by Ed Roberts
‘You think that might get them to think about surrender?’ asked Jerry Reece. ‘If they know they’re outnumbered, that is?’
‘Surrender, nothing!’ growled Jack’s father, ‘Time’s passed for such. I aim to show those fellows who’s running the show around here. When we’re through, it’ll be the end of the WSGA and all those bastards away over in Cheyenne.’
There were murmurs of approval to these words, and then Jack said loudly the question which had struck him only a few minutes before, ‘Do those men in Mr Carter’s place know that this is a legal posse, led by the sheriff?’
The men turned and stared at him, which prompted Jack to explain further. ‘What I mean is, they might just think that this is an armed band of homesteaders and such. If they was to be told that the sheriff is here and the whole thing legal, then they might give up. If they knew that we’d spare their lives, that is.’
These sensible remarks of the young man were met with complete silence. Then his father said, ‘Jack, you done right well today and I’ll be the first to own it, but this is a deal more complicated than you know. Whyn’t you head over and see if those men around the perimeter need anything doing for them?’
Despite the fact that he was actually wearing a star, Jack felt that he was being treated humiliatingly like a little boy who had been interrupting the adults’ business and was now being sent off on a chore to get him out of the way. He wandered disconsolately round the outposts, trying to make out the play. There was still no sign of anybody in Carter’s place. Presumably they were all sheltering in the house and barn.
It was not until his perambulations had described almost a complete circuit of the ranch-house and associated buildings that Jack found out how matters really stood. Until that moment, he had persuaded himself that he might be mistaken about the plans which his father and the others had for the men they had surrounded. At first, he thought that the whole fraught situation was about to end in the best way imaginable, for a man waved a white cloth from one of the upper windows of the big house. It was the clearest indication possible that a truce was required; who knew, perhaps even an unconditional surrender was contemplated?
The youngster was nearing the group of men containing his father, who were still evidently continuing their discussions. These men had seen the waving of the white flag, and since so many of them were former combatants in the war, there could be little doubt that they would recognize the significance of the action on the part of an enemy. Then as he watched, Jack Parker saw his father do something which shocked him to his very core. He said something which Jack didn’t hear to one of those standing nearby, and in response, the man handed him a rifle. Sheriff Parker took it and worked the lever, cocking the piece and bringing a cartridge into the breech. Then he raised the weapon and fired straight at the window from which the white flag was being flown.
A short period of dead silence followed the shot, before some of the men in the house replied with a desultory crackle of musketry. They were perhaps as surprised as Jack at this open contempt for the rules of civilised warfare. He heard his father yell, ‘All right boys, let them have it!’ and there began a vigorous storm of shooting from the men surrounding the house.
Jack threw himself to the ground when the firing began, not wishing to make himself an easy target, but after no more than ten seconds, the exchange of fire petered out and silence reigned once more. Even though it was now safe again, the young man remained laying where he was. His mind was working furiously and he had no desire to speak to anybody, which might have disturbed the train of his thoughts.
It was as plain as day to Jack Parker that there was more about this business than he rightly understood. Indeed, his father had hinted as much to him when he sent him off on that snipe hunt of making the rounds of the sentries. What it might be, the youngster could hardly guess. Something about bringing down Timothy Carter and the Wyoming Stock Gowers Association, perhaps? There was no doubt that his father was no admirer of Carter and his outfit. Then again, there was some friction between the sheriff and the mayor. Did that have any bearing on things? Ultimately, Sheriff Parker was employed by the town of Mayfield and the mayor was the leading citizen there. Was his father hoping to see the mayor out of his position?
Whatever was going on, it was obvious that the men defending the Carter place were doomed. Jack’s father had shown what he thought of any surrender, and it looked as though he was intent upon killing all those whom he held penned up, probably including Mr Carter himself. It was not to be thought of that he, Jack Parker, could either countenance such a massacre nor refrain from doing everything humanly possible to prevent its taking place. There was no point in reasoning with his father, he could see that, but something must be done to stop this terrible thing from taking place.
In the back of Jack’s mind, something was stirring, something which might aid him in this endeavour. He had been compelled at school recently to study the constitution of the United States, and also some of the amendments and alterations made to the constitution since the war which had ended in 1865. He racked his brains and then realized that the information he sought would surely be found in the law books which his father kept in his office. The young man’s frame gave an involuntary shudder at the thought of actually entering the sheriff’s office uninvited and making free with what was found there. It would certainly jeopardize the newly found and precious cordiality which currently existed between he and his father, but when it came right down to it, a body had to do what he knew to be right. However wickedly some of the men trapped in that ranch house had behaved, he could not stand back and see them all killed out of hand, which was what was like to happen tomorrow afternoon, unless he took some action.
There would be little purpose in slipping away from the scene of what was, in effect, a siege, until it became dark and nobody would be able to see what he was about. Trying to gallop off towards town in broad daylight would be madness. All he needed to do was to conceal his real feelings regarding what was happening here and then as soon as night fell, he could make off towards Mayfield. Jack hated the idea of betraying his father and was even more grieved at the disappointment which his father would feel towards his son, but there it was. If nothing else, he was likely to save his father from becoming a murderer; although he doubted that the sheriff would see the thing in that light.
Sheriff Parker was busy as evening came, ensuring that the men posted around the ranch were careful not to allow anybody to escape. As he put it, ‘We need to keep all the rats in one trap!’ So busy was he with such matters, that he actually forgot about his son and altogether failed to notice until much later, by which time Jack had led his mount away in the darkness. Once he had walked the mare a good distance, he saddled up and rode as fast as he dared in the dark, along the track leading to town.
It was approaching eleven by the time that Jack reached Mayfield and most folk were in their beds. Certainly, nobody took the least notice of the boy as he looped the horse’s reins over the hitching post outside the office and opened the door with the keys with which his father had entrusted him. He didn’t reckon that anybody would be minded to trouble at this time of night if they saw a light in the office and in any case, he was a real deputy now and so had a perfect right to be there at any hour of the day or night that he chose. He accordingly rummaged in one of the drawers of the desk, found a box of Lucifers and lit a lamp. Having done this, he went over to the shelf of books and selected one which he felt was likely to provide him with the necessary information.
Finding the relevant law was easy enough, but now Jack Parker came to the real matter and, finding that this was where the knife met the bone, he was scared and worried that he might be about to do the wrong thing. That the action which he contemplated was criminal, he knew. That all that stemmed from it would be fraud and deception, he likewise knew. That was neither here nor there, though, not if he was actually saving lives and stopping his own father from doing a dreadful and wic
ked thing. He knew where his father kept the notepaper with the official heading of his office, and went to fetch a couple of sheets.
Sitting at his father’s desk with the lawbook in front of him, so that he could use the correct expressions, Jack Parker composed the following letter:
To Officer Commanding, Fort McKinley
July 18th 1891
Sir,
I, Sheriff Thomas Parker, am the only lawful representative of the Civil Power in the town of Mayfield, State of Wyoming. A band of armed, irregular Forces have arrived in this area and begun to commit various acts of warfare, including Murder, mayhem, looting and rapine. Various individuals have been deprived of their civil rights by being hanged or shot to death.
Under the powers invested in the Federal Army by the Enforcement Acts of 1870 and 1871, I call upon you to provide urgent aid and assistance to suppress this rebellion.
I have the honour to remain, sir,
Your Obedient Servant, Thomas Parker (Sheriff).
Having completed this missive, with many crossings out and alterations, Jack copied it out in a fair hand and then placed it in an envelope addressed to the commanding officer of Fort McKinley. It was a fearful thing to forge his own father’s signature in this way, to say nothing of misleading the army, but he didn’t see that he had another choice.
After tucking the letter inside his jacket, the young man extinguished the lamp and left the office, locking the door behind him. Then he mounted up and headed out of town, due east, towards Fort McKinley. He reckoned that taking an easy pace in the darkness, for fear of laming the mare, he was likely to reach the army base a little before dawn. Allowing that they took this letter seriously and set off almost at once, they should be in plenty of time to save those men trapped at Mr Carter’s place.
The ride to Fort McKinley was uneventful but exceedingly slow and tedious. Jack dared not ride any faster than a brisk trot. The lives of fifty men or more depended upon him, and if his horse took a tumble in the darkness, then he would never get word to the army in time. The only bit of excitement came when he was nearly shot as he approached the fort, just as the first glimmer of dawn touched the sky in the east.
As the silhouette of the wooden stockade walls became visible ahead, there was a sharp, metallic sound nearby and a hoarse voice cried, ‘Stand to! Who are ye and what’s your business?’
Figuring, quite correctly, that a musket aiming in his direction had just been cocked, Jack reined in and said, ‘I’m a deputy sheriff. I have an urgent communication for your commanding officer.’
‘Don’t go making any sudden movements, ’cause any mistake I make ain’t like to be set right in this world,’ said the sentry who had challenged him, ‘Just set still and I’ll approach.’ Having done so, the fellow struck a light and peered up at Jack, noting the star on his jacket. He said, ‘You look powerful young for a deputy. You sure this ain’t some game?’
‘Not a bit of it. This is life and death.’
‘Well then, you’d best proceed. Holler up when you reach the gate.’ Having delivered himself of this advice, the man melted back into the shadows.
It took some little while to persuade the sergeant who first spoke to Jack Parker about his business that this was a matter which needed to be brought at once to his officer’s attention, but when once that august personage was awakened and had read the letter, he swung into action immediately. In no time at all, a bugle was rousing the fort and a troop of men snatched a hurried breakfast before swinging themselves into the saddle. Captain Tregarth had looked a mite dubiously at Jack Parker, observing that this ‘deputy’ was not even of an age to shave, but there was no gainsaying the appeal for military assistance, which was couched in precise and legal terms. On the off-chance though that it turned out to be some elaborate hoax, the captain said, ‘You’ll be riding with us, Deputy Parker. If nothing else, we’ll need to be guided to this place.’ If it was a mare’s nest, then Captain Tregarth purposed to have the perpetrator alongside him, so that he could find out what the game was.
The thought of meeting his father in the company of a column of cavalry whom he had summoned by the false use of his name was not an enticing one to Jack, but he didn’t see that he had another choice. He said, ‘Of course, sir.’
The raising of what later became known as ‘the siege of Carter’s ranch’ was anticlimactic in the extreme. The cavalry reached the ridge above Timothy Carter’s ranch an hour or so before midday and announced their arrival by a loud bugle call, with the aim of warning anybody in the vicinity that things were now changed and that the army were there to take charge.
The look on his father’s face when he glimpsed Jack riding among the cavalry would stay with Jack Parker for a very long time. Sheriff Parker’s mouth quite literally gaped open in a way that he had always told his son was uncouth. The worst moment for Jack came when Captain Tregarth asked where Sheriff Parker was and then proceeded to bring out the letter which had supposedly been sent, appealing for help from the military. This was when the sheriff could have disavowed his signature, with who knew what consequences for his son. Instead, he stared at the letter in the captain’s hand with no discernible expression and then thanked him for responding so promptly. After that, it was just a question of allowing the cavalry to disarm the men holed up in the ranch house and barn.
There was not a little murmuring among the homesteaders who made up much of the posse. These men had hoped to settle scores with Carter and his ‘range detectives’, especially Dave Booker, who was generally felt to be the driving force behind the recent murders. There was nothing to be done, though, for Sheriff Parker had at once conceded that the cavalry had more authority than he himself in the matter. At least, though, the threat to their lives was now removed, as all the Texans had been rounded up and were now bound for Fort McKinley, along with Timothy Carter himself. Carter blustered and bluffed about what an important man he was, and how the governor would certainly hear about this humiliating episode, but none of his words had an effect upon Captain Tregarth, who merely said, ‘This comes under military jurisdiction. We are acting in support of the civil power, and from what I’ve seen, there’s something close enough to an invasion of this district happened. I’m more than half minded to declare a state of emergency and impose martial law.’ That shut Carter up pretty sharpish.
Tom Parker stayed around the ranch long enough to see that everybody dispersed and that nobody had any thoughts about looting the place, now that the hated owner had been removed. When just he, Jack and the two deputies were left, the sheriff said, ‘You boys can get off to your homes now. I guess we’re about done for the day. Mind you’re in all the earlier tomorrow, though!’
At last, the dreaded time arrived when Jack and his father were left alone. Nothing was said for a spell and then Sheriff Parker said, in a more reasonable voice than his son thought he had any cause to expect, ‘Mind explaining all this to me, son?’
Haltingly, the boy set out his reasons for acting as he had done. He laid particular emphasis on the horror he had felt at the idea of his own father carrying out what amounted to a cold-blooded massacre. When he had finished, his father said nothing, and then, to Jack’s amazement, smiled. ‘Well I’m damned,’ said Tom Parker ruefully. ‘I never expected to see the day when my own son sat in judgement on me. But you’re in the right, Jack, and I’m wrong. I ain’t ashamed to own it.’
‘You’re not mad at me?’
‘Maybe I should be, but no, I ain’t mad at you. You saw what you thought was right, and went ahead and did it, and to the Devil with the consequences. That’s how a man should behave. Means I did something right with the raising of you.’
Relief flooded through Jack’s body so readily that he felt, to his embarrassment, the sudden and urgent need to make water. He said to his father, ‘Pa, I need to answer a call of nature.’
‘You go right ahead. I’m going down yonder, to make sure that Carter’s house is secured. I don’t think anybody
would try and make off with his goods and chattels, but you never can tell.’
As his father made his way on foot, down the slope to the big house, Jack Parker slipped into the bushes to ease his bladder. It was while standing there that he became aware of an angry voice in the distance and when he had finished his business he went back through the undergrowth and saw that his father was standing with his hands raised, and that Dave Booker, the head of the range detectives, was covering him with a drawn pistol.
Chapter 9
Straining his ears, Jack Parker heard the southerner say, apparently in response to a question from his father, ‘Down in the root cellar.’ It wasn’t hard to work out that Booker was explaining where he had been hiding and how he had escaped being rounded up with the others who had been taken away by the army. Moving very slowly, so that Booker would not catch sight of him on the edge of his field of vision, Jack dropped to his knees and crawled slowly over to where the mare was standing patiently. Keeping his eye on the scene below him, he reached up slowly and slid the Winchester from where it nestled in its scabbard at the front of the saddle. Then the young man lay down and tried to gauge the distance to the two men standing by the door of Timothy Carter’s house.
By listening hard, Jack could pick up scraps of the conversation, which he judged to be taking place fifty yards away. As he tried to hear what was being said, Jack worked the lever, cocking the piece and bringing a cartridge into the chamber. He would only have one chance for this, and he had to be right on the spot with that first shot.
‘ . . . really screwed things up for us. . . .’ said the Texan in a loud and harsh voice. ‘Somebody’ll pay.’
‘Can’t be helped,’ said Tom Parker, ‘Best you can do is just ride on out. I’ll give you a fair start. . . .’
