Comes A Rider

Paul paused for a moment at the door, then walked through the swinging doors and stopped two steps into the room. His eyes moved over the room as he appraised the situation. It was rowdy with loud voices of men who were drinking and having a good time. Someone was playing an off key piano and bar girls circulated around the crowd, trying to entice the men to buy more whiskey. He glanced over to the long bar and saw a man standing there with a beer in his hand. The man wore a black western shirt with a new black hat and he had a badge pinned to his vest. He watched as Paul came through the door. Paul was not overly concerned; he figured the man probably noticed all of the strangers coming into town. He ignored the lawman and continued perusing the room and was rewarded when he recognized the two Matthews brothers sitting at a table playing draw poker with three other men. He had known the two men briefly before the war. They were Anglo immigrants to Texas and had belonged to a crowd that had always hated the German Dutchies. He walked over and stood on the opposite side of the table, facing the two brothers. One of the brothers glanced up but did not seem to recognize Paul. The man said, “You gonna stand there and gawk, stranger, or do you wanna play? We can make an open seat if you got money.” The other men at the table guffawed at the remark. Paul’s eyes immediately went to the watch chain hanging on the man’s vest and he had an idea of what was on the other end of it. He said, “Oh, I might sit in for a hand or two. What time do you have, partner?” The man’s face showed his impatience with the question but when he pulled out the watch to check the time and Paul went cold. It was his father’s watch. It had been brought over from the old country and his dad always told him that someday it would be his. It still will be mine, he thought. Paul didn’t say a word but turned away from the table and walked purposely to the bar and to the man with the badge. He did not recognize him. Paul introduced himself and as soon as the man spoke, his accent gave him away, a Yankee. Probably a damn carpetbagger, Paul thought. Paul went straight to the point. He told the marshal he was just home from the war and had found that his mother and father had been murdered. He said he heard the Matthews brothers had been bragging about it and one of them was now carrying his father’s watch. He wanted them arrested and charged. The marshal’s eyes immediately cut across the room to the Matthews men, telling Paul he knew who they were. The marshal looked back at Paul and spoke, “Mister, that’s a plumb serious charge. You come on down to the office tomorrow morning and you can fill out a complaint. But let’s not have any trouble tonight.” Paul’s rage was burning but he kept his voice under control. It was as hard as steel, but not too loud as he spoke, “I’ll file the complaint but I want ‘em locked up now. That’s my dad’s watch the man is wearing.” The marshal’s voice showed his irritation. “Listen mister, I’m telling you upfront that we got law and order now and you rebs have got to learn to respect it. You come on down tomorrow, file a complaint and we’ll see if there is any merit to it.” Paul had heard enough; the man was not going to do anything. He deliberately stepped forward, violated the marshal’s space, and tapped the man’s chest with his finger as he snarled, “Okay, if you’re not going to do anything about it, I’ll take care of it myself. But you stay out of it. I mean what I say, do you understand?” Without waiting for a reply, Paul wheeled from the lawman and walked directly over to the men at the table. He positioned himself directly in front of them again and this time his voice was soft but deadly. “My name is Mueller. That’s my father’s watch you’re wearing. I understand you two pieces of trash burned my folks’ place down and shot my mother and father. Is that true?” All of the men rose to their feet and the other three backed quickly away from the table, leaving only the Matthews brothers. The noise in the room stopped immediately and the other tables around the two men cleared quickly. The two brothers glanced at each other and Paul could almost see the wheels turning in their heads as they figured their odds: two to one. They stood there staring until one of them looked at his brother and grinned before turning back to Paul. The man said, “Well now, Mr. Mueller, a lot of the Dutchies around these parts died during the war, good riddance for the most part. If your ma and pa got it, too bad, but it probably served ‘em right. They didn’t belong here anyway and they proved it when they sided with the Yanks. If you ask me…” Paul did not even try to control the white anger flowing through his body. He raised his left hand to cut the man off. His voice was still low but hard. “I didn’t ask, but I don’t recall either of you boys going with us to fight for the South. But it really don’t matter now because you two are going to die right here if you don’t drop those gun belts right now.” When the men hesitated, Paul’s voice became as forceful as earlier it had been low. He bellowed, “Now, damn it!” Paul saw the surprise and the doubt appear in the men’s eyes as they contemplated their chances. Suddenly, as if his last word galvanized them into action, both men simultaneously reached for their guns. Paul was quicker; his hand was like a blur as he drew his pistol and put a forty-four slug in each man’s chest before either one could clear leather. Both men fell to the floor, knocking chairs over on their way down. After the two deafening blasts the room remained eerily silent as Paul stood and looked at the men for a moment. Then his eyes moved deliberately around the room and lingered on the marshal for a moment before he looked back at the men lying on the floor. He walked over, jerked his dad’s watch from the dead man’s vest and put it in his pocket. When Paul was kneeling the marshal took the opportunity to walk over to him, but was a little late. Paul rose to face him. The marshal saw the cold look in Paul’s eyes and was smart enough to keep his hand clear of his gun. His tone of voice no longer carried the disdainful inflection and instead was very respectful as he said, “Mister, that was fast. Those two men never had a chance. Now, you are going to come on down with me and you’ll be held in custody until we can get an inquest to see if it was self defense or not.” Paul looked at the man and laughed, but with no touch of humor. He knew what kind of justice he could expect from a Yankee court. Probably from the back of a horse, and a rope. He looked around the room to see if anyone would challenge him; no one was moving. Paul kept his voice even and said, “Everyone here, you saw these two men draw first. Remember it.” The room was quiet and no one made a move, but he was not going to take any chances. He backed slowly toward the entrance and out the door, his hand held just above his pistol. He moved to his horse. He was headed south for Matamoras, Mexico.