Trotting up the street, he met a man walking home.“Mr. Keys, did you hear those gunshots?”
“Yes sir, Mayor,” the man. He trembled with anxiety. “That’s why I’m headed home. I don’t want no part of any gunfight.”
“Did you see who was shooting?”
“No sir, Mayor. I was over by the depot and it sounded like the shots came from the northeast.”
Price reached the vicinity the man had indicated and began searching for someone who could explain what had happened. Unable to see anyone in the dark, he banged on door of Thompson’s store. No one came to the door and the mayor moved on to another store. After several tries to arouse its occupants, Price gave up and walked north toward the bank to locate someone.
***
Sisemore reached the street and moved slowly, keeping behind cover as much as possible. It would be difficult for an ambusher to see the lawman even in the middle of the dark street, but Sisemore only took risks when he knew the odds.
Lightning flashed, and Sisemore glimpsed the silhouette of a familiar figure only ten steps away. He would have walked right into the man if the lightning had not revealed him. Sisemore held his shotgun ready and yelled at the barely visible man.
“Who is that? Is that you, Frank?”
“Yes, it’s me,” Frank Mullins answered.
“Is that you doing that shooting around here tonight?”
Mullins replied with a threatening tone, “No, but by God, I’ve got the fixing for you!”
“You are a damn liar, Frank.”
Gunfire filled the air with flames and smoke and noise. Lightning illuminated the scene briefly and Sisemore could see the moonshiner lying in the dirt. Mullins moaned loudly and tried to regain his feet.
“Don’t shoot no more,” Mullins pleaded as he pulled himself up and limped for cover. “I didn’t do the shooting.”
The smoke and flames left Sisemore with little night vision. He saw the outline of a moving figure and fired again.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Special to the Times.
Ruston, La.--On last Saturday night T. F. Mullins was shot by Town Marshal J. T. Sisemore, and died about 2:30 o’clock the following day. Although the difficulty was not a surprise or unexpected, the circumstance has cast a gloom over the entire town. Mullins has for the past few years been doing what is known as a “blind tiger” business in Ruston and on several occasions had come in contact with Sisemore in the capacity of deputy United States marshal and town marshal, and had exchanged shots before this, both heretofore escaping without serious hurt.
There is quite a difference in opinion about the shooting, some of course calling it murder while a large number say Sisemore could not have done other than he did.
Mr. F. W. Price, a prominent lawyer and citizen of our town, was standing near and saw all of the difficulty that could be seen on a dark night. Mr. Price has not made any statement but will do so when a trial is had.
Mr. Sisemore is not in custody but it is understood that he is ready to surrender whenever a preliminary trial can be had before his honor Judge Barksdale, who is in Homer, holding a term of district court in that parish.
Mr. Mullins has a father and mother and several brothers and sisters living in Simsboro to mourn his death. He had been living in Ruston for about ten years, coming here as a photographer, and was well liked.
Soon after coming to Ruston he began to “tamper” with selling liquor illicitly, it is said at first out of a jug, but soon enlarged his business and sold it almost openly in defiance of the law. He served over a year in our parish prison, but a younger brother kept the business open during his imprisonment. He never drank himself.
February 27, 1898
Emma Sherwood was upset. Her boarding house had been commandeered and turned into a public meeting place. Men huddled in small groups in her packed parlor talking in hushed tones. Curious onlookers trampled what little front lawn existed. A man, a cash-paying boarder no less, lay on a bed wrapped in one of her white linen sheets.
Frank Mullins had paid his rent on time and caused no trouble. That was a standing rule of the house. Cause trouble and out you go. Frank knew to leave his business pursuits outside when he entered the front door. Now he lay dead in a room, his blood on the floor nearly obliterated by scores of muddy footprints left by the horde inevitably attracted by the scent of death.
Without her consent, someone had rearranged Mrs. Sherwood’s parlor furniture. Five chairs stood against one wall. A writing table and another chair shared the center of the room. Yet another chair stood alone in front of the table. A man walked into the room and the whispering groups fell silent.
The man’s face suggested he had a distasteful duty to perform. He moved behind the table before speaking.
“Gentleman, as Justice of the Peace and Acting Coroner, I have called this inquest in accordance to law to investigate the death of Frank Mullins. The men selected to serve on the coroner’s jury will please move to the chairs against the wall.”
Five men moved to the chairs and sat. Justice of the Peace Savery Lewis turned to the others in the room. “The rest of you will please wait outside until you are called to testify.”
When the room was cleared, Lewis asked the five men to stand to be sworn. The men shifted uncomfortably, wishing they were home by their fires and their families. They could not keep their eyes from wandering to the shrouded body lying nearby.
Lewis pulled a sheet of paper from well-worn book. He raised his right hand and motioned for the others to do likewise.
“Do each of you solemnly swear,” Lewis read, “that you will diligently inquire and true presentment make, on behalf of the State, when and by what means the person whose body here lies was the cause of his death, and that you will return a true inquest thereof, according to your knowledge and such evidence as shall be laid before you, so help you God?”
The five men answered in unison and sat again. Lewis went to the door and called out the name Samuel Barksdale. Barksdale was sworn and took the lone chair in the middle of the room. He gripped the arm rests as if fearful someone would wrench him from his seat. He studied the faces of the jurors and found little sympathy.
“Sam,” Lewis began, “would you please tell us what you saw and heard downtown tonight as relates to this inquest?”
“Yes,” Barksdale stammered, “I was in Mr. Price’s office and heard the first shot and heard Mr. Mullins holler, ‘Oh!’ three times. I opened the door and heard him say ‘John, quit shooting at me, that was not me that shot.’ I heard two more shots and thought I recognized Mr. Sisemore’s voice say, ‘You are a damn liar.’”
Barksdale was warmed up now and the words flowed easily. “About one-half hour later, I came here to the boarding house and while here I heard the dying declaration of Mr. Mullins. His statement was that he was coming down the Brick Row toward the house here and when he got near Gullatt’s store, Mr. Sisemore said, ‘Who is that?’ Mullins answered, ‘It is me.’ Mr. Sisemore said, ‘Is that you, Frank?’ and Mullins said, ‘yes.’ Sisemore asked, ‘Was that you shot?’ and Mullins replied no. Mullins said he was facing Mr. Sisemore when they were talking and that when he told Sisemore that it was not him that shot, Sisemore shot him in the stomach.”
Murmurs could be heard from the five jurors and Lewis stared at them harshly to quieten them.
“Please continue, Sam,” Lewis urged.
“Then Mullins said that he told John to quit shooting him, that it was not him that shot. He said he ran towards the livery stable and as he ran off, Sisemore shot at him twice and hit him in the leg. He said that he wanted it distinctly understood that he knew that John Sisemore shot him.”
“How many shots did you hear yourself?” Lewis inquired.
“There were only three shots fired.”
“Did you see the shooting or anything that would support Mr. Mullins’s statements?”
Barksdale hesitated and looked at the jurors. “No, I did not act
ually see the shooting. I never saw Mullins until I got here and found him dying.”
Lewis wrote as Barksdale spoke. When the witness stopped, Lewis handed him a paper and said, “Please read this statement of your testimony to ensure it is accurate. If it is, please sign it and it will become part of the record of this inquiry.”
Doctors William Harrell and Charles Griffin were called and testified briefly to the presence of wounds to the body of Frank Mullins that appeared to have been made by a shotgun.
Mayor Fred Price was also called as a witness. “It was very dark,” he reported. “I spoke and said ‘hello’ or something to attract their attention but simultaneously with my expression, I heard somebody say, ‘Who is that, is that you, Frank?,’ all said rapidly. The answer was, ‘Yes, that’s me.’
“By this time I had recognized Sisemore’s voice, and I thought the other was that of Frank Mullins. I could see them only when the lightning flashed and then only their bulk. Mullins was some eight or ten steps north of Sisemore, near a wagon. Sisemore then said, ‘Is that you doing this shooting around here tonight?’ Mullins replied, ‘No, but by God, I’ve got the fixing for you.’ Sisemore said, ‘You are a liar’—he may have said ‘you are a damn liar’—and immediately both parties fired simultaneously.”
“Mayor, are you saying you saw both men shoot?” asked one of the jurors.
“I saw two guns fired by two men,” Price explained. “I would have thought there was but one gun if I had not seen the flashes. I could tell one was a shotgun. I heard the action working.”
“Did you actually see who was shooting?” another asked.
“I recognized the voices, but I could not identify the men as they fired, so I cannot for certain know who was shooting.”
“But,” Lewis interjected, “based on the voices and the tone of the conversation and what you know now, would it be a logical conclusion that Mullins and Sisemore shot at one another?”
“That is my conclusion,” Price said.
After the mayor was excused, George McElroy was asked to testify.
“State your name and occupation please,” Lewis ordered.
“George McElroy. I am a fire insurance salesman here in Ruston.”
“I didn’t really see it,” McElroy explained, “but I can pretty much tell you what happened. I did not approve of all of Frank’s activities, but he was a friend all the same. A man in sales had to make friends of all types. People didn’t buy insurance from surly, unsociable types. John Sisemore was always harassing Frank…”
Lewis raised a hand to stop McElroy. “Sir, we are only interested in the facts. Stick to the facts. Only what you observed.”
“Well, I heard the shooting, and saw two different men leaving the scene but I couldn’t recognize them. I only heard three shots and they all sounded like they came from one gun to me. I’m afraid our police chief just shot an unarmed man.”
“Did you see the shooting?” Lewis asked.
“No, I didn’t,” confessed McElroy.
“Where were you when the shots were fired?"
“I was coming up between Thompson’s store and the railroad when I heard the first shot and heard a man holler, ‘Don’t shoot me any more. I never done the shooting.’ Then there were still two more shots fired and between each shot he hollered, ‘Don’t shoot me any more’.”
“Then how did you reach the conclusion that the marshal shot an unarmed man?”
“’Cause Frank told me so on his deathbed,” McElroy said. “I came here—my room is here also—and Frank said as he walked off the sidewalk at Gullatt’s, Sisemore asked him if he had been shooting. Then Sisemore fired. Mullins said he had no gun to defend himself so he ran. I ain’t got no reason to doubt him.”
“You didn’t see the flashes of the guns to know how many persons were shooting?” asked Lewis.
“No, I was still around the corner. When I reached the sidewalk in front of Thompson’s, I could see the street and two people walking off, but I don’t know who they were.”
Lewis nodded. “Thank you, sir. Would you please send Mrs. Sherwood in?”
Emma Sherwood stomped into the room, hands on hips, lips drawn tight, her eyes blazing. “When will you people be out of my house?”
“Very soon, I assure you, Mrs. Sherwood,” replied Lewis. “If you would be so kind as to take that chair, you shall be our last witness.”
“Anything to get you out of here,” she scowled. “Mud on the floors, my furniture being ruined...”
“Please,” interrupted Lewis. “Tell us the facts concerning the death of Mr. Mullins, as you know them.”
Mrs. Sherwood sighed and then spoke. “I saw Mr. Mullins come in and he was bleeding badly. He said, ‘John Sisemore has shot me.’ I tried to help him to his room but he insisted I leave him and go to his room and look under his mattress and find his gun. He insisted he was unarmed when Mr. Sisemore shot him. I went to his room and got the pistol and brought it down to this room.”
Lewis picked up a revolver from the table. “Is this the pistol you found?”
“Yes, it was under the mattress like he said.”
Several jurors frowned or shook their heads. Lewis continued. “Could Mullins have returned here and taken the gun to his room before you saw him?” Several men sat upright to hear Mrs. Sherwood’s response.
“No. He was out there in the hallway when I first saw him. I assumed he had just come in and collapsed.”
Lewis persisted. “But is it possible he had already been to his room when you discovered him?”
“Yes, I guess it is possible,” she admitted.
“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Sherwood,” Lewis said. “We will need a few more moments and then we will leave you in peace.”
“There will be no peace here tonight,” she lamented. “You’ve already seen to that.”
As Mrs. Sherwood marched out, Lewis turned to the coroner’s jury. “You have heard the testimony of these witnesses. We must make a ruling as to the cause of Frank Mullins’s death. Is there any discussion?”
The jurors again shifted uneasily in their seats. It was obvious John Sisemore had killed Mullins. But under what circumstances? The findings of the coroner’s jury were often instrumental in instituting criminal charges against a person.
One of the jurors, Earl Kidd, spoke out. “Is it possible for us to make a determination of cause of death without drawing any conclusions as to the intent of that cause?”
“It is usually customary,” Lewis answered, “for the coroner’s jury to make a full statement as to the cause of death, including any conclusions it may have reached concerning the circumstances that resulted in that death. However, it is permissible to only state a cause of death. Captain Kidd, do you have a recommendation?”
“I recommend,” Kidd said, “that we find the cause of death to be shotgun blasts inflicted by John Sisemore and that we make no other determinations nor draw any other conclusions.”
The others nodded in agreement. Lewis said, “It will be so recorded. This inquest in adjourned.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
March 1898
Sisemore crossed Vienna Street and walked into the Marbury and Jackson City Drug Store and News Depot. Fred Price stepped over to greet him.
“Hello, John, how are you today?”
“Alright, I guess.”
Price displayed a small box of Carter’s Little Liver Pills. “I haven’t felt well these past few days,” he explained.
A tall, bull-necked man walked up and joined the conversation.
“Well, hello, S. P.,” greeted Price. “How’s the livery business?”
“Can’t complain,” Pea Colvin said. He nodded at Sisemore. “John, how are you today?”
“Okay.”
A corpulent man entered the drug store, removing his hat to reveal a balding pate. When he saw the current and former mayors and Sisemore, he stopped so fast another customer stumbled to avoid walking into him. His face gave the impres
sion of an urgent desire to disappear.
“C. B., come on in here,” called Colvin. “I have a question of you.”
District Attorney Charles B. Roberts walked into the drug store.
Colvin spoke again. “Well, C. B., what happens to John now?” The druggist and others in the store turned to listen.
The D.A.’s struggled to speak. His mouth moved but nothing came out. He rubbed his bulbous nose with the back of a chubby hand.
He stuttered when words finally came. “That’s not an easy question to answer right now. As district attorney, I must handle this impartially. We will present the case to the grand jury, just like the last shooting. I think it is the only fair thing to do. If the grand jury refuses to indict, then it’s over. John understands I must do my duty.”
Sisemore said nothing. “Who ever heard of arresting a lawman for doing his duty?” Price complained.
“It happens all the time,” Colvin reported. “Especially to federal officers. John’ll tell you. Local folks sometimes don’t take to outsiders coming in and telling them what's right and what's wrong. Especially since the war.”
“But John,” Price argued, “you’re no more an outsider than the rest of us.”
“But he’s a Federal man, representing Washington, and that rubs some people the wrong way.”
“But still, with Mullins, what difference does it make what kind of officer you are?” questioned Price. “He was a troublemaker, and if John’s suspicions about his brother-in-law are correct, a killer as well.”
“I guess he had friends,” ventured Colvin with disgust, throwing Roberts a distasteful look. “Friends who vote.”
Roberts pulled out his watch. He looked uncomfortable. “John Tom, Fred, Pea, I have an appointment. I hope this all works out. Give my regards to your wives.” The lawyer hurried off.
Colvin shook his head with loathing at the district attorney’s trepidation. “He acts like no one in Lincoln Parish bothered to vote for him.”
Neither Fear Nor Favor: Deputy United States Marshal John Tom Sisemore Page 10
