Category: Short Fiction

First Dead Man Seen Since by Matthew J Senn

It was a bit after dawn when I got the wagon out to Brockmeiers’. Alone in a field of wheat, the line riders’ cabin stood like a crown on a durum head. I pulled the reins in and called out for him. Nothin’. Tried again, same thing. Got off the wagon, no easy feat at my age, and kept callin’ his name whilst I got closer to the house.

“Brockmeier? Marshal Thombly. You in there?”

Still nothin’.

The front door, the only one the cabin had, was shut tight. Turning the latch, I opened and found Tommy Brockmeier passed out, face down on the floor. Pink rays of rising sun started to seep in from behind me, and I saw them dance across the face of an empty glass bottle.

Damn.

It took some time gettin’ Brockmeier up and around. Tried to shake ‘im wake at first, told him he was burnin’ daylight. 

Ended up emptyin’  half a bucket a water on his head. Tossed some clothes on his bed nearby, headed back outside and waited. After about 15 minutes or so, he stumbled out, fumbling with the button on his overalls. He smiled through the pain of blue devils when he’d come up to the wagon. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a biscuit and some bacon wrapped in a cloth.

“Obliged.”

“Don’t thank me. The Mrs. wanted to make sure you were fed. I’da cared less.”

I smiled and winked. Tommy held in a chuckle while his cheeks filled with biscuit.

By the time we’d gotten back to town, the rising sun was already warmin’ the backsides of the buildings across from my office. Hopped down for a minute to grab a bottle from outta my desk. Caught Brockmeier followin’ me, but I held up a hand and told him to hold up on the wagon, that friend of ours was waitin’ in the saloon. When we got to the saloon, where some of the girls were already up eatin’ breakfast and sippin’ on steaming cups. Tommy took his hat off and gave ’em a smile, which they returned.

“Mornin’ Marshal.”

The man behind the bar, Chuck Harlowe, offered drinks, but I only asked for glasses. 

“Bud Serzley been down yet?”

“Fella who came in last night? Yeah, he’s out in the water closet. Should be back soon.”

One of the girls, a tall beautiful brunette, wiped her mouth delicately with a napkin, then turned to face us as we stood and waited at the bar.

“That older fella, he a friend of yours, Marshal?”

“Yeah, we go back a ways.”

“He’s an odd fish., that man.”

I just smiled and nodded, 

She smiled, gave a wink and turned back to her meal. 

The far backdoor swung open and a gray headed man mozied inside wearing a union suit. He rubbed his arms and the sleep from his eye as he did.

He looked up and grinned with nary a tooth in his mouth, but the grin was still as strong as ever. 

“Long night?”

“Yessir. This one likes to talk”, he jerked his thumb towards the nanny who’d turned around and offered her frank description. She snickered and tapped him on the arm playful like. He reached into a pocket and pulled some bills from it.

“Here ya go sweetheart, this is for this mornin’ too. Should be half a that seein’ as how you disappeared about halfway through to get your belly full.””

“That probably didn’t stop you.”

“No, ma’am. Truth was it went even better when I realized there was much less gnawin’ in my ear.”

Bud Serzley let out a howl of a laugh and the painted lady did too.

I turned to see Tommy standin’ there with a shit-eatin’ grin on his face. I knew that face. I had it the first time I met Captain Ben Serzley too. You get it when you’re not really sure what to make of the old coot. I waved him over, and introduced them.

“Glad to meet ya, Tommy. Heard a lot about yah.”

“I haven’t heard all too much about you, sir. Marshal said you served with him in the Mexican War.”

“Things went the way they did,” he smiled, “You pull up a chair and a few dozen glasses and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Tommy smiled.

The old man went upstairs to dress, followed, again, by the raven-haired woman from the breakfast table. I ordered up some breakfast for us, then sat down at a table nearby. 

We went to catchin’ up then, the three of us, I poured a glass each from the bottle in my desk. Bud had last been up to Montana in the hopes of adding more funds to his dwindling pension. After breakfast, I took a blonde girl named Susie upstairs, then made my way back to the office before any of the movers and shakers were up for the day themselves to have a looksie.

The day went on.

I saw Tommy and Bud leave the saloon a coupla times, but that was just to head down to the mercantile and buy a couple cigars. Last time I saw Tommy, he was walkin’ outta the saloon while the sun set. He smiled big and waved, catchin’ a ride with a neighbor by the name of Lee Shantz.

After dark, I blew out the lantern in my office. Bud was comin’ from across the street. I told him I’d meet for dinner so we could talk then.

“You ain’t burnin’ daylight but you sure as hell are takin’ your sweet time, boy.”

He smiled big. His rolled up sleeves, the leather patch over his missing eye; he almost looked like a different person. Sober, maybe.

“How’d it go with the kid?”

That big smile went away, and the old man looked like his age had caught back up with him.

He sat down into my chair with a huff,

“That’s why I’d come over…”

Things weren’t good. I seen it. Bud did too.  I was right to reach out to him.  He said the kid finally loosened up after a few more glasses. Told Bud he was havin’ nightmares ’bout the War.

Seein’ faces a the dead; wakin’ up in pools a sweat. 

“The bottle’d help some, sure.”

That’s prolly why I found him like I did– 

Said the Kid told: It’s like you always got a fever, but you don’t always feel sick.

His mother, the Widow Brockmeier, had spent the last winter in fear. After he’d lashed out towards her and his little sister; they’d arranged with Lee to have Tommy stay in an old line riders’ cabin for the winter. But she was still afraid of what the Kid might do.

“Just like Charlie, ain’t he?”

“He is. Almost down to the way he walks and talks. Hope he don’t end up like Charlie, though.”

“S’why I got a hold a ya. He been doing what Charlie did, gettin’ drunk and startin’ fights. They put him out in that cabin cuz his mama was too scared to have him home.”

“I’m guessing he weren’t like that before the War?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Yeah, things went the way they did, huh? Charlie weren’t like that neither. Whattaya say about it?”

“…If it does get rough, I need someone to back me up.”

“Hm. You hungry?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I smell grilled peppers and they been calling my name since I stepped outta that waterin’ hole.”

We decided over dinner that the old man would stay in town. I could use some help tyin’ up loose ends ‘fore the new Marshal was sworn in later this winter. But I needed the extra set of eyes to watch the Brockmeier boy mor’en anything. 

Tommy came to town to see Bud from time to time. 

The cold got closer, and he started to come ’round more and more. He found himself and the old man work helping Shantz get the orchard and ranch ready for Winter. Two fast friends. 

Three of us would meet for a game a cards and a drink after dark. Tommy drank, but not as much. He even told a couple stories ’bout his division from Michigan. Bud had told him almost all of his in all the time they spent together. Tommy’s mother had even brought him back home to help there. 

Things were good.

Then, last week in December, a few months later, things went the way they did. A fistful of cowhands passed through town on their way towards the border, lookin’ to sell about a score of horses to the U.S. Army.  They stopped in the saloon. I don’t know what happened for sure, but heard tell a coupla of those cowhands got drunk and started gettin’ rowdy with a few of the girls there. Words were said, threats made, and two drunk boys was shot dead. But, then so was Bud. He’d been standin’ in between them and his raven-haired lady when one a tha guns went off. 

Tommy was there. Saw the whole thing. 

A couple of days later, Lee Shantz came into the office. He hadn’t gotten his ‘rent’ from the Widow Brockmeier for the line rider’s cabin. She still paid even after Tommy came back home. They used it for storage and extra bunk space, if need be. She usually dropped it off herself.

When I finally got to her place, I found the little sister half-buried in the snow outside. The pristine white around her pale body had sunken into a crimson dark. I pulled my revolver and called out:

“Mrs. Brockmeier? Tommy? Its’ Marshal Thombly. You there?”

Nothin’. 

Inside, Tommy. And his mother. He’d shot her in the backa the head, shot his little sister when she’d come runnin’ up to check on the sound… I went in, slow as I could, and seen Tommy sittin’ at the kitchen table with the gun still in his hand.

He told me, “When Bud got shot, that was the first time I’d seen a man killed since the War.” 

I don’t remember exactly what I said, think I lied: said somethin’ like me too.

Bud was right to hope, but he was still wrong. Things went the way they did.

Matthew Senn 

Image: Cowboy pistol with silver barrel and wooden stock and three bullets – from Pixabay.com