J. Allen Wolfrum's Blog

1886 – 1890

The narrative surrounding the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and Wyatt Earp’s subsequent Vendetta Ride has been debated, researched, and written about for 139 years and counting. We will never know who fired the first shot, and that’s okay. Some things are better left for speculation. The remaining 47 years of Wyatt Earp’s life were filled with just as much adventure, yet much lesser-known.

In this series of articles, the goal is to dig beneath the legend and understand more about Wyatt Earp, the man. Wyatt was relatively well known in social circles at the time, but how did he earn a living? Who were his friends? Where did he travel? Depending on your perspective, Wyatt Earp either had hustle or was a hustler. Today, notoriety is associated with wealth; this was not the case for Wyatt. Always an opportunist, and like many men of the boomtown era, Wyatt earned a living in a variety of ways: running saloons and gambling operations — some illegal, real estate, mining, oil, and racehorses, and he even refereed boxing matches. More on the Fitzsimmons vs. Sharkey fight in a later post.

After Tombstone and his Vendetta Ride, a formal law enforcement job was not an option. Wyatt was a wanted man in Arizona for the murder of Frank Stillwell.

Wyatt Arrives in San Diego

On November 3, 1886, a mere five years after the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, Wyatt Earp and his wife Josephine arrived in San Diego. They checked into room number 57 at the St. James Hotel. Wyatt’s older brother Virgil had visited San Diego in June and September of 1885 and described it to Wyatt as a wide-open town with plenty of opportunities. Inevitably, a portion of the opportunity Virgil described came from running an illegal faro game, an occupation familiar to both men. Wyatt operated faro tables in many boomtowns, including Tombstone, and three years prior, in 1883, Virgil was arrested for operating a faro game in San Francisco.

The speculative growth in San Diego was not from gold or silver. Real estate was the source of the boom. And Wyatt arrived just in time for the much advertised Coronado Island land auction. He and his wife attended the much-advertised event on November 13, 1886, where the future site of the Hotel Del Coronado sold for $1,600. The other lots auctioned also sold at a substantial premium, a trend which has continued ever since. The high prices of property on Coronado Island spurred the already booming real estate market in San Diego. Having been in town for less than two weeks, Wyatt was still getting the lay of the land and remained a spectator at the auction. He went to work dealing faro instead.

A Note on the Legitimacy of Faro

The fast action game of faro originated in 17th-century France. The dealer simultaneously handles bets from multiple players, creating a buzz of activity similar to modern crap or roulette table. In the West, it was common for faro dealers to operate independently in a saloon and split a percentage of the profits with the saloon owner.

Casinos in Las Vegas offered faro until the 1970s, but the house’s odds are so thin that no casino currently offers the game. Displayed inside the Las Vegas Historic museum is a faro table nicknamed the “suicide table” because three of the table’s former owners committed suicide after incurring large gambling debts.

It [faro] vanished for a simple reason. It had the most favorable odds for players of any game of chance in a casino.

Joe Briggs (The Vegas Guy)

Faro quickly earned a reputation in the West as being a rigged game, which was likely justified. Given the house’s small advantage, why was it that Wyatt Earp and many other gamblers turned to running faro games as a steady source of income? We will never know whether Wyatt continually had lady luck on his side or ran a crooked faro game — the latter is certainly possible.

Wyatt Earp’s Faro Games in San Diego

When Wyatt arrived in San Diego the town was indeed wide-open, just as Virgil described it. But the respectable citizens would soon insist on eliminating the illegal gambling operations that were taking place in many saloons. Laws against gambling were already in place, enforcement was the problem. The battle between concerned citizens, the mayor, city council, and police played out in the San Diego newspapers. As one of the men running an illegal gambling operation, Wyatt was caught in the mix.

Wyatt’s political connections kept law enforcement away from his faro games. The president of the city council was personal friends with Wyatt from his days in Tombstone and Wyatt attended horse races with the chief of police. In addition to those powerful connections, the building Wyatt used for one of his faro games was owned by a city councilman and another other of Wyatt’s faro games operated within eyesight of the police chief’s office.

Map of Wyatt Earp’s Faro Games in San Diego

*Note that the buildings on this map have been demolished and rebuilt since the late 1880s when Wyatt Earp was in San Diego.

Wyatt operated at least three faro games in what was then known as the “Stingaree” district of downtown San Diego. His illegal game at the corner of 4th and Broadway (then known as D street) was within eyesight of the Police Chief’s office.

Although the name Wyatt Earp is synonymous with law and order, he undoubtedly operated in a morally grey area for periods of time in his life. Does that make Wyatt Earp a bad person? Certainly not, it makes him a human being.

More to come on Wyatt’s years in San Diego and beyond.

Recommended Reading

Wyatt Earp in San Diego: Life After Tombstone by Garner A. Palenske

A Wyatt Earp Anthology: Long May His Story Be Told by Roy B Young, Gary L Roberts , Casey Tefertiller

Who Was Wyatt Earp?

Let’s start with the basics.

It has been a long journey but my latest novel, Durango Sky, is in the final stages of production. I’m excited to get it out into the world. It will probably be two or three more weeks until it’s available. I wanted to share the cover as soon as possible. I hope you’re as excited as I am. Stay tuned. More to come! – Jerad

Lane Shepherd was a salty cowboy born to ride the trail. It was the only way he knew. After unexpectedly losing his best friend, he began to question the purpose of it all. The thought of settling down and starting a family took hold when an old friend offered him a job as county sheriff in Durango. Lane viewed it as an opportunity to put down roots and earn a respectable living. It turned out to be much more than that. By pinning on a badge, he brought danger not only to himself but to those he cared for the most.

Caught between the letter of the law and frontier justice, Lane finds love, lead, and longing in Durango.

First thing’s first, Rich and Pam are doing just fine. Pam loves laying on the cow skin rug and playing with her string. In the evenings, Rich and Pam both watch for bunnies out the back door.

There’s been a lot going on and writing the weekly short story fell off the priority list. The main reason...time. There just isn’t enough of it. And really it’s not just about time, it’s about mental cycles. There’s only so much thinking I can do in a day and between trying to write my second book, my day job, and life in general, I got burned out trying to come up with a short story every week. It started to feel more like something “I had to do” instead of something “I wanted to do.”

Don’t get it twisted, I’m not giving up on writing. The short stories were an experiment and I enjoyed the process but I can’t write a short story every week. Overall, I’m happy with the way the short stories turned out, especially the last one, The Farmer, which will likely end up being the premise for a future book.

Speaking of which, books...uggh. That’s an excited “uggh”.  I deliberately stopped writing about the progression of the prequel/sequel to Selected because I ran into a brick wall on both ventures.

I wrote half of the sequel before I realized that I don’t know anything about being an FBI Agent or a police officer.  And if you’re going to write what is sort of a police procedural about catching a bad guy, you need to know at least a little bit about being a police officer or FBI Agent. It just fell flat. In retrospect, it fell flat because I started without a full plan for how the book would end. In my head I had the first twenty-five percent sorted out. I got stuck on middle and end.

I stopped writing the sequel and started on the prequel. Same thing happened, I didn’t have a good plan. Got through the first 35%’ish and it didn’t feel right. So I stopped. Full disclosure, for the prequel, I might pick this one back up again because discovering how a country goes from our current political system to selecting a president at random is super interesting. But I’m not ready for it yet.

Essentially what it comes down to is that my brain doesn’t function in a manner that allows me to create the dark twists and turns that come along with a good thriller. I just don’t have it in me at this point in life. Or rather, it's there but I don't want to go down that path.

So what next? Louis L’Amour Westerns have always been my favorite books and I really enjoyed writing the two Western short stories.

The book I’m currently working on is a straight up classic Western. And it’s going to be awesome. Who doesn’t love a mule named Georgina and a donkey named Little Joe? I’m enjoying the process and more importantly it feels right. So stayed tuned, I’ll periodically send out updates on progress. My best guess on timing is probably January/February 2019 for completion. But who knows, could be sooner.

There are two other things that I want to do as a companion to the book. The first is an interactive fiction game in the form of a phone app. You’re probably familiar with text based games like Oregon Trail and Choose Your Own Adventure Style books. What I want to do is a blend between those two and it falls into the “interactive fiction” category. The idea is that the player will choose the main character’s actions at the crisis of every scene. As background, in every “scene” there are 5 elements; an inciting incident, a series of progressive complications that lead to a crisis, the crisis is a choice. The choice the main character makes is the climax, which leads to the resolution. The idea behind an interactive fiction app is to have the user make the crisis choice of every scene and follow that series of choices through an entire plotline. Should be an interesting experiment at the very least.

The other idea is to have an audio version of the next book. Whether it will be on Audible.com or in the form of a podcast, I’m not sure. Depending on how the writing of the book goes, I might put out segments of the book in the form of a podcast while I’m writing. We’ll see how it goes, whatever happens, I’ll keep you up to date.

The goal is to find a way to make enough money writing so that I can do it full time. I have to find the right medium, all I can do is keep going and try every possible avenue available. The next step is another novel, use that novel to create an interactive fiction game, a podcast, and maybe a screenplay. All I can do is keep trying, in the process I'll become a better writer and eventually something will work out.

So that’s what has been going on in my head over the past month or so. All good things, not necessarily great in terms of book writing productivity, but such is life. Forward progress will continue and eventually something will land so that I can spend more time writing.

Thanks for hanging in there and making it through my rambling update. More to come later.

Best,

Jerad

There wasn’t much I could do about Frank Rogers, there was no official warrant for his arrest, in the eyes of the law he was just another passenger on the train to Denver. Mayhap he was just minding his own business, but I knew better, Frank Rogers showing up on a train carrying cargo worth enough to pay me and Tuck three hundred dollars each to guard was no coincidence.

The brakeman was green, he pulled the brake hard enough to throw everyone in the car forward in their seats as the train slowed down on the approach to the Denver station. Frank Rogers used the distraction to slip into the next passenger car. There was no doubt in my mind that Frank and his gang were going to make a play for the contents of the safe and I sure wasn’t going to sit back and wait for them to make a move on me and Tuck.

“Tuck … did you see that?”

Tuck turned to me with a concerned look in his eyes. “Where’d Frank Rogers go?”

“Slipped into the next passenger car in the commotion. I’m going after him. No sense in letting him and his gang get organized before they come after the safe. I’ll see if I can break up their plan before it starts. Maybe they’ll give it up if they know we’re expectin’ their play on the safe.”

Tuck raised a half approving eyebrow. “If you think it’ll work, go ahead. I can hold things down here.”

I nodded. “Just remember the Wells Fargo man, short chubby man with spectacles …”

“And missing his right leg,” Tuck finished the description.

“Don’t leave the safe … no matter what happens,” I replied.

“I got it. Take care of Frank Rogers.”

Leaving Tuck alone to guard the safe didn’t sit well with me but leaving Frank Rogers and his gang alone to plan an attack on us was no better. If Frank knew that Tuck and I were guarding the safe and expecting trouble, it might be enough for them to hold off their plans. My concern for the contents of that safe ended when we arrived in Durango, what happened after I got my money for the job was someone else’s problem.

The train slowed to a stop at the Denver station. I moved through the passenger cars, no sign of Frank Rogers or his gang. Standing in the first passenger car at the front of the train, the farthest possible location from the express car and the safe, a jolt of panic shot through my body. What if Frank lured me away from Tuck and the safe on purpose? A river of sweat poured down the back of my neck.

I quickly moved back through the passenger cars, scanning the faces of passengers for Frank Rogers. The conductors began the last boarding calls. My pace quickened and my eyes darted from side to side.

The sight of Frank Rogers holding a baby stopped me cold. He stood not more than four feet in front of me, cradling a baby in his left arm and smiling. There was a younger woman with dark brown hair leaning over his shoulder and smiling at the baby in Frank’s arm.

“Frank?” The word involuntarily came out of my mouth as half question and the other half an abrupt statement.

He looked up at me. “Dave Woodward, how you doing old friend?”

I tipped my hat toward the woman with the dark brown hair standing next to Frank, “ma’am.”

The woman made a move toward me and I casually rested the palm of my left hand on the butt of my pistol.

She extended her hand toward me. “Alaina … Frank’s daughter. Nice to meet you Mr. Woodward.”

I shook her hand in a state of shock. The thought of Frank Rogers being a family man, or even having family had never occurred to me. “Nice to meet you ma’am. I’ve got two boys of my own. Been a while since they were that age. Almost wish I could go back to those days.”

Frank smiled at this daughter. “Sure do grow up fast.”

“Sure do … where are you headed?” I asked.

“We’re meeting my husband in Durango. Daddy was nice enough to ride up from Colorado Springs to make the whole trip with me and the little one,” replied Alaina.

“What brings you to the train, Dave? I saw you when I got on back in Colorado Springs but it was late at night, didn’t want to disturb you.” said Frank.

“Me and a friend are riding back in the express car. You two may have crossed paths, Tuck Parsons.” I didn’t have a fix on the situation and wasn’t sure how much Frank’s daughter knew about his past or current activities. Mentioning that we were riding in the express car was enough for Frank to know that we were riding security and guarding the safe.

Frank nodded. “Tuck and I have met before, good man …”

The baby began to fuss and Alaina took him from Frank’s arm. “I think he’s hungry,” said Alaina.

“I’d best be getting back to work. It was nice meeting you ma’am,” I locked eyes with Frank as I walked past, “Frank … good to see you as well.”

“We should bend an elbow in Durango, catch up on old times,” said Frank.

“No doubt I’ll need a shot of whiskey after this ride.” I continued toward the express car and the safe.

Tuck stood at the entrance to the express car talking to a short woman wearing a fancy blue dress with a white ribbon tied in her blond hair.

Tuck saw me walking toward him, “Thought I was going to have to come after ya.”

The blond woman took a quick look at me and turned back toward Tuck. “Thank you Mr. Parsons, I’ll collect my bag in Durango.” She flashed me a smile and walked back to her seat in the passenger car.

“Making some new friends?” I asked.

Tuck laughed. “Just being a gentleman. The lady was having trouble finding a place for her luggage. I put it in the room next to the safe. What happened with Frank Rogers?”

“You aren’t gonna believe me,” I replied.

“Give me a try.”

“I saw Frank Rogers. He was holding a baby, said it was his grandchild.”

“We’re talking about the same Frank Rogers?”

“Darndest thing I ever saw. According to him, he rode up from Colorado Springs to meet his daughter and grandchild in Denver. He’s escorting them back to Durango.”

“You don’t say … think he’s telling the truth?”

“If I didn’t know Frank, I’d say yes.” The train left the station headed back toward Durango. “Either way, we’ll find out soon enough.”

 

 

Tuck and I went back to our seats and stood watch for the rest of the ride back to Durango. After all the passengers exited at the Durango station, Marshall Riley boarded the train with a railroad representative in a suit.

“Any problems on the ride?” Marshall Riley asked.

“Brakeman could learn to be easier on the lever but other than that it was a smooth ride,” said Tuck.

I nodded in agreement. On the train station boardwalk, Frank Rogers and two tough men followed the blond woman who stored her luggage in the express car with Tuck’s help.

“Marshall Riley, have that man open up the safe, I think we have a problem,” I said.

 

After morning chores, I sent the boys out to mend a broken fencepost. There was no need for them to witness their parents arguing. Mary still refused to speak to me since I told her about the job riding security on the train to Denver.

In our dresser drawer was a cigar box that held my personal effects. The key to my trunk was at the bottom of the box, underneath a Remington Derringer and my sergeant’s chevron from the war. The pistol went in my back pocket and the trunk key in the palm of my hand.

Mary stood in the doorway of our bedroom with her arms crossed and a concerned look on her face. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled up in a bun and her warm blue eyes stared me down. “What am I supposed to do when you don’t come back? What about the boys? Did you think about that?”

I took a deep breath. The look of disappointment on her face hit me like a .44 slug. “I’m coming home. I’ll ride the train to Denver and come back. Nothing is going to happen.”

Mary nodded at me. “Is that why you put that pistol in your back pocket?”

She didn’t wait for a response before walking away. There was no other choice, we needed the money. If everything worked out we would have enough to clear our debt at the general store and plenty left over to repair the worn out farm equipment. The boys might even be able to get some shoes that fit properly.

The trunk was small but deep, it measured three feet wide and two feet long. For years Mary nagged me to get rid of it. She was right to ask me to move on but I wasn’t ready. The trunk contained a full outfit of clothes and gear from my days as a law man; charcoal gray cotton pants and matching jacket, white bib shirt, black boots, and black wide brimmed hat. Underneath the clothes was my holster rig, ammunition, and Colt revolvers. Both pistols still had the light coat of oil I put on them ten years ago.

Wearing a respectable suit of clothes with a fresh shave and trimmed mustache, the man looking back at me in the mirror was one that I hadn’t seen in years. The trousers fit fine, but the top button on my collar wouldn’t button and the chest was tight, the farm must have broadened my shoulders over the years. A Colt revolver was tied down to each thigh and he Remington Derringer was tucked neatly into my left breast pocket. Even though you could almost see the round come out of the barrel, as a last chance weapon, a derringer was as good as it gets.

Tyler and Jake burst through the front door, no doubt looking for lunch.

“Papa, those are nicer than your Sunday church clothes,” said Jake.

“What happened to the hair on your face?” Tyler asked.

“Boys, I have to go to Denver. I’ll be gone for two days.” Mary stepped into the room, I nodded toward her, “nothing changes while I’m gone, you two listen to your mother.”

“But papa, why can’t I go with you?” Tyler asked.

“I’m going on business. And someone needs to feed the hogs. That’s a man’s job, are you and Jake up to it?”

Tyler and Jake both stood up straight and replied together. “Yes sir.”

I smiled and gave them a hug. “Good. I knew I could count on you.”

The expression on Mary’s face hid her emotions. She hugged me but her heart wasn’t in it. I kissed her on the lips, “I’ll be home in two days.” Her eyes told me that even if I was back in two days, we wouldn’t be sharing a bed for some time.

There wasn’t much else to say, the boys helped me get the horse tacked up and I rode off into town. At the crest of the hill I looked back down at the farm and promised to whoever was listening that this would not be the last time I looked over the valley.

My first stop in town was the livery, I paid for four days in advance and left instructions to return the horse to the farm if I did not return.

The Marshal’s office was full of commotion, I stood quietly in the corner waiting for things to settle down. From what I could gather there was a dispute about who would pay damages from a fist fight in the Red Dawn saloon.

“Never thought I’d see you again,” boomed a voice from the other side of the room.

Tuck Parsons stood up from a chair and walked toward me. A smile formed on my face and a hollow pit of concern grew in my belly.

“I’d say the same. Darn good to see you.”

“Still workin’ as a law man?” Tuck asked.

“Don’t mind the fancy clothes. I’m a farmer now, been so for the last few years. You still robbing drunk prospectors at the card table?”

Tuck straightened his back and tugged on his vest. “Poker is an honest trade.”

I nodded. “You’re right, my apologies. I’m not lookin’ to start any trouble. Nice to see a familiar face. What brings you to the Marshal's office?”

Tuck tipped his hat toward me. “A job … You and I will be riding security together on the train to Denver.”

I patted Tuck on the shoulder. “Didn’t know I was going to have a partner on this trip. But I’m glad we’re on the same side.”

“Dave, we’ve always been on the same side, you just didn’t see it that way. All I ever wanted was a chance to play cards without getting shot in the back. And maybe a woman to spend the night with. If that ain’t law and order, I don’t know what is,” replied Tuck.

“If that’s all you wanted, you sure had a strange way of saying it.”

Tuck laughed. “Might not have known it at the time but that’s all I really wanted. With age comes wisdom.”

Marshall Riley stepped up next to us, “You two ready to get hitched and ride off into the sunset?”

“Just reminiscing about our younger years,” replied Tuck.

“Good … Then let’s get right to it. There ain’t much to tell you about the job. All you have to do is make sure nobody opens that safe except the Wells Fargo officer in Denver. The man in Denver will be Robert Harris, short chubby man with spectacles and missing his right leg,” Marshall Riley looked at Tuck and I before continuing, “follow me and I’ll …”

“Tuck is a good hand with a gun and sharp as a whip but I wasn’t expecting to have a partner for this job ...  pay still the same?”

Marshall Riley continued walking toward the train, “pay’s the same, three hundred each. Follow me and I’ll give you a tour of the train and show you the safe.”

Marshall Riley walked with us through the train cars and stopped at the safe which was in the express car at the back of the train. It was an impressive slab of steel, four foot square and three feet deep with a large combination lock on the front. Without knowing the combination, dynamite was the only way into the safe.

Tuck and I were instructed to ride in the passenger car directly in front of the safe. At each stop we were to wait in the express car until all passengers exited and boarded. Upon arrival in Denver we were to let only the Wells Fargo officer into the express car. The instructions were brief and simple, no details were given regarding the contents of the safe.

The Marshal left and before long we were on the riding the rails to Denver. Tuck and I traded security watch in two hour intervals, allowing us to get some decent shut eye on the ride to Denver.

Just outside of Colorado Springs, my eyes were heavy and I stood up to walk around the car. The train stopped at Colorado Springs, Tuck and I made our way toward the express car. We both turned toward the passenger car to take one more look before going back to the safe. My eyes locked onto Frank Rogers as he stepped onto the train. Frank was the leader of the Rogers gang, they were responsible for at least twenty train robberies. We stared at each other for a moment, a cold sweat rolled down my nose. Frank smiled, tipped his hat to me, and sat down in the passenger car.

Tuck and I exchanged a nervous glance and headed back to the express car.

“Dave … when you get done loading up those supplies, I could use your help in the stock room,” said Mr. Nelson.

“Yup. Be right there,” I replied. My chest tightened, I knew what was coming next.

Jake and Tyler loaded the flour, grain, and sugar onto the wagon. There was no need for them to witness the harsh reality of being a grown man. “Boys ... when you get the wagon loaded up, see if you can find your mother. She oughta be down at the church.”

“Okay dad,” replied Tyler.

There was no sense in delaying the conversation, might as well face it head on. At least that’s what I said to myself. Truth be told, I wanted to run, but leaving Mary and the boys behind wasn’t an option. That decision was made ten years ago when Mary and I settled down on the farm. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do. One decision can dictate the rest of your days on earth, life is strange that way.

The boys had the wagon almost loaded, I walked back in the general store, Mr. Nelson motioned for me to follow him into the stock room. I took my hat off and followed.

Mr. Nelson grabbed a sack of cornmeal off the shelf and handed it to me. “Help me carry this to the front.”

I threw the forty pound sack over my shoulder, Mr. Nelson grabbed another sack from the shelf and did the same.

“Dave. I didn’t want to bring it up in front of your boys, but after today I have to stop your line of credit …”

“Two of our best hogs got sick and …”

Mr. Nelson nodded and saved me the embarrassment. “I know Dave. And as soon as your spring crops come in, I’ll be happy to buy all the squash, peppers, and tomatoes you can bring in. Everyone goes through tough times, I know it’ll turn around.”

I sighed. “Thanks ... it’ll turn around when we get a few of the hogs fattened up for auction.”

Mr. Nelson rested an understanding hand on my shoulder. “Sure will, better days are coming ... let’s get these sacks of cornmeal up to the counter.”

Jake and Tyler ran up toward me shouting, “dad, can we get hard candy for the ride back?”

“Keep your voices down we aren’t out in the field. Put that candy back we can’t …”

“It’s on the house boys. Go ahead and pick out two pieces each. And don’t forget to get one for your mother, she likes the peach flavor,” said Mr. Nelson.

Mr. Nelson and I locked eyes and I nodded, “much obliged,” I put both hands in the pockets of my coat. The floor was all I could stand to look at on my way out of the store.

The boys ran down the street toward the church. I checked their knots on the tie-down ropes and bit off a plug of tobacco to pass the time. Mary loved singing hymnals with the church choir, there was no telling when she’d be done practicing.

“That can’t be Dave Woodward,” boomed a voice behind me.

The voice startled me but sounded familiar, I turned to see a barrel chested man with a long mustache walking toward me. “Marshall Riley, good to see ya.”

He smiled, “Likewise. How are Mary and the boys?”

We shook hands. “They’re good. Mary’s down at the church singing with the choir. The boys … well … I think they’ll turn out alright.”

Marshall Riley chuckled, “give’em time. I’m sure they’ll come around. They couldn’t have a better man to look up to.” He paused, “you know the offer still stands, you can come back anytime, got a Deputy badge in my desk drawer just for you.”

I spit a mouthful of tobacco juice on the ground. “Mary wouldn’t have it. It was my promise to her when we got married. I wouldn’t earn my living with a gun, right side of the law or not.”

Marshall Riley nodded and his eyes looked past me toward the wagon and horses. There was no doubt that he picked up the worn out condition of my clothes and wagon. Not to mention the horses.

He raised an eyebrow and nodded toward the wagon, “how’s the farm life treatin’ ya?”

The question hit me hard and I couldn’t hide it. “Could be better but we'll be alright.”

Marshall Riley ground his foot into the dirt. “No doubt you’ve heard that there were two train robberies last month. The railroad is looking for a man to ride security on the train to Denver tomorrow evening. If you’re interested, the job is yours.”

“I don’t think Mary would approve,” I replied.

“Job pays three hundred dollars. Two days of work. All you have to do is ride the train.”

“What’s on the train? And who are they expecting to rob it?”

Marshall Riley shifted his feet in the dirt and rested his right hand on the butt of his revolver. “I don’t know what’s going to be on that train, railroad keeps it secret. Whatever it is, you don’t need me to tell you that the Rogers Gang will be looking to steal it.”

“That’s what I figured,” I replied. There was no need to ponder the decision any longer. “I’ll take the job.”

Marshall Riley looked me in the eye. “Sure you’re up to it?”

I nodded. “I’m not worried about the job. My concern is how to tell Mary.”

“Fair enough. Train leaves tomorrow at 4 P.M. be here an hour early.”

“Thanks Marshall,” I replied.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Marshall Riley turned and walked away, leaving me to my thoughts. Before I had a chance to come up with a plan for explaining the situation to Mary, I heard the boys yelling. They chased each other down the street with Mary following. She had a smile on her face and was in a joyous mood after singing with the choir. I figured this was the best time to tell her about the job. She was going to be upset, best to tell her while she was in a pleasant mood. We loaded into the wagon and Mary put her arm around my shoulder as the horses moved out.

On the outskirts of town I broke the news to her. “Marshall Riley offered me a job, riding the train to Denver and back. I leave out tomorrow evening. I’ll be back the next day.”

Mary sat up straight and removed her arm from my shoulder. “Riding the train? For what purpose?”

“Well ... I’d be riding as security,” I replied.

Mary crossed her arms and stared straight ahead.

“Mr. Nelson ended our credit at the general store until we catch up on payment. We need the money,” I explained.

My words did no good. Mary remained silent for the rest of the ride back to the farm.

Sam set a plate of bear sign and fresh pot of coffee on the table. A trail cook that could make bear sign was a rare thing in the West, those fluffy sugar filled biscuits could put a smile on the roughest cowboy’s face. I waited until we ate the tray clean before asking the question that had been rolling around like a boulder in my head.

I figured the answer would come from the boss, Mr. Jacobs, but I knew better than to break my chain of command. I asked the question to my foreman, Bill Nelson. “Bill, what is it that started this feud with the Four-Sixes?”

Bill took a sip of coffee and stroked his mustache before looking over at Mr. Jacobs. “Probably better if it came straight from you.”

Mr. Jacobs wiped his mouth and put the tablecloth on his lap. “Ain’t really that much to it. Root of the issue comes down to water rights. In order to expand their operation, the Four-Sixes needs water from the spring on the west side of my ranch. When they found out that I properly surveyed and deeded this ranch, including that spring, they decided to frame me as a cattle thief. I guess they figured with me out of the picture they could just take over the Bar-T.”

Mr. Jacobs paused to take a sip of coffee and look out the window across the tall green grass swaying in the breeze. The beauty of the snow capped mountains in the background over the valley could make a man want to give up the life of a drifting cow puncher and settle down.

He continued, “I staked my claim to this property back when it was nothing but a valley of tall grass filled with Indians looking for scalps. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna lay down and let a crooked Sheriff and an easterner with hired guns take it from me.”

I nodded in agreement with the boss. “I don’t understand how they could ever convince someone that you were stealing cattle. The Bar-T and Four-Sixes brands aren’t even close. I saw the cows they said you stole. Any cowhand can plainly tell that the Bar-T brand was the original and had been altered. And they done a mighty poor job on the alteration.”

Bill Nelson, the foreman nodded. “Well … they didn’t need to convince anyone other than the Sheriff. And they did that with money, not evidence.”

“With the Sheriff in their pocket, what chance do we have?” I asked.

“While you were breakin’ us out of jail and settin’ Missy free, Sam sent a message on the mail wagon for Marshall Wickert, he’s the county law. He’ll be able to settle the issue. Mail carrier told Sam that Marshall Wickert’s less than a day ride away up in Poguna Springs. He should be here before noon,” replied Bill Nelson.

Mr. Jacobs nodded. “Marshall Wickert and I go back a long ways. He’ll be ridin’ in with a cloud of dust behind him. We just need to sit tight until he gets here.”

 

Marshall Wickert rode into the Bar-T ranch just before lunch, just as Mr. Nelson figured. Mr. Jacobs and Marshall Wickert greeted each other like they were brothers. They went inside to discuss the situation, Bill Nelson and I stayed on lookout. Not ten minutes after Marshall Wickert arrived, five riders came through the main gate.

Tom Burnett the owner of the Four-Sixes ranch was in the lead, flanked by John Wesley and two other hired guns, crooked Sheriff Anderson trailed by three horse lengths. Georgina sensed my nerves on edge and stamped her foot, I patted her on the neck and whispered in her ear. She calmed down at the sound of my voice, it sounds foolish, but she just wanted to be reassured that I could handle the situation.

Bill Nelson rode up and stopped fifteen feet to my left. Bill was a savvy rider, if the two of us were going to face five men, staying apart from each other would at least force them to take an extra second to move between targets. It wasn’t much of an advantage but it was better than nothing.

Bill looked at me and nodded, we both took our rifles from their scabbards and laid them across our saddles. There’s no such thing as a fair fight when it’s two against five.

The riders came closer, while they were still out of earshot I told Bill my plan. “The one with the black hat, leather vest and pearl handled six shooters, that’s John Wesley. He’s the most dangerous man in the group. If this turns into a shooting affair, I’ll take him first. You take Tom Burnett, no sense letting him ride out of here.”  I looked over at Bill to make sure he understood.

Bill shifted in his saddle and spit a stream of tobacco juice on the ground. “Sounds good to me.”

Bill’s choice of weapon caught my attention. It wasn’t a rifle as I assumed, he had a double barrelled scattergun across his lap. I smiled and nodded toward the shotgun.

“Just a safety precaution. They’ll be less likely to get itchy trigger fingers once they see that I’ve got a scattergun. They won’t be expecting it and even a blind man can’t miss at close range with this cannon. Heck, if they aren’t spread out, I might get two with one barrel.” Bill smiled.

I chuckled. “Darn good idea Bill.”

The group of riders led by Tom Burnett stopped in front of us, they stayed in a fairly tight group. My shoulder was stiff from the ax handle beating I took the day before. Chances of me beating John Wesley to the draw were slim, even with a rifle already across my saddle. I slowly cocked the hammer on my Winchester before they got close enough to see me do it. John Wesley was directly in front of me, he had a mean look on his face and didn’t try to hide it. I thought to myself, I should have never let him live. I hope I live to learn the lesson.

“Bill Nelson, you’re under arrest. Get down from your horse. Where’s Mr. Jacobs? We’re taking the both of you back to jail. The hangman’s waiting,” said the crooked Sheriff Anderson.

The door to the ranch house opened and slammed shut. Marshall Wickert stepped out on the front porch with Mr. Jacobs at his side. Marhsall Wickert shouted, “Rest easy in your saddles gentlemen. I’ve got these two men in my custody. This here is a county matter.” He unhitched his horse from the front of the house galloped toward the group.

Tom Burnett snapped back, “This ain’t no county matter Marshall. Cattle rustlin’ is a town matter. And Sheriff Anderson already settled the matter.”

Marhsall Wickert stopped to my right. “I don’t see no badge on your chest. You must be Tom Burnett of the Four-Sixes.”

“That’s right Marhsall. And I’ve been a victim of cattle thievery.”

Marshall Wickert grabbed the horn of his saddle. “That so? I took a look at some of the cattle that you accused Mr. Jacobs of stealing. Any man that’s been around cattle a day in his life can see that they're Bar-T. The Four-Sixes was put on after, it’s clear as day. Your claim of thievery has no merit and I won’t let you hang two innocent men. We’ll take it up in front of the county Judge on his next visit. Understood?”

Tom Burnett looked at Sheriff Anderson. “Well Sheriff what are you gonna do?”

“Nothing I can do, Marshall’s authority supersedes mine,” replied Sheriff Anderson.

Tom Burnett yanked on the reigns and turned his horse around, the rest followed. John Wesley stayed in place, he stared at me the cold eyes of a killer. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

I smiled and tipped my hat to him. “Looking forward to it.”

John Wesley turned his horse and followed the rest of the group. I turned toward Marshall Wickert, “thank you. That was shaping up to be an awfully tight situation for me and Bill.”

“Least I could do. Your boss is a mighty fine man, I couldn’t stand to see him hung for something he didn't do. I wish I had heard about this feud earlier,” said Marshall Wickert.

“Much obliged Marshall. We’ll stay on alert, I don’t think we’ve heard the last from the Four-Sixes,” said Bill Nelson.

 

That evening at sunset Sam and I rode the western perimeter of the ranch, Georgina slowed down to a walk, she took a big snort of fresh mountain air and shook her mane. The sun crept down over the top of the mesa with an orange glow.

“Sure is pretty,” said Sam.

“Sure is,” I replied and took a drink my canteen before biting off a plug of chewing tobacco. The days on the range were too hot for chewing tobacco, it dried me out like a piece of jerky and gave me headaches, but in the evening at sunset, gnawing on a plug gave me a sense of peace.

The crack of a bullet moving past my ear ended my hopes for a quiet evening on the ranch. I grabbed my rifle as I slid out of the saddle. With me hidden in the grass, I knew the next bullet would be for Georgina. Her and I spent many days together on the range and we had two whistle signals, one was for her to come to me, and the other was for her to light a shuck out of the area. I slapped her hindquarters, put two fingers in my mouth and let out a whistle. Sam took my lead and left his mount who followed Georgina toward the ranch stables.

“How many you reckon there are?” Sam whispered.

We were both flat on our bellies in grass that was about eight inches high. Two more shots cracked over our heads, they likely came from a clump of pine trees and shrubs about a hundred and fifty yard to our north. The wind picked up and swayed the grass above our heads.

“Hard to tell, but we’d better spread out,” I replied.

“I’m gonna try to draw’em out,” said Sam.

“We’ll have a better chance if we wait till dark. We can get up and move without them seeing us.”

Sam shook his head. “I know but I’m afraid that if we try to wait’em out they’ll go around us and right on through to the ranch house. They’ll lynch Mr. Jacobs and Bill without hesitation, not to mention what they’ll do to Missy.”

I put my head down. “You’re right. What’s your plan?”

“I’m headin’ off toward that rock pile about thirty yards to the left of us. You’ll know when I get there. Be ready with that Winchester,” said Sam.

He crawled away from me, I maneuvered in the opposite direction and found a nice shallow divot in the ground for cover. Peeking through the swaying grass I had a good view of where I thought the shooters were hiding.

The awful groans that came from Sam startled me. They sure sounded like a wounded man to me and they fooled the bushwhackers from the Four-Sixes as well. Not two minutes after Sam started groaning, four men quickly moved out of their cover in the pines. They bounded quickly, taking five or six strides before disappearing in the grass.

With each bound they got lazier in their approach and stayed standing longer before disappearing into the grass. There was no doubt that Sam also picked up on their lazy approach,I followed the man closest to me with my Winchester and aimed chest high where I thought he would pop up next. As soon as he stood up I squeezed the trigger and put a round dead center in his chest. The flame at the end of my barrel from the shot gave away my position. The dirt around me exploded, I rolled to my left to get as far away as possible.

The sound of Sam’s Sharps .50 echoed through the valley, another of the four men coming after us went down. The other two were silent for the moment. I wiped the dirt from my face and checked myself for holes, I wasn’t leaking.

The orange flash of flames drew my attention. It took me a moment to realize what was happening. They were trying to start a grass fire, I’d seen wildfires spread a hundred acres in less than five minutes. The valley we were in was the perfect fuel for a fire and In a dry windy situation like this it would burn out the pasture and be out of control within minutes.

As quick as I could get my rifle sights on them, I fired four shots then jumped to my feet and started sprinting toward the fire. As I ran, the initial flame seemed to go out, for a few seconds the two men struggled to get it going again, they succeeded. The boom of Sam’s rifle filled the valley as I ran.

The two men got the fire going and headed toward their horses that were tied up in the pines. One of the men wore a pair of pearl handled pistols, it was John Wesley. By the time I made it to the fire it had spread to two small spots. I stripped off my buckin shirt, threw it on the flames and stomped it with my feet. I frantically repeated that process until I stomped out the flames, had I been a minute later to the scene, the fire would have been out of control.

Sam walked up next to me. “You saved the ranch.”

“Maybe … but you saved me with that Sharps,” I replied.

“Those two that started the fire, I winged one of them,” Sam said.

“And the four that came after us?”

“All down. We’ll let Tom Burnett come fetch’em in the morning.”

Sam and I headed back to the ranch house and found everyone safe and sound.

 

The next morning I rode into town with one thing on my mind, killing John Wesley. He wasn’t a hard man to find. I left Georgina at the livery and walked straight toward the Bird Cage hotel. John Wesley sat on the bench outside with his feet kicked up on the rail post, puffing on a cigar. I stood in the middle of the street and stared him down.

“John Wesley. You’re a cattle thief and a no good bushwhacker,” I figured that would get his attention. I was right.

He smirked, stood up and walked toward me. “You lookin’ for a fight?”

“Sure am. You tried to kill me last night and set fire to the pasture at the Bar-T.” I pulled my hat down and focused on his hands.

“Well that ain’t true. Got any witnesses?” John asked. He moved toward me at an angle so I couldn't clearly see his right hand.

A crowd began to the gather on the street, I stayed focused on John Wesley, he was fast, it was a coin flip as to who would survive. He kept talking to try and throw me off balance. I tuned out his words and kept still.

Just as he pivoted to face me, his right hand dropped toward his pistol. It was a dirty move but I was ready for it and didn’t hesitate. John Wesley’s pistol cleared leather before mine, I felt a sting on my left ear just before I pulled the trigger on my Colt.

He was faster on the draw but his shot was off the mark, it took off the lobe of my left ear. My round landed dead center through his heart, John Wesley was dead before he hit the ground. My ear burned and stung like hell but I was alive. I put my pistol back in my holster where it belonged.

“Clayton Daniels, you’re under arrest for murder,” shouted Sheriff Anderson. He walked toward me with his hand on the butt of his pistol. He had a bandage on his left shoulder. No doubt due to a wound from Sam's rifle the night before. 

“I don’t have the money to pay you off like Tom Burnett … but I’m not going to let a crooked Sheriff arrest me.” I began walking toward him. After my first step I saw fear in his eyes and knew he wasn’t up to the task of drawing down on me. I kept walking and got within a step of him before I let loose with a straight right that landed on his cheek. I followed up with a left cross and a right hook to the ribs that knocked him to the ground. I finished with a boot heel to the ribs that knocked the wind out of him.

The badge pinned to his shirt glistened in the morning sun, I reached down and ripped it off his shirt. “That badge deserves better than you.”

I put the Sheriff's badge in my pocket and headed down the street to find Kate.

 

P.S.

This is the last story in this series. Next week I'll start another series of Western stories. I hope you enjoyed reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them. 

-jerad

Sheriff Anderson was crooked as a Virginia fence and not much of a lawman either. My  plan was to wait for him to go on his nightly rounds and take the Deputy by surprise. Then I just needed to persuade the Deputy to unlock the cell holding Mr. Jacobs, the Bar-T ranch owner and Bill Nelson, the Bar-T foreman. As far as I could figure, that was the easy part, escaping the lynch mob that would show up at the ranch in the morning … well, there wasn’t a plan for that yet.

After ten minutes of waiting, Sheriff Anderson walked out of the jail and headed down main street. There were no right minded people out on the street at this time of night, leaving very little chance of me being recognized. I paused to find the north star in the Durango sky, for a moment the smell of sage and chaparral overpowered the whiskey and beer.

My attention focused back to the task at hand. The jailhouse door wasn’t even latched shut, this was going to be even easier than I planned. Just for fun I smashed my boot into the door and walked into the jailhouse with a smile on my face. The Deputy jumped to his feet and spilled a glass of whiskey on himself.

“Be careful son, don't be wastin' that mormon tea,” I cocked the hammer back on my pistol.

“Who are …”

“Doesn’t matter. Keys to the cell?,” I asked.

The Deputy pointed to the wall.

“Open her up and let those men free. When they’re out, you go in and lay down flat on the floor. You understand? Drop your gun belt first.”

He nodded with a cold fear in his eyes and carefully unbuckled his rig.

“Rest assured, you do as you’re told and you’ll live. I get a notion that you don’t intend to follow my orders and you’ll have your own personal plot in the boot yard, I'll even mark it with an 'X' for ya.” I said.

The Deputy unlocked the cell, Mr. Jacobs and Bill Nelson stepped out.

“Clayton, sure is good to see you. Where’s Missy?” asked Mr. Jacobs.

“She’s safe and on her way to the ranch now. She wasn’t harmed,” I replied.

Mr. Jacobs nodded and took a sigh of relief before getting back to the business at hand. “Thank you.What’s your plan?”

“Sir ... plan was to save you from gettin’ a california collar for somethin’ ya didn’t do. Haven’t put much thought into what happens next.”

Always a practical man, Bill Nelson reminded us, “We’d better get to movin’, Sheriff’s only gone about fifteen minutes on his nightly rounds.”

“There’s two horses saddled behind the livery in the treeline, my mule Georgina is with them,” I said.

“Better to take the winter trail, less chance of them catching up to us,” said Mr. Jacobs.

Bill Nelson nodded in approval. “They’ll have trouble raising a posse at this time of night. But no doubt they’ll be coming for us in the morning.”

“You two get out of here, I’ll take care of the Deputy and catch up to you on the trail,” I replied.

Mr. Jacobs grabbed two rifles from the gun rack on the wall and tossed one to Mr. Nelson, “Hey there Deputy ... tell the Sheriff if he wants these back, he knows where to get’em.”

The Deputy must have had somethin’ to live for, he didn’t move from his spread eagle position on the floor. I gagged him with a bandana and locked him in the cell. The bottle of whiskey on the table caught my eye and I took a short pull, figured it might be awhile before I got the chance to relax again. I also grabbed a plug of chewin’ tobacco from the desk and threw it in my mouth before walking out the door of the jailhouse. I felt mighty proud of myself, saved the bosses daughter and the boss, all in a day’s work for this salty cowhand.

The sharp pain on the left leg hit me when I leaned down to spit on the boardwalk. The jolt of pain caused me to momentarily choke on the wad of tobacco in my mouth. The next blow hit me in the right hip and knocked me to the ground, I covered my head and kicked toward a dark blob of an object. The kick landed, my boot hit what felt like a knee and a loud groan followed.

I hopped to my feet and landed a left hook to his rib cage, followed by a right straight, and felt his nose turn to mush. I reached for my pistol and from behind, a blow to my shoulder me to the ground. Before I could regain my bearings a series of blows from all sides rained down on me, the only option was to cover up my head, ride it out and hope for a chance to go for my pistol.

“That’s enough,” shouted Kate. The distinct sound of hammers cocking on a scattergun followed her voice. “You heard me, get off him, what’s wrong with you? Attacking a man at night with ax handles, do you have no shame?”

The blows stopped, I sat up on the sidewalk and recognized the two men standing over me, John Wesley and his partner. I should have known better than to leave them alive. “Thanks Kate.”

“Ma’am I suggest you stay out of this,” said John Wesley.

“Mister, I have no interest in your business but I’m not going to stand by and let you beat a man to death in the street. You two want to fight, settle it like gentlemen. Two men beatin’ another with ax handles, it ain’t right,” said Kate.

While Kate was talking I got got my feet and spit the blood out of my mouth. There weren’t any broken bones but I’d be almighty stiff in the morning.

John Wesley smirked, “Miss, I’d feel better if you pointed that scattergun elsewhere. Your finger is awfully close to that trigger.”

“And my finger’s gettin’ tired. You two get to steppin’ ...  off you go,” said Kate.

John Wesley and his partner slowly backed away and headed down the street. Kate lowered the scattergun from her shoulder and de-cocked the hammers as they got out of range.

“Clayton Daniels, what in the hell is the matter with you?”

There was nothing to say, I ignored the question and picked up my hat. “Thanks Kate. That was close to being the end of me. Those are some mighty mean men and they had me down in a bad place.”

Kate sighed. “I worry about you.”

“I know you do and I worry about you too. But I can’t stand by and let that crooked Sheriff hang Mr. Jacobs and Bill Nelson for something they didn’t do. It just ain’t right. I don’t know how it’ll turn out but one way or another, it’ll be over soon,” I said.

Kate gave me a hug and a kiss. “Promise you’ll come see me as soon as it’s over?”

“I promise.”

Kate smiled and nodded toward the treeline. “Then get the hell out of here and do whatever it is you need to do.”

I smiled and tipped my hat to Kate. “Yes Ma’am.”

Georgina and I caught up to Mr. Jacobs and Bill Nelson about half way back to the ranch.

“Clayton you alright? Ridin’ a little crooked in that saddle.” asked Bill Nelson.

“Ran into some trouble on my way out of town,” I replied.

Bill nodded. “Anything we need to be worried about?”

“Not tonight. If you don’t mind me askin’ … how’d this whole thing get started.”

“I’ll explain over coffee in the morning, let’s focus on making it back to the ranch tonight,” said Mr. Jacobs.

 

To Be Continued Next Week

The Bird Cage hotel was not where I wanted to be, the place was filthy. When a man lives out on the range he gets to know the difference between clean dirt and and filthy disease ridden dirt. If a cattle outfit camps in one place for more than a few days, which is rare, the dirt gets a grimy disease ridden feel to it. At that point, you don’t even want a bath, you just want some clean dirt.

Just looking the Bird Cage made me feel like I needed to jump in the creek. To make matters worse, it wasn’t a hotel, it was a house of prostitution that happened to rent out a few rooms long term. Certainly no place for Missy Jacobs to be. There was bound to be some commotion associated with breaking Mr. Jacobs and Bill Nelson out of jail. Missy needed to be free and clear before that happened.

The kitchen door of the Bird Cage hotel opened into a side alley, I went inside looking for Milt Brandson, the bartender. He was the only person who worked at the Bird Cage that  knew me, calling him friend was a mighty stretch. I found Milt crouched down looking through a cabinet of liquor bottles in the back corner of the kitchen.

When Milt stood up and turned around he bumped right into my chest, it gave him quite a start and he snapped at me, “What are you doing back here! No customers allowed.”

“I’m no customer, Milt.”

Milt squinted his eyes. “You’re a hand with the Bar-T, right? Daniels? Clayton Daniels?”

“In the flesh, good to see ya Milt,” followed by my best politician smile.

Milt wasn’t buying it. “Get out of the kitchen.”

Before he could finish, I picked up a flour rolling pin with my left hand and tapped it on one of the whiskey bottles in his arms. “One question for ya Milt. Where’s Missy Jacobs?”

Milt smirked and didn’t respond. He made a move to push past me. With one forceful strike I knocked the whiskey bottles out of his arms and sent them crashing to the floor. Milt’s face turned bright red with anger, he was mad as a wet hen and I was in no mood to take his guff.

“Milt, I didn’t want to do that. You gave me no choice. Where’s Missy Jacobs? I know some hands of the Four-Sixes are keeping her here. All I want to know is what room … then I’ll leave you back to tendin’ bar.”

“You’re going to pay for that,” said Milt.

“Yes sir, I will. We all pay in the end. But today isn’t the end for me. Missy Jacobs? Start talking before I start gettin’ angry.”

“She’s in Room 213,” replied Milt. His eyes told me that he was telling the truth. They also told me that he would double cross me the instant he got the chance.

Milt hit the ground with a thud after a blow to the temple with the rolling pin. I hogtied him and threw him out in the side alley. Someone would find him before long, but I only needed a few minutes.

There was no doubt, the men holding Missy were professional killers. Running up the stairs with my guns blazing would have done nothing but get me buried in a shallow unmarked grave.

There was only one way to get up to the second floor without drawing unnecessary attention, the thought of it made my skin crawl, I’d done worse, not sober, but I’d done worse.

As the only man wearing half way clean clothes and a fresh shave, finding a lady to escort me upstairs was not a problem. On the walk upstairs I reminded myself to burn my shirt when this was all over.

In the hallway of the second floor was a man dressed in black pants and jacket with a clean white shirt. He sat in a chair with his feet kicked up on a stool. He was the lookout and his partner was inside the room with Missy.

The lady and I made quite a commotion on our way down the hall. We weaved from one side of the hall to the other. Another customer on the opposite side of the hall made just as much noise. The eyes of the man in the chair casually moved between us, he didn’t seem concerned, nothing unusual for an evening at the Bird Cage.

When his eyes moved toward the other end of the hallway, I palmed the hideout revolver from the small of my back and spun it around so I was holding the barrel and cylinder. As we walked past him I grabbed my lady by the shoulder and swung her against the wall in a passionate embrace. I spun around and knocked the hired hand off his chair with the butt of my revolver. He hit the floor with a thud and was out cold before he knew what happened.

Room 213, where Missy was being held, was one more door down the hallway. We kept moving, my lady gave me a strange look after seeing the man on the ground. It happened fast enough that she wasn’t sure how to process the situation. I grabbed her by the hip in a playful manner and she went along with it. She was a professional and knew better than to upset the man taking her alone into a room.

Most hotels have doors that lock, when a man pays for a room, even though the walls are thin as a newspaper, he expects a little privacy. The Bird Cage really wasn’t a hotel, locks on doors were mighty dangerous for the ladies. When we made a few more steps down the hallway and made it to Room 213, I flung the door open and threw my lady inside. She landed in the arms of the other man guarding Missy. Throwing a woman into danger like that wasn’t the most gentlemanly thing I’ve ever done, but I was short on ideas and time.

The man guarding Missy was tied up dealing the lady I shoved into his arms for just long enough for me to get the drop on him. By the time he got free there was a Colt pointed at his chest.

Missy ran toward me with a look of relief on her face.

“Whoah there fella, keep nice and still, we don’t want any accidents to happen, I get mighty twitchy when I’m nervous,” I said.

“You must be the only cattle rustlin’ cowhand left at the Bar-T, I’ll tell you what. You ride out of town now and I’ll let you live,” said the hired gun.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Now that’s a mighty kind offer coming from a man facing down the barrel of a Colt. There ain’t no cattle rustlers working on the Bar-T and you know it.” I nodded toward Missy, “when he drops his gun belt you pick it up and bring it with us.”

The hired gun dropped his belt, he wore two guns and had a big Bowie knife strapped to the back.

“I’ve seen you around, we ran into each other in Abilene,” said the hired gun.

The mention of Abilene and the sight of the Bowie knife triggered my memory. “Well … seems like we have ... John, I didn’t recognize you right away. Those new duds you got on threw me off for a minute. What are you doing riding for the Four-Sixes?”

He smiled, “I learned my lesson, I follow the money ... punchin’ cattle is no way to make a livin’. I see you’re still out there fightin’ steers and barely scrapin’ by.”

“A man’s worth isn’t measured in dollars, John. I don’t sell my gun to the highest bidder.”

John smirked and chucked, “Ohh that’s right. You’re one of those fools who ‘ride for the brand’, that’s gonna …”

“That’ll be enough from you. I ain’t no hired killer. And you’re darn right, I ride for the brand. And I always will,” I looked over to Missy, “hog tie him and shove a bandana in his mouth.”  I pointed toward the ground, “John, face down on the ground, if I get any sense you’re even thinkin’ about tryin’ to be anything but cooperative, the legend of John Wesley will end with you dying face down in a filthy whore house. And I’ll make sure that the story makes it into the newspapers and dime novels.”

John Wesley must have sensed that I wasn’t foolin’ around, and he was right. I would have killed him the instant he made a wrong move. Missy finished tying and gagging him. It wouldn’t be long before he was found, we needed to hurry. I gave my lady a dollar coin and made her promise to stay quiet. I had little hope of that happening but maybe it would be enough for us to get out of the hotel.

Missy and I rushed out the back of the Bird Cage, she kept John Wesley’s gun belt slung around her shoulder. She followed me in silence down the alley, we stopped just short of the livery.

“Clayton how are we going to get my pa and Bill Nelson out of jail? They’re fixin’ to hang them both tomorrow morning,” said Missy.

“Let me worry about that. You need to get back to the ranch, Sam’s waiting for you. Before you leave, I need your help, you remember my mule Georgina?”

Missy nodded.

“She’s hobbled with one of the big Percherons about a hundred yards back in the tree line. I want you to pick out two horses from the livery and bring them over to the same spot. When I get your pa and Bill Nelson out of jail we’ll need to get out of here in a hurry. Pick the best horses you can find,” I gave her twenty dollars, “that’s more than enough to cover the cost, tell them we’ll bring'em back soon enough ... Then you head back to the ranch.”

“What should I tell Sam when I get back?”

“Just tell him to be expectin’ us to be ridin’ in a cloud of dust and we’ll likely have some angry fellas on our tail. He’ll know what to do.”

Missy took a deep breath, “and these pistols?”

“Keep them with you, just in case.”

Missy took off toward the livery and I made my way toward the jail.