Two Western tales from me. July 13

#saturdayscene July 13  

Last week I didn’t post a SaturdayScene for I was busy again with the new house. But this week I can do one. This one is a bit different for it has two short Western stories. One is part of a story set I will be Indie publishing whenever I can get the cover done. Set titled Deputy Marshal Gray Dobson. I finally found one that isn’t bad even not quite what I wanted. But I have spent hours on it and decided to take this one. Anyway, I will also be doing a second Western set once I find them all. I thought I had a file with they all in it but so fat nothing. So Here are two Western tales. One with Marshall Dobson showing he uses his brains not just his sixgun. The other is the first Western I wrote many years ago. Revised half a dozen times as I learned more about how to write. 

       Deputy Marshall Dobson finds a Burnt out building.

      Gray Dobson looked the burnt building over. Small tendrils of smoke still drifted toward from two placed. It sat by itself a number of yards from the end of the town. From what he could see of the unburnt wood, no one had painted it which meant some of it looked while a good percentage had a blacken charcoal color.

        He liked the angle better from higher than ground level, so he stayed on his horse to study it. His legs though were tired from the long ride to this town.

       It looked like the building had two storefronts. This half of the roof of this section had collapsed. The air still had a strong scent of burning wood, so he wouldn’t be surprised if something still smoldered in there. 

        A wagon rolled by behind him. He heard the horse hoofs, and wheels turn. The townspeople would be up by now with their daily routines. Someone walked on the wooden walkway. That would make it twenty feet away from the burnt building in front of him.

     Another breath and he almost coughed, ash still drifted in the air. Water would be good. 

     After the drink from his canteen, he looked at the building again. The town’s people had done a good job in saving the part in the back that was a different store. He figured that some of them must have had some training. At least a couple of lectures. This section would have to be completely rebuilt though, possibly the whole thing, but he thought they could save the rear store. The rest of the town hadn’t been touched by the fire since this building sat so far away from the others. 

      Dobson looked to his left. The main part of Freshwell consisted of eleven stores on one side of the street with ten on the other. Each block appeared to be one long building but he could make out newer wood on the end store. They must have added to this one to the original construction when the population grew. Now they had two general stores, one much smaller than the other. It could be new, he thought. A fairly large saloon took up space in the middle of one side. He could make out three other buildings that sat by themselves not connected to either side. From their spacing the town planners might have wanted a street there to go east eventually.

     The blacksmith had been built far down the road in the other direction. He could still see it and hear the pounding of the blacksmith, smell the hot metal when he rode by it. But this building may have been the border of the town in this end. 

      Gray looked down at the dirt. One bad thing was that the town’s people had cluttered up the dirt of the street with their wagons, horses and feet: covering and marking out any tracks left by those who had done this. But it couldn’t be helped, the fire had to have been put out. He rode around the building and studied the dirt back of it then came back around from the opposite end.  

      The building didn’t look like a smithy or a saloon, which left a store of some type, a church or even a school house. The town looked large enough for one. He had ridden through Freshwell three times the last year but knew nothing about it even though he had met with the Sheriff as a common curtasy. He was a Marshal passing though his area after all. They had a nice size jail, larger than he thought they needed, but he may make use of it this trip.

      He looked around again. The Inn was actually larger than the saloon. It had rooms on a second story and a kitchen plus storage, he assumed, in the back, and four rooms on the street level. They were bigger and more expensive or so he had been told when he stopped for lunch one of those three times. 

     As he recalled from when he rode by, there had been nothing in this building to start a fire except for a wood burning stove. He didn’t recall ever seeing the pipe that exhausted it sticking out of the roof. Now, however, one lay bent, twisted and black with soot, on top of a pile of smoldering wood. Part of the pipe looked darker than another part. In fact this whole section of the building looked in worse shape than the other sections.

     He shook his head and wondered if someone had really started the blaze. With that thought, he looked closer. Why would anyone burn this building especially if it had been a school? Than again maybe he was just buying trouble. He shrugged, that was his job. He wouldn’t be a US Marshal if he didn’t like trouble: creating and finishing it for those who started it. Now though he he hadn’t smelled any kerosene or alcohol when he rode around the building. 

     Fires could be caused by accidents, acts of carelessness, or drunks, as well as on purpose. However it started this one was a shame especially with the loose of books and supplies inside, if this was a school. It could take months to get new supplies and the cost for shipping them out here would make it much harder to get them. 

      He swung his horse around and headed for the Sheriff’s office. This fire pricked his curiosity. 

      It didn’t take him long to pass the other end of the block and to approach the jail. It sat by itself about ten feet from the end of the walkway, which supported his idea of this being a street corner. He looked round him to see if anyone carried a gun near him. The three people he saw with any weapon of any type, looked like upstanding citizens which probably meant that the town was fairly safe, but he would stay on his toes. All it took was one person who didn’t like US Marshals, or was drunk. 

     The street had its share of road apples, some of which smelled and looked fresh, which meant it about average horses here. It looked like Freshwell needed someone to clean the street once a day though. He shrugged that really wasn’t his concern though. Once he got to the jail he tied his horse to the railing and stepped up to the wood sidewalk it also had. 

     He glanced in the other direction and noticed that the larger general store rested at this end of the line of stores. That could be to help farmers and ranchers with wagons load better.   

    Dobson nodded to the  two men who stood outside of the Sheriff's. They didn’t look like trouble, just as if they waited for someone. He opened the door and closed it fast for a wind followed him in. Inside, he saw a wide room with two desks each with a new looking, comfortable, padded chair behind it and two half way comfortable chairs on the other side. A portrait hung on the wall of the President of the United States and one of an older lady. She was dressed in a very nice, blue dress. A local person he thought. Maybe she had been a rich widow who had paid for the building of the office. 

    Two doorways led to the back. He thought he could see bars through one doorway. The other might lead to the outhouse and/or to a kitchen near by. Or to another cell for certain types  of prisoners. 

    The sheriff, Tony, a tall skinny, older, weather beaten fellow with shoulder length brown hair, stood talking to a nicely dressed man. The man smelled of cigar smoke, an expensive brand the Marshal thought. He must have paid a pretty penny to have some shipped here. He knew from experience not to get too close to the man when he blew smoke out, it could be strong enough to taste.

    The Sheriff said, “We will catch the person who set the fire.”

     The man said, “Why would anyone set fire to a school house?”

    “I don’t know maybe they didn’t like that their children have to go—we have a couple of those type people in this town—or maybe they had an argument about what should be taught. Could even that they got the wrong end of that building and it was meant for that new bookstore.  It’s hard to see the burr under a man’s blanket at times. But I want to speak to the new teacher and see what she has to say. Miss Sanderson has been upset over certain details and ”

     The man said, “I know that there are citizens that disagree with store just to sell books half of which would be penny dreadfuls, I am not all that excited about it myself but to burn it? That is crazy.”

    The Marshal thought, good I was right. 

    Sheriff Tony said, “Some people are that crazy. Isn’t that right Marshal?”

      The two turned to him and even as his eyes widen. He thought he would had wait until they were done with their business, but this opened the door.

     The Sheriff said, “This is Marshall Dobson. He has been in these parts for a few years. Marshall this is John Whitmore.”

     Dobson nodded to John and said, “Yes, there are crazy people out there. I wouldn’t have as much of a job if there weren’t. I was sent here to go after a train robber. However, sometimes it isn’t a person that causes the problem. It is also my job to make sure we know the difference.”

     Whitmore raised his eyebrows and the Sheriff looked puzzled and a touch irritated. 

    “I looked at the remains of the school. I believe it was just an accident.”

    “What?” The sheriff said.

    The man said, “We looked it over ourselves.”

   “I thought you had. But was it before sunrise?” 

    “Just after the sun started up.”

   “After a night of fighting the fire?”

   Whitmore nodded. He still had bits of ash on his pants, so he may have really helped.

     The Sheriff said, “Where are you going with this?”

    “I saw that part of the chimney for the stove looked blocked. I think that is where the fire started.”

     The man spoke before the Sheriff could even he open his mouth, “Someone could have blocked that on purpose hoping that would happen.”

    Dobson nodded, “Yes, someone could have, but by the looks I still go with my theory that some animal, or other built a nest in there. I know of a few times when that has happened. It has been warm the last few months and the weather just started to turn. I suspect that it was just carelessness. No one thought to inspect the stovepipe.” 

     The man nodded with a thoughtful look on his face. The Sheriff didn’t look convinced though.

    “I can explain what took my thoughts down that road. The stovepipe has a deeper burn in one section about halfway. You might even find some cooked little ones; rats or squirrels in the pipe.”

    The Sheriff and the man had a disgusted look on their faces but the other Lawman said, “Come to think of it I thought I smelled meat cooking. Maybe you are right after all.”

     They went outside to the burned building and the Marshal showed them where  he thought the fire started and the pipe. They both looked convinced when he finished.

     The man said, “I believe you’re right. You are one smart Marshal. No wonder you have a good repetition in these parts.”

    “Thank you. As I said it is my job to figure out when it was a person and when it wasn’t and to protect people that are innocent.”

     Whitmore said, “That is a good way to see your job, Marshall.”

    Sheriff Tony said, “I’m glad we will not be bothering someone who is innocent. And I will declare that every business inspect their stovepipes to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

     Dobson nodded and after some more talking he said, “I will take my leave now. I need to get a room for the night so I can get an early start to go after one who is bad.” He thought, even if the rooms are costly it should be worth it for one night.

    They each nodded and shook his hand and he left. He got his horse and on the way to the town’s corral past the blacksmith shop he gave himself a small smile. It felt good to think through something like that and to know that an innocent person would not be questioned for something they did not do. 

  

The end

              

Now for Not All Good Deeds Are Punished.

     Bill strode over to his horse, with long, quick steps. He looked in his late thirties, and wore a light yellow long sleeved shirt and gray trousers. No gun weighed down his hip, he didn’t need one here-most days. 

    He stopped near the railing in front of the town’s hardware store, his eyes narrowed. Voices from a commotion had attracted his attention. It looked just like the same situation as in the last town he had lived in. He breathed in, snorted. The air was filled with, dust, road apples, spilt grain and the flowers that grew near each store front. A cold beer would be good right now to wash the dust out of his mouth, and the horse dropping smell out of his nose. A quick glance showed him the town, he liked Wardsville. However it looked like he may have to move on. 

     With a sigh, Bill pulled a rifle out of its holster, which rested on the side of his horse, and turned. He hoped he wouldn’t get into trouble again, but he knew it wouldn’t stop him. He cocked the weapon while still in the turn.   

     After two long steps with the rifle aimed from his hip, he said, “Back off.”

     A young man, dressed in an undershirt and denim pants, with his hands on a woman, looked up. That man’s brown hair was very short and his eyes were bloodshot. Even though her yellow dress looked very proper he still pawed her like he thought she wore a low cut barmaid’s outfit. Bill knew her husband was out of town for a couple of months. 

     Everyone froze for a moment. He felt a breeze on his face and could smell the man from here. He must smell like a wagon load of broken whisky bottles to her. 

     The young man said, “You must not know who I am.”

     The first man rolled his eyes, “That is my comment. I’ve been here a week, but obviously you don’t know who I am. I don’t care who you are. I know what you are. A snake in the grass. Now act like a gentleman, a true man, and get your hands off of her. Her husband won’t be back for another month and he won’t be happy if you mess with his wife.”

     “I am a man, you horse droppings, more than you.”

     “Not the way you are acting now. You’re acting like a spoiled snake. Now remove your hands!”

      He pressed his finger on the trigger. The other man let go of the woman.

     Bill said, “Now miss, give him what he deserves-slap him.”

     She looked surprised, but at the same time like she wanted to carry out the order. The younger man looked shocked. When the woman moved he stepped back from her-out of arm’s length.

      The brown haired man looked at the man with the rifle again, swallowed and said, “Hey, I didn’t mean anything. Just being friendly. I just thought she might be missing her man.”

     The man with the gun cocked his head to the side, for the other man mumbled and slurred his words. It took him a second to figure out what he had said.

     Bill said, “She probably is, but she sure ain’t missing you, now leave!”

     The drunk glared at Bill, but after a moment walked away. Bill watched him until he went around a building. Three moments later he came back out on a horse. After another glare at Bill, he rode away. 

     The woman half-ran to the man with the gun, but stopped a few feet away.

     “Thank you... I don’t know you but I’ve seen you around the past week but Dan, my husband, will want to shake your hand and have you over for dinner when he gets back.”

     Bill tipped his hat and said, “I am called Bill-no, not Wild, that’s another Bill. I could always use a home cooked meal, fresh cornbread is mighty tasty, but I didn’t do this for thanks.”

     The store owner came up, wiped his hands on the white apron he wore. Bill tensed and waited for an angry tone like the last time he chased a rich man’s son away from a woman. The man, however, reached out his hand.

     “I want to shake your hand, Bill and add my thanks. She’s a good costumer and a good citizen of the town. Toby shouldn’t have done that to her.”

     He paused for a moment than said, “If you need anything come on in to my store, I will give you half off for the next couple of days. We don’t want that type of thing happening in our town, or to be known for being a town afraid of wealthy citizens.”

     Other townspeople came by to say how much they appreciated his actions. Even Jim, the sheriff came by, probably when he saw the citizens hanging around. It turned out he had been getting a shave during the incident.

     After his explanation he said, “Thanks, Bill for taking care of young Toby. He isn’t usually that bad. If I had seen he was drunk earlier, I would have put him in a cell to sleep it off. He’s dad will deal with him. He doesn’t like his sons behaving that way in public. He may make him apologize to Mrs.  Tanner.”

     Bill felt his mouth drop and his eyes go wide surprise, but he said, “Is that all?”

     The expression on the sheriffs face changed to businesslike; oh oh, here it comes, thought Bill.

     Jim said, “Yeah, there is one more thing. I could use a deputy, this town is growing like a weed. I’ve watched you around town. I saw how you act around other people and after today I believe you would make a good deputy. I think I can convince the town council to spring for the pay for one. Probably only half of what I get, but your bullets will be free. On top of that if the townspeople like you they might just give you a free meal, or a cut rate on hardware, just don’t expect it all the time.”

      Bill nodded, even as awe filled his heart. He stood there

to let his heart adjust to what he had just heard, then with an effort he nodded, smiled, and said, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

      They shook hands and the sheriff said, “Good, I’ll make the rounds and talk to everyone. Come by tomorrow morning and I will give you a badge.”

      Bill nodded again still in a good shock. As the sheriff walked away Bill felt the breeze again, smelled the street-even the fresh road apples didn’t smell so bad-and smiled. He thought, yeah, this is a good town.

                         The end

#westerns #freestory #indie #funread #freestuff #fires #shortstories #action #drunks