BEAR CREEK (SAGE COUNTRY Book 1)

by Dan Arnold

  I told him about the first time I’d come through this part of the country, driving cattle to Wyoming.

  “It’s a wonder to me, a community this big could have grown out of nearly nothing, in just a couple of decades,” I noted.

  “Well, it took a lot of hard work by men of vision. We’re real proud of the town. Now that Colorado is a state and Bear Creek is the county seat of Alta Vista County, I guess the sky’s the limit.”

  3.

  Tom came back and informed us Willy Walker had died.

  “He was a good kid. I’ve known him all his life. His mother was Ute, and his father helped start this town. Both his parents died in a fire, last year. Willy worked at the livery. He was real good with horses. This is the first murder we’ve had.”

  Jack shook his head.

  “Sure, we have our share of drunks, some fights and shootings in the saloons, some domestic issues, even a couple of killings, but Rawlins shot down an unarmed boy in cold blood. What kind of man can do a thing like that?”

  Just then, a man came hurrying in off the street. He was wearing a suit with tails and he had on a silk, “stove pipe” top hat.

  “Is it true? I just heard somebody killed Willy!” He cried, wringing his hands.

  “Yes, sir, I’m afraid so.” Jack confirmed, as he stood up.

  The man looked at me.

  “Bob, this is John Sage. He was a witness to the shooting. John, this is Bob Larkin, our Mayor.” Jack said.

  We shook hands.

  “Well, I guess that explains the hat,” I said.

  Later on, as Tom was taking me to the hotel, he told me why he figured the Mayor was so upset.

  “He sees having a cold blooded murder, on the eve of the festivities, as a black eye for the town. Its bad enough Willy is dead. Having all these dignitaries coming into town tomorrow, and then talking about the murder, all over the state, it sure worries him. ”

  When we got to the hotel, we learned there were no rooms available.

  “Every room is booked or occupied; most of them have three or four people in them,” the clerk said. “Even the Governor is coming here tomorrow, though I hear he’s staying with the Courtney’s, out at the Bar C.”

  “Of course,” Tom said. “I wasn’t thinking. What with all the festivities, even the boarding house is full. Every bed in this town is spoken for, one way or another.”

  “I can sleep in a cell at the jail,” I offered.

  “No sir. I wouldn’t ask you to do that. It wouldn’t be right…for a whole bunch of reasons.”

  We had just stepped out of the hotel, when he turned and said;

  “Listen, if you wouldn’t mind, I can put you up at my house. I can offer you a place to wash up, and my wife made a peach pie today. Let’s go there.”

  I tried to bow out, not wanting to inconvenience his family, or get into an awkward situation, but he insisted it would be no trouble.

  Tom’s house was a few blocks northwest of the square. As we walked down the hill, we passed a number of homes of various design. Some appeared to have been here for years. Others were clearly newly built. We passed a very nice, whitewashed church with stained glass windows, a tall steeple and enough room on the grounds to park several buggies. The church and grounds occupied a whole block.

  The deputy lived at the very end of a street, a fair distance from the square. It was a tidy, whitewashed single story house, with a wrought iron fence around it. It had a big porch on the front with rose bushes on both sides of the steps. There were lamps lit inside. The whole effect was cozy and I found it pretty inviting.

  I heard a good sized creek running, back behind the house somewhere. The smell of cottonwood trees was heavy in the night air. Tom told me the creek was called Bear Creek, from which the town had derived its name.

  Tom’s wife Becky met us at the door. She was as cute as a button. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a single long braid, with a big bow tied around it. She was wearing a blue gingham dress that matched her eyes. She got busy getting us peach pie and coffee, as Tom explained the situation.

  “Mr Sage, if you don’t mind staying with us, we can make you reasonably comfortable in my sewing room. Now don’t you try to say no, I won’t hear of it!” Becky said, planting her fists on her hips.

  I could tell she meant it. So that, settled that.

  Tom had to leave to get back on the street, until the town started to settle down for the night. I offered to go with him, but Becky insisted I stay and keep her company, until he returned from his duties.

  As we sat and talked, I learned she was Jack Watson’s daughter. Her mother died a few years back, leaving Jack and her alone in the house. When Tom finally figured out that he was in love with Becky, and she with him, Jack had given them the house as a wedding present and moved himself into the Marshal’s office.

  “One or the other of them always stayed at the jail overnight anyway. This worked out nicely for Tom and me.”

  She showed me the “sewing room,” and sure enough it had one of those new-fangled sewing machines, bolts of fabric, a big table with paper patterns, scraps of gingham, spools of thread, scissors, and so on. There was also a frilly looking bed, with bolts of cloth piled on top of it.

  “This was my room before we got married. We hope it will be the baby’s room, eventually. For now, it will be your room.”

  We went back out into the front room (she called it the “parlor”) and spent a pleasant couple of hours talking, until Tom came home.

  Later, when I was settled into the sewing room, I reflected on the events of the day. I thought about what kind of man Rawlins was. I thought about what kind of man I was.

  I wondered what it would be like to be married and own a home. I’d tried it once, a very long time ago.

  It hadn’t worked out.

  Other than that one failed attempt, I’d lived virtually my whole life traveling from town to town. Everything I owned could pretty much travel with me on horseback.

  At this point, I didn’t even own a horse.

  Some people enjoy freedom. Other people enjoy belonging to someplace or someone. I didn’t owe anyone anything, and I sure had my freedom.

  Then again, if Rawlins had killed me on the street corner, it would be a long time till anyone who cared about me even learned I was dead.

  I had no legacy.

  If I died that night, it would be as though I had never lived at all.

  4.

  I got up early, lit the fire in the cook stove and had coffee on by the time Becky came bustling into the kitchen that Saturday morning. I asked Tom and Becky to let me buy them breakfast if there was a place in town that served it. They tried to talk me out of it, and Becky was horrified I would even suggest such a thing. Tom said there were three restaurants in Bear Creek, if you counted the Cantina as one of them. Only the Bon Ton served breakfast. It was where Jack got his meals when he wasn’t with Tom and Becky. It was right next to the hotel. There were also three saloons in town but only the Palace and the Cantina served any real food, and that was only in the evenings. Tom told me the Palace Saloon was the best restaurant in Colorado.

  I talked them into it, and we walked up the hill to the café.

  There was a two sided sign hanging above the door. On both sides, in fancy script, it said, “Le Bon Ton Café.” Under that, it said “Henri Levesque, Proprietor.”

  I didn’t know it that day, but having breakfast at the Bon Ton on Saturday morning with Tom and Becky, was going to become a fairly common occurrence.

  After breakfast we went to the Marshal’s office.

  “Gonna be a big day in Bear Creek,” Jack said. “We’ve got horse racing, pie eating contests, there’ll be speeches from the Governor, the Mayor and the newly elected Sheriff. There’ll be a big parade, with a marching band. We’ll honor the civil war vets and some of the old timers that settled this area. It’ll be a big Whoop ti doo,” he grinned. “Hell, we’ve even got a carnival.”


  My ears pricked up at that.

  “What kind of carnival?” I asked.

  “Oh, well, you know…all the usual stuff, jugglers and acrobats, knife throwers, games, fortune tellers, and dancing girls flashing their legs.” He shrugged.

  Becky blushed when he said that.

  “Where is this carnival?” I asked.

  “They’re set up right outside town, on the east side. Some of them will be performing in the parade.”

  “Jack, there’s too much going on. There’s no way you and Tom can cover all of this by yourselves.” I said.

  Jack leaned back in his chair.

  “Well, I have six guys with the Fire Brigade in their red shirts and helmets, to help keep things in order at the parade. Tom will have to stay here with the prisoner. I’ll be busy with the activities on the square and everything else. The big problems probably won’t come until tonight, when all the drinking and celebrating gets out of hand.”

  He looked at me.

  “You sure you don’t want a job?”

  I really didn’t want a job. I needed to find my family. It was bad enough I had to stay for the trial of Ed Rawlins. Committing to help protect the community of Bear Creek wasn’t something I wanted to do. Then again, I saw a need and I knew the work.

  I sighed. “Jack, I’ll put on the badge, but just to help out until things settle down.”

  Tom and Jack looked at each other and grinned.

  Jack reached into his vest pocket and tossed me a badge.

  “I cleared it with the Mayor last night,” he said. “I also sent a telegram to Cheyenne. Your gear will be coming in this afternoon on the 12:10 to Denver.”

  “Tom if you’ll hold down the fort here, I need to take John to meet some people. Then I have to get to the depot to meet the Governor’s train.”

  Becky kissed Tom goodbye and left with her dad and me.

  The streets were crowded as we made our way over to the courthouse. Most of the women wore the latest fashions with hats and parasols. Most of the men were in suits and children were running around playing tag. We climbed up the wide granite steps at the front of the building, the tiny crystals in the granite flashing like diamond chips, in the sparklingly clear morning sunlight. Once inside, Jack took us through a polished oak door, with opaque glass, into one of the offices. The Mayor was there with two other men.

  Jack made the introductions.

  “John, you know Mayor Larkin.”

  We shook hands.

  “Judge Tucker, this is John Everett Sage, lately of the Texas Rangers. Today he’s working for us.”

  When he added that last part, he was looking directly at the third man, to whom I had not yet been introduced. That man was the biggest man in the room. He would have been the biggest man in most any room, most anywhere.

  I shook hands with the judge and turned to the big man.

  “John, this is Clay Atwater, our new County Sheriff.”

  “Pleasure,” he said shaking my hand.

  His grip was firm, maybe just a little too firm, but then he was clearly a powerful brute of a man.

  “You all know my daughter, Becky,” Jack said.

  Becky smiled and gave a little mock curtsy.

  “Gentlemen…” She started to say something else.

  “I guess we better get over to the station,” Atwater interrupted, rudely.

  “Oh, the train isn’t due for nearly an hour. I think we have time to have a look around this new building. Would you folks like a tour?” Judge Tucker offered.

  “Yes, please,” Becky said. “This building is huge!”

  “Fine,” Atwater said. “You go ahead and do that. I’ll be at the Station.”

  He pulled his hat on and walked out of the office leaving the door open.

  “I guess he’s as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs,” Mayor Larkin said. “It’s a big day for him, he has to give a speech and he’s being sworn into office by the Governor himself.”

  Jack and I looked at each other.

  Judge Tucker took us upstairs to the courtroom which occupied the entire top floor. He showed us his chambers behind the bench. It was a small office, richly appointed with lots of polished oak in evidence. He was especially proud of the narrow, secret stairwell that would allow him to come and go from his chambers, without having to go through the courtroom or the hallways.

  He took us down those hidden stairs, all the way to the basement. It wasn’t really a basement, as it was only about half underground and had narrow windows just above ground level.

  This space was the Alta Vista County Jail. There were eight big cells with four bunks in each. The narrow windows had bars set into the walls on the inside. On the outside, steel shutters could be opened to allow light and air in, or closed to keep out bad weather.

  He showed us the County Sheriff’s office, right next to another set of stairs that went up to a door in the side of the building that could be barred from the inside. This was the place where prisoners would come and go, in and out of the jail.

  At the end of the basement were a couple of rooms with three bunk beds in each. These were for sheriff’s deputies to sleep in and for the occasional jurors, when a trial lasted more than a day or there weren’t enough rooms available at the hotel.

  He took us up another flight of stairs at the end of the building, which brought us back to the main floor.

  Later, at the train station, the judge and the Mayor excused themselves and went over to join the Sheriff, up on the railroad platform.

  There was a band assembled there at the depot, and a huge crowd of people. Bunting was decorating every surface in sight and was prominent on several wagons. I noted the fire brigade in their yellow painted helmets and red shirts, with their fancy pump wagon and team of matching grey horses. There were a number of older men in the familiar uniforms of Blue and Gray, with the flags of North and South. Some uniforms still fit, some didn’t. Former officers were mounted on horses; the rest were all on foot. I was hoping they all knew the war was over. Children raced around a juggler walking around on stilts.

  Clearly, this was where the parade would start. It also ensured a large and colorful crowd would be on hand to greet the Governor. We heard the train whistle blow, and the crowd cheered as the train rounded a bend.

  When the band started playing, I excused myself and took the distraction as an opportunity to head back into town.

  5.

  This was my first chance to really walk around in the town. When we’d been up on the second floor of the courthouse, I’d been able to see the general layout of the town was four square, with the streets running north/south and east/west.

  Line Street came in from the west, ran by the square on the north side, crossed Main Street and ended a few blocks later at the railroad depot. The parade would come from the depot, west on Line Street to the square. The dignitaries would leave the parade at the courthouse, to dedicate the building, swear in the new County Sheriff and make their speeches. The parade would turn south on Jackson Street, to go around the square and then head back east on Omaha Street, ending at the freight yard.

  I figured the parade wouldn’t get started for at least a half hour, what with the Governor being greeted and then getting the parade lined out. Already the whole parade route was lined with people. The street corners were blocked with barrels and bunting to keep traffic away from the square.

  I wanted a shave, but the barbershop on the corner of Main Street and Line was closed.

  I stopped and looked around, realizing this was the corner where Rawlins had killed Willy Walker. It looked cleaner, safer and happier, on this festive morning. All sorts of finely dressed people were talking and laughing. Most or all of them, were unaware a young man had spilled out his life’s blood into the dirt at the edge of this very boardwalk, just hours before.

  I walked south on Main Street, observing all the buildings in this block were built of brick. The First National Bank was
in the middle of the block. The Hotel was on the North side and the Bon Ton was right on the corner. On past the bank, on the south corner, was a dry goods store. I turned the corner and headed east, back toward the tracks. I passed a hardware store, and directly across the street, the doctor’s office, with his residence on the second floor. Next, I came to one of the three saloons, this one called the Ox Bow. It was clapboard, painted bright yellow, with a big porch out front. There were several people on the porch and on the board walk in front of it, waiting for the parade. The crowd here was a little different from the folks all around the square and at the depot. The people here were dressed for work. They were just taking a break from doing the things they had to do, to watch the parade when it passed their way.

  The folks on the square, at the depot and along the main parade route, were making a day of it, all decked out in their finest.

  I’d seen it before. It seems odd how just a couple of hundred yards, or turning a corner, can change the very nature of a community.

  Even though it was just past nine O’clock in the morning, the Ox Bow was open for business. I went inside.

  The place was half dark and smelled of stale beer, sweat and tobacco smoke. There were only a few men sitting at tables, and no one was standing or sitting at the big bar that ran the whole length of the back wall. I figured once the parade was over, business would probably pick up.

  Behind the bar, a bartender was polishing glasses and trying not to stare at my badge, as I walked up to him.

  “What’ll it be?” He mumbled, not meeting my eyes.

  I smiled my friendliest smile.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” I said.

  “Uh huh,” he nodded.

  He looked like any one of a hundred bartenders I had seen. He was of medium build with a bushy mustache, a fairly clean white apron, and he had thin, dark hair, which he had slicked down over the top of his head with some kind of hair grease.