Carried By Six - a classic western chapter one

CHAPTER ONE

Eldridge sat upon a bench in front of the newly constructed jail, this building twice as large as the last, but still as full of degenerates and criminals awaiting trial. Little thought had been given to their comfort, just wooden bunks nailed to the walls stacked three deep and barely enough room to fit a man between the slats. Those nine men were lucky, since the rest were forced to sleep on the floor or in corners, crammed on top of one another so that even the hangman’s noose seemed like a sweet release.

He reached into his pocket and poured a dollop of whisky into the coffee mug delivered by Ellie. She brought him his own pot now every morning when she delivered biscuits and water to feed the prisoners. The Irish was his own addition.

He sipped the fine concoction as the soldiers off loaded their horses from a hay filled open car, and mounted up behind a man in Colonel’s uniform. They assumed a parade formation two men abreast and marched down the street. All in all a fine affair, Eldridge thought.

He spied the discipline in their ranks as memory of his own training washed through him.

The Colonel drew his horse up next to the jail and peered under the overhang at the Marshal in the shadows.

“Marshal,” he said by way of greeting.

“Colonel.”

“Would you be Eldridge Sample?”

Eldridge tucked his legs under him and folded up in one fast motion, like a scarecrow come to life. His six foot six inch frame put him almost eye to eye with the man on horseback as he stood on the porch, his boots and hat adding several inches more so he appeared almost seven feet.

The Colonel tried not to flinch.

His horse had no such compunction and skittered back several steps, neighing in disapproval at the giant man moving toward them.

“Rumors of your height precede you Marshal,” the Colonel bit back a smile.

Eldridge held the coffee mug in his left hand and rested his right on the gun belt just above the handle of his pistol.

“People like to tell tales.”

“And yours is a tall one,” this time he did smile.

Eldridge answered with one of his own.

“George Armstrong,” the Colonel introduced himself. “Garrison Commander.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Eldridge. “You should call on Judge Parker once you get settled in.”

“I plan to do that,” said the Colonel. “I saw you out this fine morning and wanted to wish you well. And to tell you of the several men on the train who plan to kill you.”

This time his hand wrapped around the butt of his pistol as his eyes roamed the street, searching for threats.

“They were quite specific in their intent,” the Colonel continued. “If I were a law man, I would have been inclined to arrest them. Alas, I am but a soldier.”

He reined his horse around and indicated to his Sergeant to move the column forward toward the fort.

“Thanks for the warning,” Eldridge called after him.

The Colonel waved without turning around as the horse hooves clopped up tiny clouds of dust.

It wasn’t the first time men had been sent to kill him, he thought as he settled back in the chair and watched for strange faces moving from the train depot.

There were more of them now.

The jail wasn’t the only thing that had doubled in size. The rebuilt courthouse was twice as big, the same with the gallows. People were pouring into Fort Smith each day, swelling the population with the trappings of civilization.

He had helped Miss Laurie rebuild, and even Shelly had added on to his Saloon, extending it to the buildings on both sides and putting a larger kitchen in the back with more rooms to let on top.

The safer they made the place, the more people came to live there, which made picking out strange faces even harder.

He studied intent, searching for people that were looking at him for more than a passing glance.

Let them come he thought, as the tips of his fingers worked a pattern on the smooth worn grips of his gun.

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