BEAR CREEK (SAGE COUNTRY Book 1)

by Dan Arnold

  I told him the story.

  “We’d better go on up to the big house and talk to the boss. I’ll walk up there with you. You can tie your horse up here or you can put him in that empty pen over there, if you want.” He indicated a nearby breaking pen.

  I never tie a horse by the bridal reins if I can avoid it, so I was glad to be able to turn him out in the pen.

  We walked across the bridge over the creek, then up the hill to the big house.

  13.

  The house was even more beautiful and massive from the bottom of the stairs. It was at least as big as, and probably bigger than the courthouse in Bear Creek. Just standing in the shade on the porch was like being in a pole barn.

  Glen turned the bell crank by the enormous front door. After a few moments it was opened by a man in a tuxedo!

  “Mr Corbet, how nice to see you, we were expecting you,” he said. He turned toward me and raised his eyebrows.

  “Fred, this is the marshal from Bear Creek. He needs to talk to Mr. Courtney,” the foreman said.

  “Oh, I see. Well then, do come in. I’ll go get him.”

  We stepped into a big room with a flagstone floor. It took me a second to realize this was just the foyer. There was a long hallway off to our left, and a pair of double doors off to our right. On the far side of the foyer, was a broad staircase that divided, with one branch going up to the left wing, and the other to the right. The whole staircase was covered with a burgundy colored carpet. The stair rails were elaborately carved. We stood there, with our hats in our hands, on an oriental rug. I was aware of my muddy boots. Directly above us was a huge chandelier.

  The man “Fred” left us there and walked over to the big double doors and knocked. We heard some sort of answer from within. He slid the doors open just enough to allow his entry, then turned and closed them behind himself.

  “That’s Fred, the butler,” Glen Corbet said quietly, as we waited.

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  Glen bobbed his head and chuckled.

  The big double doors slid open and William Courtney came striding into the foyer. He left the doors open behind him.

  “Howdy Glen, you’re early. Howdy, Deputy Sage. Where’s the marshal?”

  He was dressed in jeans and boots, and had a pair of suspenders over a red paid shirt. He looked like he was ready to go chop down a tree.

  “Mr. Courtney, Marshal Watson was killed by a prisoner at the jail, in Bear Creek, sometime last night. The prisoner escaped,” I said.

  “My God, no…not Jack! I can’t believe it.”

  I could tell he was truly shocked.

  After a moment he said.

  “Surely you didn’t ride all the way out here, to tell us that.”

  “No sir. I was hoping to find some sign of Rawlins. He’s the man that most likely killed the marshal. When I got to the ranch, I thought I would come on down and ask if anyone had seen him.”

  It was more or less the truth.

  “Rawlins? That’s the name Jack mentioned yesterday. Didn’t he kill young Willie? I’d never heard of him till then.”

  He turned to Glen.

  “Has he been here? Has anyone seen him?”

  “No Bill, at least not as far as I know. I’ll ask the boys, but I’m pretty certain he hasn’t been here.”

  “Glen has been very helpful, Mr. Courtney,” I interjected. “It was just a hunch and kind of a faint hope, that he might have come this way.”

  “Glen, Deputy Sage, how nice to see you,” Mrs. Courtney said, as she swept into the room. She stopped when she saw our demeanor.

  “What has happened, what’s wrong?”

  She put her hand to her mouth.

  “Gentlemen, let’s go into the sitting room,” Mr. Courtney said.

  He took Mrs. Courtney’s arm and led us through the double doors into the other room.

  What a room it was. It had a river stone fireplace, so big; a buffalo could have slept in it. The mantle was about eight feet wide, with a lamp on each end and a beautiful gold clock, sitting in the middle of it. Hanging above the mantle, was a big buffalo head. I wondered if they had shot him for sleeping in the fireplace. There were several built in bookshelves that housed hundreds of books. Over near the windows, was a grand piano, at which Lacy Courtney was seated. The floor in this room was the same flagstone, and there were beautiful oriental rugs in each seating area. I say each seating area, because there was more than one. There was one seating area right in front of, and facing the fireplace. Another was over by the piano; a third was at the far end of the room. Each area had great couches and chairs, upholstered in the finest fabrics and leathers.

  Seated in the area by the piano was the Governor, and as I mentioned, Lacy Courtney was seated at the piano. They both stood to greet us as we came in.

  “Governor, you and Lacy know Glen, of course, and you may remember Deputy Sage.” Mr. Courtney said, by way of introduction.

  Glen and I shook hands with Governor McGee and said hello to Miss Courtney.

  “Let’s all have a seat. Deputy Sage has brought us bad news from Bear Creek,” Mr. Courtney said, with a motion toward the furniture.

  When we were seated, Fred the butler appeared from somewhere to offer refreshments.

  “Would anyone care for tea or perhaps some coffee?”

  We all declined.

  “That will be all Fred. Please tell Melba we’ll have one more for Sunday dinner. Thank you,” Mr. Courtney said.

  I attempted to decline, but was overruled.

  “Glen almost always has Sunday dinner with us and it’s a treat to have visitors. It’s unfortunate it has to be under these circumstances. Ordinarily we would have been at church this morning, but the weather was not conducive,” Mrs. Courtney said.

  I thought about that. It would take them the better part of two hours to get to town, and another two hours to get back. Church would have to be a serious commitment. I doubted the weather would deter them. I figured they hadn’t gone to church because they had the Governor staying with them.

  I was especially grateful for the invitation to join them for Sunday dinner. I had only had coffee so far that day, and I was famished.

  “Now tell us the situation, Deputy,” Governor McGee suggested.

  I told them the story from the beginning, including the fact I had been sworn in as the new marshal.

  “Poor Becky,” Mrs. Courtney said. “As girls, her mother and I were best friends. Now Becky has lost her mother and her father. I’m glad Tom is there for her.”

  The Governor had been watching me closely while I was speaking.

  “Are you the same John Sage, who put an end to that mess down in Raton, New Mexico, a few years ago?”

  “I wasn’t alone, sir,” I replied. “That was a long time ago and a long way from here. I’m surprised you would have heard about it in Denver.”

  “It was five years ago, and I was the Mayor of Trinidad, when it happened. I read that before it was over, there was a whole company of Rangers killed, and you were the only survivor.”

  “No sir, there were only five of us Rangers, not a whole company. A company could be anywhere from twenty to forty men. I wish it had been a whole company. The outcome would have been quickly assured. We were only five Rangers, and our tracker, Yellow Horse, was with us. Charlie Goodnight had told us the Murdock gang was hiding out in the Palo Duro canyon. We figured if we surrounded the gang, we could easily take them. We figured wrong. When we went in to surround them, they slipped past us and ran. We pursued them out of the canyon up onto the high plains. We had kind of a running gun battle for six days, as we chased them north. By the third day, they had managed to wound two of my fellow Rangers. We sent them back under the care of one able bodied man. That left three of us, Billy Whitney, Yellow Horse and me, to maintain the pursuit.

  We continued the running fight for three more days. We didn’t know when we had left Texas and were in New Mexico. When we got to Raton, we checked in wi
th the Sheriff there. Since it was his jurisdiction, he came with us. We didn’t have time to waste forming a posse, so the four of us chased the remaining members of the Murdock gang up into the pass.

  Now, when we started the pursuit in Texas, there were only seven men in the Murdock gang, and we had killed Joe Murdock and another man, in the fighting coming north. There were actually only five of them in the pass that last day, and they were shot up some themselves,” I reflected. “They had the high ground and set an ambush. They shot our horses out from under us, killing first Billy Whitney, and then the Sheriff of Raton. Yellow Horse and I had to finish them off one at a time, on foot, and at one point, hand to hand.

  “So, the fact is, two Rangers were badly wounded and they recovered. Only one Ranger was killed, plus the Sheriff, and Yellow Horse and I both survived. You can’t believe everything you read in the papers,” I concluded.

  Fred came back into the room.

  “Dinner is served,” he announced.

  We enjoyed a fine dinner, though I was ever mindful of the reason for the occasion. In fact, our conversation was mostly centered on it.

  “…Well, that’s not surprising, Marshal, a lot of horses around here carry the Bar C brand. Glen can explain it,” Mr. Courtney said.

  I didn’t need an explanation. I had clearly seen how fond Mr. Courtney was of slapping his brand on everything in sight.

  “We sell a lot of horses, but not all of them are branded, same with the cattle. We only brand the better quality animals. The culls carry no brand at all. We used to brand all of our stock, but now that we have fences, we don’t need to. There isn’t much chance our stock will get mixed in with anyone else’s.” Glen explained.

  “Now, the big bay gelding you described sounds like a pretty good quality horse. We breed a lot of bays. How much white did he have on him?”

  “He had two white stockings on the back legs and a blaze.”

  “Yeah, we would’ve probably branded a horse like that. If he had any more white on his legs, we wouldn’t have done it. That’s also why we gelded him. Good horse, just not good enough.”

  “A lot of our cowboys ride bay horses, and as I mentioned, we sell a lot of them every year. Of course, if he was an older horse, going back to the days when we were still branding everything…” He shrugged.

  “Rawlins showed up at the railway station pretty much when the train arrived. He put his ticket and the freight charge for his horse on your account.”

  I wanted see if there was any reaction to that.

  “That’s a nuisance. We’ll have to give the depot agents a list of authorized people. We’ve never had a problem before. I guess the word about us having an account has gotten around. Glen, you go to Bear Creek tomorrow, and get it taken care of,” Mr. Courtney directed.

  “Bill, we’re going to the station tomorrow, to see the Governor off, on the 12:10 to Denver. Perhaps we can do it then,” Mrs. Courtney suggested.

  “Right, I wasn’t thinking. Thank you mother,” he beamed at his wife.

  “Mr. Courtney, you might want to have Glen and a couple of your cowboys ride along with you on the way to town. Tell them to look to their guns. With a killer on the loose, it doesn’t pay to take any chances,” I noted.

  He looked at me.

  “Damned good idea, Marshal! You’re welcome to spend the night, and ride into town with us tomorrow.”

  I was tempted, but I needed to get back to town. I thanked them for the offer, and the lovely Sunday dinner, and took the opportunity to say my goodbyes.

  Glen walked back down the hill with me.

  “Marshal, have you got any idea where that polecat is?” he asked, as we walked over the stone bridge.

  “No, I don’t,” I admitted. “He could be anywhere.”

  I was not happy about the prospect of Rawlins having fled the area. Then again, I didn’t like the thought he might still be around somewhere, any better.

  As I rode back into town, I watched the country around me with care.

  The dun proved a really good mount. I liked him a lot and decided to buy him.

  When I got back to the livery stable, Al was there feeding the stock.

  “Howdy Marshal, I found your note,” he said, as I dismounted. “There is no charge for the rental. You can get the loan of a horse, anytime you need one. Any sign of the killer?”

  I shook my head, as I loosened the cinch.

  “Thanks for the loan, Al. What did Willy call this horse?”

  “Willy called him ‘Dusty’.”

  “I like that name. And I like this horse, a lot. Al, will you sell him to me?”

  Al frowned.

  As I led “Dusty” into the barn, I was thinking, “Oh boy, here we go. He’s going to get every penny he can.”

  “I can’t sell him,” he said.

  I thought about it for a minute, as I unsaddled the dun.

  “OK, I understand. He was Willy’s horse.”

  He smiled sadly, “Yeah, that’s just it. He was Willy’s horse. He’s not mine to sell. I think Willy would have wanted him to go to someone who really appreciated the horse. I can’t think of anyone better than you.”

  “I couldn’t…”

  “I insist. It’s perfect. You were there when Willy was killed. You’re working to catch Willy’s murderer. You have a connection to Willy. You need a horse and I can see you and Dusty are a good match. I think Willy would be proud for you to have Dusty, and I sure don’t need another mouth to feed. He’s yours,” he concluded, reaching out to shake my hand.

  I was humbled and very thankful.

  We arranged boarding for Dusty, and I was glad to know Al would be getting some compensation for his generous gift.

  14.

  I walked over to visit Tom and Becky. They were getting through it. They had arranged to have the viewing at the mortician’s on Monday evening and Jack’s funeral at the church on Tuesday afternoon. Tom told me he would be at work first thing in the morning. I told him to take as much time as he needed.

  When I got back to the Marshal’s office, I took the ruined mattress and bedding out behind the jail and burned them. Then, I scrubbed up the dried blood from the floor of the cell.

  That night I did the rounds, checking locks and making sure everything was secure and quiet. It was Sunday night and quiet was the norm in most towns. Even the saloons were closed on Sunday night. When I was sure there was nothing else that needed to be done, I climbed up the stairs to my room at the hotel and surrendered to my exhaustion.

  Monday morning found me having breakfast alone, in the Bon Ton. I met with the owner, Henri Levesque, to explain the situation and arrange for an account.

  “Oh Monsieur Sage, thees is terrible.” He said that last word like ‘ter reeb luh’, but I knew what he meant

  “We weel mees heem so.”

  Yeah, I got that too.

  After breakfast I unlocked the Marshal’s office. I went into the room that had been Jack’s. It was cozy. There was a sitting area with a bookcase, a table with a lamp and a big wingback chair upholstered in leather. The lamp had burned out. The globe was darkened with soot. Jack’s reading glasses were on the table.

  From the chair, if the shade was up, you could see out the window. There would be a view of the square. The shade was still pulled closed now. There were only two books on the shelf. One was a collection of Shakespeare’s plays; the second was a reading primer.

  It seemed Becky was not the only one helping Tom with his reading.

  On the floor by the chair, a Bible lay open to the book of 1st Corinthians. There was a bed up against the wall that separated this room from the jail. If there was a commotion in the jail, he would have heard it. Against the remaining wall was a wardrobe with a couple of drawers at the bottom. When I opened it, I found some of Jack’s clothes hanging; some more were folded in the drawers. The only other things in the room were a little wood burning stove in a corner and a cowhide rug on the floor.

 
The bed was still made. Added to the fact he was fully dressed when I found him, it indicated to me that Jack had never gone to bed. He still had his boots on.

  He might have been reading when I stopped by the office late the previous night, or he might have already been dead. Maybe the storm hitting had roused him to go check on the prisoner. Maybe Rawlins had cried out as though in distress. Maybe this, maybe that.

  In the end, Jack was dead and Rawlins was long gone. I aimed to see he didn’t get away with it.

  Tom came in and found me standing there.

  He looked like five miles of bad trail.

  He surveyed the room and I could see him going through the process.

  “He never even went to bed,” he said.

  I took him back out into the office. We sat down at the desk. I felt awkward sitting behind the desk with Tom in front of me, but there it was.

  “Tom, I want you to keep your eyes open and be very, very careful.”

  “What…why?”

  “Just because Rawlins is gone, doesn’t mean he won’t come back. When he killed Jack, he eliminated the arresting officer. When he escaped from the town, he eliminated the trial. He thinks I was just passing through, and the only reason I stayed in town, was for his trial. He’ll figure I have no reason to stay. He probably believes I’ll be getting on a train to Wyoming. That leaves you, as the only person who’s a threat to him. No one else in this town knows who he is. If he comes back here, he’ll probably be ready, willing and possibly even looking, to kill you,” I added.

  “Why would he even come back here?”

  “I’d like to think he won’t. You might not be aware of this, but criminals often like to return to the scene of a crime they believe they have gotten away with. He’s the kind of man who might do that.”

  “I’ve heard that. It seems kind of stupid though.”