Gunshmuck
M arshal Matt Dill stared across the scrub-covered plains that reached to the distant foothills.
De vestit is so big, he exclaimed, fingering the large silk garment hed bought in Franklin, Missouri, just a week before. Fortunately, dere will be a tailor in Nudge City to take it in a little. He spurred his horse Radish to the north. After all, a new marshal must not look like a Bar Mitzvah boy, fearful and too small for his tallis .
Nudge City, population 83, sat on a short spur of the Santa Fe Trail, the dusty road that opened in 1821 and rolled west from Franklin to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Nudge City was established by Jewish pioneers two score years later because they wanted to stop schlepping.
Weve spent enough time wandering in deserts, founder Avram Nudge said as he emptied dirt from the communal etrog box.
It wasnt much of a settlement then, and it wasnt much better in 1867. The major export was ox dung, which the Yeshiva boys collected on the trail, gave to the bubbes to boil, and shipped east as fertilizer.
It is against the nature of a Jew to give anyone drek , Avram was fond of saying. So we sell it to them.
But where there is drek , can a tuchas be far away? With prosperity came crime in the form of the Fryers Club. This group of cut-rate cutthroats intercepted wagon trains, fed the oxen a constipating mixture of bananas and matzo, and sold inferior, cheaper chickenshit from their ranch to unwary consumers back East.
That was why aged Avram had telegraphed Washington for help. He was dead by the time help arrived, for Washington was slow to help Jews unless oil was involved. Fortunately, the town survivedif just barely.
Matt Dill was a man with deep peacekeeping experience. Though this was his first federal assignment, the thirty-year-old was a veteran of Sisterhood Bingo Night in Brooklyn and sale days at Gimbels. He was ready for anything,
Except having to buy dis outfit retail, and without alterations, he complained as he rode into Nudge.
It was Sunday morning and the streets were thick with Jews, just like Borough Park but with the smell of drying dung.
Which is not as bad as some Hasids, he remarked as he headed toward the center of Omain Street.
The marshal stopped in front of the storefront that said U.S. Marshal. He dismounted, threw his reins around the hitching post, and let Radish drink from the trough. He did not know this was the town mikvah until he heard the rabbi yelling at the horse. Radish immediately stopped drinking for, as an Arabian, he happened to know some Hebrew.
Dill went inside. Nu? he said to the man behind the desk.
Yeah, Im Acting Deputy Nu, the Chinese gentleman replied.
The marshal introduced himself and the deputy frowned. That vest is too big, he said.
Tell me about it.
My brother runs a cleaning serviceIll take care of it.
Do I get a discount? Dill asked.
Does the Dowager Empress eat lo mein?
Dill had no idea, but he laughed like he did whenever the rebbe said something that made absolutely no sense such as, Ale tseyn zoln bay im aroysfaln, not eyner zol im blaybn oyf tsonveytung , which meant, All his teeth should fall out except one to make him suffer. Still, Dill liked the deputy and was sorry to be losing him. But someone had to keep the peace ... and someone had to deliver takeout for his wifes booming restaurant business.
After showing Marshal Dill around, Nu took the vest and stopped, silhouetted in the doorway.
This place is lousy, he said over his shoulder.
Im here to make it better, Dill replied.
No, Nu said. I mean there are lice. Dont go in the prison cell.
The deputy left and the lawman picked up the six-pointed tin star Nu had left on the desk. He pinned it to the lapel of his dark gray bekeshe . The traditional garment was cut off just above the hip so he could reach his gun in a flash. The firearm was a Shalom-maker with a four-inch barrel. It used to be five inches, but he had the tip shortened, so it would weigh less and be easier to draw.
Striding into the brilliant sunlight, the marshal was nearly knocked over as the flame-haired Miss Kitsel, the saloon keeper, rushed past.
Veres de fire? the marshal asked.
At my saloon, the Dungbranch! she shouted as she hurried ahead, trailed by the fire brigade.
Dill followed the steam-powered fire engine to an alley where twin plumes of black smoke were churning upward. They looked like the payees of Satan.
This is the work of Tuck Fryer, grumbled an elderly gentleman who fell in beside the marshal.
Vat makes you so smart? Dill asked.
The man pointed to the caduceus design on his keepah . Ive got an education. Plus, I saw the Sabbath goy running away. He is one of them.
This man had to be the renowned Doc Challahday. His cure for chronic greps was known even as far as Fort Hamilton Parkway.
Vy vould dey set fire to the saloon? Dill asked.
Thats where the ox apples are processed, Challahday replied. We make Sabbath wine in one vat, fertilizer in the other.
Manureoschewitz, Dill commented.
Doc and Dill watched as the firefighters extinguished the blaze.
I was coming to welcome you to town, Doc said, and to tell you that something has to be done about these shtark-ers .
You know de way to dis chicken ranch?
Tahkeh , its right behind the saloon Doc began, then stopped. Oh, you mean the ranch of the bad guysthe Fryers Club. Thats a half-days ride due south. He chuckled. I thought you wanted a shtup before heading out.
When the fire was under control, Dill went to where Radish was hitched. Es tut mir bang. Youll have to wait until Shabbas to rest.
The horse also understood a little Yiddish and whinneyed that there was no need to apologize.
Marshal Dill! Miss Kitsel cried, hurrying over.
Dill hadnt seen a Jewish woman move so fast since his mother chased him around the apartment with an enema bag when he was three.
Its a long ride, she said breathlessly. Youll need this.
Miss Kitsel handed him a picnic basket. He looked inside. There was a wineskin filled with grape juice shed taken from the childrens table, and a checkered red and white napkin, which he opened gingerly. Three triangular pastries were crushed inside. Traces of prune filling stained the cloth.
Hamantaschen , he said. Vell, at least I vont be blocked like de oxen.
Be careful out there, the young woman said, kissing his forehead. He hadnt been kissed there since he was three either.
Placing the nosh in his saddlebag and slinging the wineskin over the pommel, he handed the basket to Miss Kitsel just as Nu came running over. The former deputy was carrying the vest. Dill thanked him and slipped it on.
Your brother does good vork, Dill remarked.
Thanks. He said if youre shot, hell fix the holes for free.
At that price, Ill make sure I get ventilated! the marshal winked as he climbed into the saddle.
Dill loped to the tax office where all the local records were kept. After finding what he wanted, the marshal made for the Santa Fe Trail. He could see the distant dust clouds of wagon trains as they headed west. He saw buzzards circling. He wondered if pioneers were considered traif .
Stopping several times to water the horse, it was sunset before Dill reached the gates of the Fryers Club. The sky was bright red, and the spread below looked impressive. In fact, it looked like vermilion.
