Hell on the Prairie (16 page)

ASA PEPPER’S PLACE

By

Jerry Guin

Deputy Marshal Quint Croy was making his
late evening rounds. It was a clear, bright, moonlit night, with a
light breeze from the north. Things seemed to be quiet on Quint’s
assigned route, the streets of lower Wolf Creek –the area known as
Dogleg City. Usually, by this time of night, he would have been
called upon to quell some sort of disturbance at one of the
drinking and gambling establishments, hopefully before it turned
into gunplay.

The drovers that had brought herds of
longhorns from Texas expected cheap liquor, a winning hand at
cards, and maybe some female companionship when they entered this
section of town. Many had started their quest for booze and
friendly faces on the higher side, or north end, of town, then
instinctively moved on. Perhaps a smiling dealer had raked in three
days of their pay in one turn of the cards, or one of the painted
floozies had promised euphoria for a lofty token. The
higher-than-usual prices sent many in search of a more affordable
atmosphere.

It was the middle of the week, not that a
mid-week night was any different than a weekend night when cattle
drovers were in town. The nighttime activities of the patrons of
Dogleg City, where the lowest class establishments were found, were
anything but quiet. Yellow light, a cloud of blue tobacco smoke, a
woman’s loud –and probably fraudulent –laughter, and the usual
crowd reverie greeted Quint as he peered over the bat-wing doors of
the Lucky Break Saloon. The Lucky Break was the largest, brightest
establishment in this part of town. It was located on the northern
boundary of Dogleg City, at the corner of Second and Ulysses S.
Grant Streets. Gambling was the mainstay of The Lucky Break, with
liquor readily available and a two-dollar woman at one’s calling.
Quint looked around the crowded room, but did not detect anything
out of the ordinary. He walked to the middle of the street, so as
to have a full view of the business fronts. He stepped aside as two
mounted cowboys walked their horses past him –there were no
boardwalks fronting the buildings in this part of town. He was
watchful and wary, with his right hand lodged on the butt of his
holstered six-gun. He knew from experience that a violent outbreak
could occur at any time. Quint watched as the two mounted men
guided their horses, a block away, to a hitch-rail at the front of
Asa’s Saloon.

Quint headed on down Second Street to check
out the usually quiet Red Chamber, a Chinese-owned opium den, which
was across the street from the potentially explosive Asa’s Saloon.
Asa Pepper’s place was known to be the toughest place in all of
Wolf Creek. The saloon was housed in a dilapidated, rectangular
wood-frame building made of rough board siding that had weathered
gray. The hitch-rails were located close to the front wall of the
building. Inside, the wares were purveyed by the light of candles
or lanterns –which were dim, at best.

There were no prejudices behind the bar at
Asa’s Saloon. Anyone with the price could get a drink, a game of
cards or a whore for half the cost of the establishments on the
north end of town. Asa’s was a haven for buffalo hunters, prairie
wolfers, Celestials, Mexicans and blacks from Matthias, the all
black town twenty miles to the east. Once in awhile a half-breed
Indian or two would show up. Those on the dodge from the law often
frequented the place, as well, but rarely caused disturbances that
would bring attention to themselves. Occasionally, a trooper or two
came in from nearby Fort Braxton. The soldiers never stayed long,
for they were usually near-broke when they rode in –hoping for a
sponsored drink or two before their awaited payday, which was fifty
cents a day, less than half as much as a working cowboy.

After Asa’s grand opening, the business had
begun to grow daily as word got around of the saloon’s cheaper
prices. When the whiskey drummers had gotten wind of the new
establishment, they had fallen over themselves getting to Asa’s to
convince him to stock their product –they soon learned that Asa
would stock only the cheapest brands, but that he paid. Nor was Asa
above offering his own homemade creek water whiskey to customers
who knew that he had previously dealt in the stuff at Matthias. The
usual price of twenty-five cents for half-a-glass was a lot cheaper
than bottled whiskey. Sorghum beer was also a mainstay, and Asa
made money on it even at a nickel a glass.

Asa usually did all the bartending, though a
friend from Matthias, Harry Turner, helped out from time to time.
Asa once told Quint that it was Harry who had talked Asa into
allowing him to introduce a few soiled doves as a separate
business. He wanted to bring in two young women from Matthias, a
black girl and an Indian girl, as well as two older cast-offs from
The Wolf’s Den.

“
It’ll be good for business,” Harry
had said. “The men will buy drinks for themselves, and for the
women, too.” Asa liked Harry and wanted to see him make a few
bucks, so he had agreed to the deal –as long as the women did their
drinking in the saloon, and their other business in the cribs out
back. Servicing their customers in plain sight would not have been
tolerated even in Dogleg City –plus, it would inevitably lead to
fights, and there were already enough of those to go
around.

Quint could hear the boisterous laughter
before he got within thirty feet of the entrance. Suddenly, a loud
voice from within the walls yelled, “You black son of a bitch, I’m
gonna kill you!”

Quint quickened to a run, while drawing his
.44 caliber cap-and-ball Army Colt. Quint burst through the
entrance to the saloon, and raked his eyes around the crowded room.
A scattering of tables on the right-hand side were full of card
players and loungers. On the left, at the far end of the bar, six
men stood idle and wide-eyed. All eyes were directed to Asa Pepper,
who was bent back against the bar, wedged there by a tall man in
cowboy garb. The front of Asa’s shirt was slashed open and covered
in blood. The man was pushing Asa’s chin back with his left hand,
and brandished a long-bladed knife in his right. Asa’s right hand
clawed the fingers at his throat, and his left gripped the
knife-wielder’s right wrist, desperately holding the blade
away.

Another tall cowboy stood nearby, a six-gun
in one hand, apparently covering the action. When Quint advanced,
the man with the six-gun swung the weapon around without
hesitation, and fired a shot. The revolver boomed out, rocking the
interior of the saloon with its thunder. The shot mule-kicked
Quint’s upper left arm –he was forced back a step from its impact.
The deputy squeezed the trigger of his .44, sending a bullet that
punched a hole in the gunman’s shirt front. The cowboy was stunned
by the jolt of the bullet hitting him; he blinked his eyes, then
fumbled in an attempt to cock his single action six-gun. Quint
side-stepped out of the thick, gray cloud of his-own gun-smoke and
fired again. This bullet hit the man in the upper chest. This time,
the cowboy pitched forward onto the floor, rolled and lay
still.

At the same time, Asa brought a knee up
sharply into his attacker’s groin. The action caused the man to
loosen his grip on the bar-owner’s throat. Asa slipped around,
punched the cowboy twice in the belly, then shoved him onto the
floor. He gave the man a kick to the ribs then jumped on top of
him. Now face-to-face, Asa wrestled the knife away. Then he raised
himself up at the hips and thrust the knife into the man’s chest.
Asa pulled the knife free, then raised it above his head –preparing
to stab again.

Though wounded himself, Quint quickly
stepped forward and swiped the barrel of his Colt to the back of
Asa’s head before he could thrust the blade again. Asa Pepper
dropped the knife and fell sideways. Quint retrieved the knife and
the cowboy’s holstered six-gun. The barely-conscious man moaned.
Quint stepped over and checked the motionless man he had shot
twice. He then checked his own arm wound. The numbness had started
to fade, and it was throbbing with each beat of his heart. The
wound was high up –fortunately the bullet had passed through
without hitting any bones. He stuffed a bandana over the entrance
hole while a patron, a short man in a derby hat, stepped forward
and pressed his own handkerchief against the exit wound, “It ain’t
bleeding much, deputy,” he said.

Asa, who had been out briefly, began to
stir. He blinked, winced from the pain, then held a hand to his
head and sat up.

“
I guess you had no choice but to hit
me, deputy. I would have killed him. He’s crazy drunk –he would
have cut me up if I hadn’t stopped him.”

Quint stood over the downed trio, then
looked around the room. He saw a familiar face, and called out,
“Harry, send someone to get Doc Munro. These men are in bad shape.
And I don’t feel so good myself.”

He turned to Asa, “What happened here?”

Asa shrugged his shoulder, “It’s like I
said, he’s crazy drunk.”

“
Do you know him?” Quint
asked.

Asa stood. He was still breathing hard. He
looked around. “He came in while I was clearing one of the tables.
He would of never got ahold of me if I was behind the bar, I got an
axe handle and a loaded shotgun back there. And I left my Walker
Colt back there instead of stickin’ it in my belt, like a dern
fool.”

“
I asked if you know him,” Quint said.
“I want to know why he attacked you.”

Asa straightened up, then set the glassware
on the bar, “I knew him from a time ago. Let me see to business
Quint, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“
No deal, Asa. Somebody else can see
to the business. There’s one man dead, and you were trying to kill
the other one. I want some answers right now, before Marshal
Gardner hears about this. He’ll be mad as hell, and want to close
you down.”

Asa nodded. He knew the marshal was none too
fond of him.

“
When the doctor is finished here,”
Quint said, “I’m going to take this fella to jail, if he’s still
alive. You’re going to join him in a cell if you don’t come
clean.”

“
All right, Quint. Harry can watch the
place while I’m gone.”

Quint turned and faced the other patrons,
who were uncharacteristically quiet.

“
Anyone know these two?” No one in the
room responded, other than to shake their heads.

When Doc Munro arrived, he looked at Quint’s
wound first. He checked the entrance and exit wounds briefly, then
said, “It’s not too bad, Quint. I’ll check the others, then I’ll
clean you up. You need to sit down, though, you’re looking a little
ashen.”

Quint took a nearby chair. The doctor
confirmed that the gunman lying on his stomach was dead. The man
that Asa had stabbed was unconscious. Doctor Munro applied a heavy
compress to the wound and bandaged it in place.

“
We don’t want any nasty sucking
wounds, do we,” he said, mostly to himself.

Then he placed his left hand on the man’s
chest, tapping the middle finger of that hand with his right middle
finger.

Doctor Munro stood. “I don’t know what
internal damage was done, time will tell. The wound seems deep, and
there’s no immediate evidence of a collapsed lung, but I won’t be
able to tell without a closer examination. Here, a couple of you
men carry him to my buggy out front.”

No one moved. The doc’s face darkened.

“
I said pick him up, damn it,” he
said. “Or I’ll bloody well remember it when it’s one of you
bleeding in this hellhole.”

Two customers quickly stepped forward and
obeyed.

The doctor then returned his attention to
Quint. He washed Quint’s wounds, then bandaged them.

“
I’ll stitch you up in a bit, when
I’ve seen to everyone. You might want to sling that arm for a few
days, otherwise just keep the wounds clean. Come and see me in two
days, I want to make sure there’s no mortification.”

Doctor Munro washed and bandaged Asa’s
slashed chest wound, and said, “You’re lucky it was no deeper. It’s
a flesh wound; just keep it clean and change the bandage daily.” He
examined the spot where Quint’s gun barrel had connected with Asa’s
scalp, and dabbed it with alcohol. “A cold compress on that might
keep the swelling down.”

When Doctor Munro was finished, he said, “My
buggy is out front. If you like, Quint, I can drop you and your
prisoner off at the jail and tend to him further there. I’ll let
Elijah Gravely know to pick up the deceased man and take him to the
funeral home.”

Quint nodded, then looked over at Asa.
“You’d better come along, too,” he said, and the barman stood to
comply.

Asa turned to one of the girls. “Go fetch
Harry,” he said. “Tell him I’ll be back directly.”

Quint climbed into the front of the buggy,
beside Doc Munro. Asa sat in the back, beside the supine form of
the man who had tried to kill him.

***

While the buggy rolled down the dark streets
on its way to the county jail, Asa Pepper’s mind wandered, reliving
the events that had brought him to this point.

The former slave had come to Wolf Creek
almost a year earlier. Not long after his arrival, he had found
himself in an office chair at the bank, awaiting an answer to his
proposal of buying a deserted building. He’d spoken at length about
the place with a suited bank employee named Allen Cook. Cook’s
interest was keen because the building was in a poor, rather
blighted location –any opportunity to sell it would be very
welcome.

Since Asa did not offer the full purchase
price in cash, Cook asked about his ability to pay a mortgage if
allowed to make monthly payments.

“
I plan to make it into a saloon,” Asa
had answered. “Way I hear it, this new railroad coming through will
be bringing in more cowboys than you can shake a stick at, all
thirsty from driving their herds here. Money won’t be a problem,
once things get going.”