Short Stories & Tall Tales
Beardsville
Tom Sheehan
The signs at both ends of the small town in Colorado were signed by the sheriff and said, “Bearded men only. No men allowed in town without a beard. If you want to come in here, ain’t got one, wait until you grow one.”
Signs spread around town said, “In one month from this day, June 11, 1868, all men in town are required to have a beard. If you don’t grow a beard, you will have enough time in jail to grow one.”
All the signs, hand-painted, were signed by “Irish Londonderry, Sheriff.”
Beardsville, for the travel curious, and those daring for new adventures, had two ways into that fond little settlement sitting like a shrine to be adored on a mount between tall mountains crowned white for part of the year. The site provided a magnificent western view of more distant mountains and two rivers at first offering wild and turbulent water and ending, at last view, like a placid evening dipping away to sleep where steep and rugged gorges ended precipitous journeys. The distant mountain peaks, at each end of day, grabbed and clutched whole chunks of the sun that made them seem close to ignition, and now and then, in the great cycle of heavenly bodies, a semi-precious moon promised its beauty as stars by the thousands made way for its singular illumination.
Those steep mountain walls, often experiencing tumultuous upheavals in their long past, created a difficult climb on both trails that were hardly a wagon wide in many spots. So tight was it in these confines, the cost of transporting heavy goods was beyond the pockets of most visitors or explorers. And for years the place went fully unexplored.
Two energetic men, though, had early sight of the place and finding the deepest of favor with what it provided at discovery, and what it might promise later on, sank their savings into decisions to make more of the place, make it the real golden nugget for their efforts.
Jacob Spinner one day came up the torturous trail to the scenic mount with several mules laden with enough material to build two wagons, which puzzled the few locals, knowing the trails could not permit the wagons he constructed from the mule-laden materials. But, if nothing else besides being a long-range planner, Spinner was a hard worker and a decent mason; he started at one of the town trails, at the arrival end, and slowly, day by day, hauled stone and rocks from the trail into the proposed site. Every size and description of stones filled his wagons in his day-long labors, so that his building supplies grew daily, became a ready supply center. From that compiled source, he built a few buildings that promised to last a century or more. One of them was a saloon and hotel as big as any seen at that time in the west, and the other, a store for selling any and all kinds of goods he planned to import from beyond. As a result, that trail into town was greatly improved for open traffic.
The other man, of like disposition and ideas, and with the same energy, built a bank and a livery, each of stone also, but from the other trail into, and now out of, town. Alfredo Ciampa was his name. And the other trail was also made a good passage by his efforts.
After much of the trail clearing and building construction were accomplished, and observing the jewel they had near fully developed, Spinner said to Ciampa one day in a corner of his saloon, “We have to realize what we have on our hands now, Alfredo. We can play the economy lords, but legal matters have to be put into the hands of at least one man, a most capable man. Each of us must come up with a couple of candidates. We have a golden nugget here and we have to keep it polished. Let’s think about it for a few days, and come up with some names of people we know can do the job, ones we’ve seen in action, real stalwarts of the law.”
It was kind of a cosmic connection that each man came up with two names, lawmen that wore their star with pride and had accomplished good work along the great river.
Irish Londonderry was on both lists and word was dispatched to him at his current job that he could be the next sheriff of Beardsville if he wanted the job. He accepted the job with all laws and rules in his power to enforce for the better of Beardsville.
“I take the job as offered as the legal power in the town, all legal power.” He spoke outright to Spinner and Ciampa, affirming the posture of the commission as promised. I know nobody else in town can make such a promise, so I am beholden to you and you are beholden to me.”
They swore him in as Sheriff of Beardsville, and then he said, “Why is this place called Beardsville?”
“Why, that’s was the easy part,” Ciampa said. “We were the only two men here at one time and each of us had a beard half a year long. We didn’t know what the other one looked like, not really, so when things got going, we shaved, then grew them back again, liking each other better the rough way.” They nodded at each other, did Spinner and Ciampa, and Londonderry understood that some scars and some secrets are better kept from others. He could appreciate the stand, because he had his own secrets.
As sheriff, Irish Londonderry had little to do for the first year or so, as the town grew, the trails opened, and the stories ran outward about the splendid mount. The stories drew many travelers, seekers, and odd ilk of men. Along the line, in short order, affairs began to get clumsy, a bit out of hand.
The sheriff was a thoughtful gent, believed deeply in the law and its rules, and was a handsome man to begin with … and he hated a day’s growth, never mind a full beard. His dream girl was on the horizon, he hoped, and he wanted to be ready for her.
Londonderry thought of slowing it down, hence the ban on clean faces; though he could have gone the other way around, and banned beards, which would have been against the grain right from the outset; and the dream girl kept calling on him. A few new faces were in town, and one of them was exquisite in his estimation, especially for a man long time unmarried. She was a niece of Alfredo Ciampa and worked in the bank, which drew an extra lot of customers if only to deposit a dollar in a new account and get a good look at her; Anita Amendola was raven-haired, olive-skinned, and had a smile that could tear a man to pieces … when it was sent elsewhere.
Out on the trail, at the site of one of the signs, tough guy and gang leader Adze Krillings laughed long enough so that his pards laughed with him, and one saying, “Who in hell’d put up a stupid sign like that, Adze, and knowing we’re coming in to town when you sent that message to Gritmore?”
Krillings said, a little disgustedly, “Hell, if you don’t know Irish Londonderry did it in his own hand, you ain’t been anyplace and don’t know nothin’.”
“Well, I guess I heard the name before a bunch of times, but I ain’t got no picture of no Irish Londonderry to hold onto, at least not thinkin’-wise.” The speaker was Arky Evers, a short time from a clean shave in the last river they crossed getting here where the sign said he’d shaved for no good, and him thinking otherwise all the time until he got here. His skin was a glorious tan looking comfortable on him, and had been picked up with easy rides in the sun. He was indeed a clean-shaven strapping young man with wild blond hair under his Stetson that curled over his eyes and might fool someone that he couldn’t get off a clean shot. Woe to that thinker who let heavy, curly blond hair promise this kind of marker for him. Evers seemed to burst with more than youthful pride, and which Krillings had realized from the first was a wild streak born from need, deprivation, beatings as a child from a mean-ass father, picked on by youthful companions for his too-pretty looks, and needing little more than a personal slight or goading to get him off and firing away … even at ghostly targets. Women in general found him most favorable looking.
Krillings, leading this gang of five buckos, was the only one who ever met Irish Londonderry and was the one who had talked about him often at campfires after they were hidden away from all pursuit by posses and loose sheriffs running around crazy. And he added more to his already constructed legend by saying, “And I’ll bet twice my last share of the bank job that he’ll be the only man in Beardsville who’s got a decent shave.”
“’Ceptin’ us, of course,” Evers said, his eyes lit up, his guns sitting in his hands even before he spoke, and his eyes eyeing some unseen ghostly target downrange of the fire, of which the others assumed was Irish Londonderry, “and who else?” he finished, blowing on his gun barrels in a fake move.
One of the others said, “Is he that fast, Adze? Don’t he dare not have a beard all on his own?”
“He’s the damned sheriff, man. But all we gotta do eventually is get him outta town and we’ve got it.” The chuckle he loosed was shared and enjoyed by the others, all thinking of the possibilities in having a whole beautiful new town to themselves. The he said, “Once he was the fastest, and I can swear to that,
but no questions on it.” The others interpreted that Krillings had lost in a draw down with Londonderry, and he offered no explanation.
“I’ll run the saloon bar, Adze,” Evers said, “like I did in Post Mortimer that time, foolin’ the whole bunch of ‘em, like they thought they’d cheat on me and I kept dumpin’ water in their drinks once they got too far along to know, and never took a dime I didn’t earn that way.” His laughter was the uproarious kind, the kind where people laugh at their own jokes and hardly ever at the other fellow’s. “And I’ll take care of the women working the saloon there too, in the usual manner, of course.”
He just had to carry on, saying another mouthful of nothing, “I bet he wears a skinny little thing on his chin to be just outside the law and him wearin’ the badge all the time. Wanna bet?”
“You’re already drawin’ pictures you really can’t see, Arky, ‘cause I’m bettin’ he don’t have a single hair on his face, not a one, wait and see. You’ll be able to count his wrinkles.”
Fir the first time, Evers showed real interest. “How old is this Irish Londonderry anyhow? You talk like he walked off the mountain and thinks he’s still up there. And if he’s so all-mighty righteous, why’s he makin’ stupid rules about beards?”
“It’s just a point with him, Arky, that he’s the law and can make the laws, and we’re supposed to obey them or else we end up in jail.” Krillings paused his delivery, appeared to be thinking about the situation, and added, “I’m also bettin’ that he knows we’re comin’ in ‘cause Gritmore went and shot off his mouth about it. With me and Londonderry, things go back a long ways, like I’ve said all along.”
“Hell,” came back Evers, “even if you rode Quantrill and Woodmere alongside him, he won’t know who’s who if we’re wearing beards. What’s the stupid point of it all?”
“He can tell you by your smell, Arky. He whiffs you once, he knows you forever, the way a dog does or a wolf or coyote. Stink is more than just a nickname.”
*
Arky Evers, on a bet with his boss and others in the gang, came into town the next day wearing a full beard, black as total midnight, thick as a scrub brush on his chin and climbing to his ears and tucked up into his hat, and phony as a three and a half dollar bill. It sat on his face like a spare saddle on a cow pony, and looked just as ridiculous and might have been made from a smoked rabbit fur. Those old timers in the viewing mix were aware of the way he wore two guns on his belt as if he was a master of their use, loose hanging, flexible in intent, grasp-ready for the first invitation or daunting from any silly voice in the crowded saloon. All of it was in direct contrast to the phony beard that made him clownish but discomforting at the same time.
Irish Londonderry approached him directly, twisted the beard off his face, stuck his Colt in Evers’ ribs and said, “My friend, you’re going to jail to grow a real beard, like the law says.”
“I had a beard when I came in here.”
“You ain’t got one now, so off you go.” The laughter and ridicule throughout the entire saloon was spontaneous and overbearing, and Evers, suddenly aware of its intent, him being nothing more than a joke, went for his pistol. The sheriff, as quick as he’d ever been, conked him a good one with his gun butt and knocked him to his knees. “What’s your name, where’d you come from and who put you up to this fool trick?” The conking gun was still in his hand, the butt exposed.
From the floor, Evers eyeing the gun said, “My name’s Arky Evers. Adze Krillings, my boss, said I could fool you in a minute. Says he knows you from way back, in the old days.” Those old days were merely some 10 years past.
“He was right on, Bucko. You fooled me for a minute, now you’re going to grow a real jailhouse beard … and it’s going to take more than a minute.”
Evers was the lone man in jail and when meals were required Londonderry called on, of course, raven-haired Anita Amendola, exquisitely olive-skinned, and blessed with a smile that could tear a man to pieces if that smile wasn’t for him. The sheriff felt it necessary to play his hunches in the best way possible, for his benefit, not for a lone handsome young man in a cell.
Evers grew a beard in a hurry. When Anita brought his first meal, it seemed to sprout in days and Londonderry soon realized her smile was all for Arky Evers, hiss blond, thick beard coming like it was special-fed.
Anita, bringing a tray and empty plates back to Smokey’s Diner one day from Evers’ cell, said, “He’s got a real nice beard now, Sheriff. When are you letting him out?” Her smile was dazzling but coy, the message all wrapped up in it.
‘”He goes out in the morning, Anita, so no need to bring breakfast for him.” He wanted to qualify it by saying, “He’ll be back with his game before you know it,” but he held off.
It was soon enough, as it was. Krillings, beard and all, along with his other men, now three of them, and all sprouting new growth on their faces, were in town. Things would change, and Londonderry’s memory twisted all the way back to Quantrill and Woodmere raids where his own pains became self-evident, and had hounded him to this day. Krilling he should have killed way back then, because he was a wild animal with a gun in his hand and folks at his mercy. Joy seemed to leap from him at death taking place in front of him, and him living to tell stories that could sicken some men.
Londonderry had simply ridden away one day and recollected his life and set it anew. Now it was all being brought back to him by Krillings, hidden under a bushy beard. And fated acts began to take place in Beardsville, with no witnesses … two murders, two robberies obtaining but a few dollars, an attack on an elderly man who could not remember being beaten in the darkness between two buildings where he had tried to sleep and was awakened by strange noises. It was all soon put out of his mind, even when he was found in daylight and certain goods had been taken from Miriam’s Women’s Store, though the owner could not recall what had been stolen, it was so inconsequential. “The damage to the door seems more expensive that whatever was stolen,” she said, still unsure of her loss.
Spinner and Ciampa complained loudly to Londonderry, who promised that he had a lead that would solve one of the cases. It popped loose a while later when the sheriff spotted Anita wearing a silken scarf he had not seen her wear before, and a day later use a likely silk handkerchief to wipe laughter’s tears from her eyes at some story told her on the street.
Anita was disturbed that the sheriff questioned her eventually. “You’re just jealous because Arky gave me something you never thought of giving me.” She stood with her hands and her hips demanding further explanation, and still was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen.
“What if they’re stolen?” he said. He wanted to scream at her, that she had been gifted with stolen goods, but feared she’d not believe him.
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“Let’s go see Miriam. You up for that?”
“I sure am,” Anita said, and practically lead the way to Miriam’s store, the window dressed with four dresses of all sorts, and one gown.
Miriam welcomed them, eyed the scarf draped on Anita’s shoulders, though she said nothing.
“Give her the scarf so she can check it, Anita,” he said, more authority in his voice than she could remember.
Anita handed the scarf to Miriam and the sheriff said, “Can you recognize that scarf, Miriam? Do you sell anything like that?”
“Well,” said Miriam, I bought a box of six and I haven’t sold any yet. Let’s look.” She took a box off the shelf, counted out five and said, “I haven’t sold any of these, and one is missing. This one is exactly the same. See the border trim on all six of them? Exactly alike. This was stolen the night the store was robbed. There’s no doubt in my mind. Nobody west of the river has ever had anything like this.” She twirled the scarf in her hand.
Anita looked crestfallen. “Maybe he found it after the robber left.”
“And,” Miriam said, “there’s not a mark or a smudge on it. That’s right from this box. Where did you get it, Anita?”
“Arky gave it to me,” she practically whispered. “Said he loved me. Said I deserved it.”
Londonderry said, “I would never shame you that way, Anita, and you know it.”
It was over quickly; Arky grabbed at gunpoint in front of Miriam’s store as he took another look and tossed into jail by Londonderry. Evers, like a baby, blabbed away when Anita, invited to the jail by the sheriff, accused Arky Evers of being the biggest cheat and the worst disappointment she’d ever had. He broke and said Krilling was behind all the crimes, that he planned to get the sheriff railroaded out of town, and bragged to his gang, “This town will be our town before you know it, boys.”
In due time Irish Londonderry got his ranch down by the river, married the only girl he ever loved
and, sooner said than done, all the signs about beards or no beards quickly disappeared from the beautiful town of Beardsville sitting on a special mount with a special view all its own.
And the barbershop opened up again for new business with old friends.
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