Parker won’t make me a marshal without some training. He’ll probably have me learning to ride a horse better and how to track, things like that. He won’t let me go out until I have some experience and can make it as one of his men.”

He hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, and then mounted the train steps. Minutes later, the train left the station. His last view was of his mother and his father, both looking despondent.

He grew restive during the long train ride to get to Fort Smith, Arkansas. He read a great deal, all he had been able to find about Judge Parker’s court and the marshals.

When he finally arrived at Fort Smith, he went right away to Judge Parker’s office. To his surprise, he was admitted at once.

Judge Parker was standing at a window looking down at the gallows that were in plain sight. “What can I do for you, young man?”

“Judge, my name is Riordan. I’ve come to ask you to take me into your marshal force.”

“Tell me your experience.”

This did not take long, for in effect, Faye had none. Finally he fell silent, and Judge Parker said, “Young man, I have a great many volunteers. I can only take those who are experienced, and you are not.”

“Just let me work. I’ll do anything you say, Judge, and I’m a quick learner. I don’t expect to be sent out right away to Indian Territory.”

“You mean what you say, young man, that you’ll do anything?”

“Anything, sir.”

“Very well. You may join my force.” He lifted his voice, saying, “Mr. Swinson.”

The door opened, and a short, stocky man stepped in.

“Riordan, this is Chester Swinson, my chief of marshals.” He then turned to the chief. “I want you to put this young man to work.”

“Doing what, Judge?”

“Whatever needs doing.”

“Come along. What is your name again?”

“Just call me Riordan.”

“All right, Riordan, come this way.”

Carrying his suitcase, he followed the man. He had given merely his last name because he was ashamed to be called Faye, which sounded feminine to him. He always had hated the name and now determined just to be called Riordan.

Swenson led the way to a large rectangular building. He opened the door. It smelled of sweat and other nasty things he didn’t want to know about. “Clean this building up until it’s spotless. Clean the windows, mop the floor … everything. I want it shining.”

“Yes, Marshal Swinson.”

“All right, Riordan. When you finish this, you’ve got another job out in the stables. Shovel out all the stalls and put the refuse into a cart. The judge uses it for fertilizer in his garden. Dirty and nasty job. Nobody wants to do it. It’ll be your job from now on.”

Somehow Faye knew that he was being tested. He thought that the two men had some idea of how to make things hard on a recruit. He made up his mind right then.
No matter what they do to me or ask me to do, I’ll stick it out!
“Yes sir, I’ll do a good job.”

After Swinson left, Faye looked around at the terrible condition of the room and then began to whistle. “I’m with Judge Parker’s marshals. Maybe it’ll be rough for a while, but one of these days I’ll ride out with Heck Thomas and some of the other men.”

T
he Mexican settlement had no name and was not legally a town, just a collection of adobe huts and wooden shacks built from cast-off lumber located a few miles west of Amarillo, Texas. At night the liveliest place in the village was Pepy’s Cantina. Pepy’s was an exciting place for young men looking for female companionship, or vice versa.

At one end of the large room, three men were playing guitars, and a small space had been set off for those who wanted to dance. Now three couples, laughing and pawing at each other, moved around the floor. The room was filled with the shrill laughter of women, the coarse mirth of men, and the hum of constant loud voices. Rough tables and chairs were scattered around, all of them filled, and a bar ran along one wall—on the wall behind it were pictures of half-dressed, over-endowed women. One very fat man was serving at the bar, sweat pouring over his face. His filthy apron had once been white but now was a leprous gray.

The customers at the tables were served by two young men and by Rosa Ramirez. She was wearing a full skirt and a white blouse that clung to her sweaty body. Fatigue lined her face. She had been busy for over four hours, and now it was well after midnight. Most of the clientele were either drunk or soon would be.

As Rosa Ramirez threaded her way across the crowded floor, she paid no attention to the scents of raw alcohol, thick cigarette smoke, and unbathed bodies. When she reached the bar, she had to raise her voice to say, “Four cervezas and a bottle of red wine, Leon.” She waited until the fat barkeep moved to fill the order.