by federal marshal Zeke Drummond from the Portrait of Crime Mysteries by Sharon Pape

One time stands out in my mind. Papa
and I had taken the buckboard into town for supplies like we generally did. He called
it our man-time. He always let me pick out a piece of candy before we headed home. Mama didn't like me to
have candy. Said it would ruin my teeth. But Papa said we didn't have to tell
her. It became our little secret. It made me feel all grownup to share a secret
with Papa.
This particular trip started out like all the
others. We had us a nice talk durin' the half hour or so it took to reach town.
Papa asked about school and my friends, then he told me a story about when he
was a boy. I knew from listenin' to all his stories that he prized honesty,
generosity and courage in a man, even though he never said it outright.
On that day, there was a bank robber
sittin' in the town jail. Papa and I were loadin' up the buckboard with our
supplies when three men on horseback came thunderin' into town with
neckerchiefs covering the lower halves of their faces and guns in their hands.
Everyone took cover, because we all knew they'd come to break their buddy out.
Papa and I were between the men and the jailhouse, so we hunkered down behind
the buckboard the best we could. But at the last moment, when the men were nearly
upon us, I heard a woman scream. I took a quick peek and saw that a little girl
had run into the street. The girl's mama was runnin' after her, but I could
tell she wasn't goin' to reach her in time. I dashed out from behind the buckboard
and scooped her up. It was awful close. I didn't realize I'd been injured till I saw the blood
soakin' through my shirt sleeve, where the first horse must have clipped me.
Now I won't lie -- I was shakin'
pretty bad once it was over. My papa, he just clutched me to him. I don't think
he could decide whether to scold me or praise me, so he just kept quiet. But I
think he looked at me with a new respect and pride from that day on. Of course
when Mama found out what happened, she had no trouble decidin' what to say. She
hollered at me and Papa until she was hoarse. Then she cried some. And for
dessert that night, she baked my favorite apple pie.
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submitted by: Sharon Pape
What a great story, no wonder you became a marshal yourself.
ReplyDeleteI guess it was just in my bones.
ReplyDelete