Retracing her steps from the earlier hours, Marybeth found the clerk at the front desk. “I need to locate a store where I can buy a few cans of milk for my ... ah ... a few cans of milk—maybe some bread and cheese.”
The bearded man smiled. “Of course. Armstrongs’ is just a short walk away. Go out the door and turn left. Follow the street up a block. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but they have a good selection.”
Marybeth nodded. “Thank you so much.”
“You might want to wait for your husband, missus. Just to be safe.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know how long he’ll be and my ... the baby is hungry.” She and Edward still hadn’t talked much about how they were going to present Carrie. Was she going to just be their daughter, or were they going to make an effort to explain the past?
“You’ll wanna keep an eye out for trouble,” the man told her. “Most of the really bad characters have gone to bed and won’t be on the streets to bother you, and the railroad men have reported to work, but there might still be some troublemakers.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep my eyes open.” Marybeth lifted Carrie in her arms and headed for the door. “Thank you again.”
She stepped outside into her new world and paused to takeit all in. Dirt streets edged with some boardwalks. Unpainted, newly built businesses alongside tents that advertised everything from palm reading to hot baths lined the way.
Freighters were out moving supplies from the train station to various locations, and people began to appear from various shops. Marybeth glanced at Carrie, who had grown quite wiggly.
“Are you excited?”
Carrie clapped her hands. “’Cited.”
Marybeth nodded. “Me too.”
Edward had little trouble locating the jail. The two-story building was brand-new, and inside he found his old commander finishing with some paperwork.
“Major Henderson.”
The man looked up and smiled. “Edward Vogel, as I live and breathe. You’re a welcome sight.”
“Glad to be here, Major.”
“No, no. Call me Fred. The war is over, and I’d just as soon put that part of my life to rest.”
“Fred it is.”
Henderson pointed to his ledger. “There were seventy fights to break up last night. Seventy. I try to keep a record of each one, but it’s impossible. There were burglaries and murderous threats, and even a killing that everyone swears was self-defense, so nothing further will be done.”
“No law west of the Mississippi, eh?” Edward looked around the room. “It’s not at all what I expected.”
“Cells are behind us, and court is upstairs. Ed Melanger was elected city marshal, and the police magistrate is an old frontiersman named John Slaughter whom most of us justcall Judge. We hope to have a city police force of at least a dozen by next year. You and I will be a part of that.”
“And that’s the law in Cheyenne?” Edward asked.
“That and about seventy men—maybe more, seems the number grows daily—of a special police force who like to take matters into their own hands.”
“Vigilantes?” Edward met Henderson’s rather blank expression.
“Call them what you will. They’re local businessmen and citizens who are striving to clean up Cheyenne. It’s been troublesome at times, but it is saving the city a lot of money in dealing out justice swiftly and to the point. Sometimes the vigilantes drop off miscreants to be dealt with here at the jail. There’s always a detailed list of each man’s crime. We collect the fines and turn them loose or lock them in chains and turn them over to the army for manual labor.”
“What about hangings? I’ve heard vigilantes in the West are notorious for that.”
“They are.” Henderson heaved a sigh. “However, for hanging offenses we’ve always had multiple witnesses, sometimes entire crowds, who’ve given sworn testimony in each case. Like I said, it’s saved the town a lot of money not to have to hold court and trials. I’ve been informed to look the other way and see the vigilantes as a useful group who are on the same side.”
“I don’t know how I feel about that,” Edward replied. He shook his head. “Seems a town ought to be run by the book.”
“Except for one thing, Edward. There isn’t a book to go by out here. We have had some help from the local army at Fort Russell. They’re just a few miles away and put prisoners to work from time to time. The railroad had some of their own police, but now that the town of Cheyenne is formed, we’redoing our best to create law and order as we go. We’re writing the book, so to speak. The vigilantes are basically good men who care about Cheyenne. And they’re getting results. They push in and get the facts, then hang the guilty or arrest them, and it sends a real message to scum and lowlifes. There’s a lot of fear and trembling when someone finds a notice posted on their door demanding they leave within twenty-four hours by order of the Vigilance Committee.”
“I suppose a place like this has to take whatever help it can get.”
