Shooting For Justice

by G. Wayne Tilman

  “Let us know when and where,” Hume said.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m almost disappointed Jim agreed to you being a regional detective, Sarah. I was prepared to hire you on the spot to do the very thing for my company,” Morse said.

  “I’m honored, Harry. I would have accepted here and now.”

  They parted with handshakes, as was Hume’s way.

  At Pope’s desk, he took a telegraph form and penned a wire to the governor asking for the sheriff appointment in Marin County. He mentioned he had the support of the current sheriff, some key California law enforcement notables and some folks back east with whom he had worked. He said they would contact him separately. The telegram was gone before they left the Wells Fargo building.

  Now, hurry up and wait.

  They stopped on the way to the return ferry for a celebratory lunch. They loaded Caesar and one of the several cow ponies Israel had left and had moved to Marin when he vacated the ranch.

  The next day, Israel and Pope went to the ranch. They had a nearby lawyer who specialized in land deals. He listed it for sale. Even a low bid would more than cover the acquisition of the new, adjacent land in Marin.

  “Sonny,” Israel began once they started the ride to the ferry from the ranch, “I never got a chance to tell you the story I wanted to after dinner the first night. How ’bout now?”

  “Sure, Grandpa. Unless it’s something Millie and Sarah need to hear with me.”

  “Millie already knows. You can tell Sarah if you think it’s important.

  “I was married after your grandma. Married to a beautiful Indian princess. We lived with the tribe then in a cabin for several years. It was a good marriage. One day I was trapping and a small war party from another tribe out of the area came by. They killed her and savaged her badly. I had already lost one wife and I was filled with hate.

  “Boy, I tracked them down like you and I did those who killed the rest of our family five years later. I killed all six of them in one fight. Four were hand to hand. Or Bowie knife to body or throat would be more correct. I took their scalps to her father. He was a big chief. After a period of mourning, and he was as sad as me, he put together a war party. I didn’t go. They rode into the camp of the other tribe and killed every soul there.

  “He was an honorable man and knew I wouldn’t hold with killing women and children and old folks. So, he spared me. First and foremost, he was a chief. He had to do it his way as a sign for every other tribe.

  “We had a burial ceremony for my wife when he got back. I gathered her ashes and gave them to the four winds. She’s out there somewhere, smiling down.

  “Her spirit animal was a hawk. Every time I see one soaring, I think it’s probably her, checking on me.

  “With the bad luck I had with wives, I was scared to marry Millie. But I knew now there was two of us, you and me, to protect her. With you living close now, I feel calm. Calm for the first time in years, Sonny Boy.”

  Pope looked at his grandfather. He thought Israel Pope was the most dangerous man alive. Even in his mid-sixties. He had no idea his grandfather was convinced Pope himself was. Even so, together, it would have been difficult to find a more fearsome pair. Add Sarah, and they were stronger yet.

  Not beginning to think about this, they rode on, lost in their own thoughts. Happy to be riding together. Riding home. For the first time in a while.

  With letters from famous lawmen, the attorney general and secretary of war, and a former US senator, the governor was swayed to appoint Pope sheriff for the remaining several years of the current sheriff’s term. The telegram from the president, a man of his own party, sealed the deal. Robert Todd Lincoln decided to call in a favor. Arthur was aware the two detectives had probably saved his life. His telegram to the governor was eloquent and would have been hard to ignore.

  He telegraphed Pope and told him to come to Sacramento immediately.

  Pope boarded a train and went in the suit and white shirt he was wearing at the time.

  He went to the state capitol and presented himself at the governor’s office. With his telegram from the governor, he was given an appointment an hour hence. He took a seat in the lobby and waited.

  The bearded former Union officer whose West Point roommate had been Stonewall Jackson, greeted Pope at the precise time scheduled.

  “Governor Stoneman, it’s good to meet you,” Pope said, offering his hand.

  “And you also, Mr. Pope. Your telegram proposing, I appoint you sheriff was actually preceded by some pretty interesting people. Just after yours, I received a letter of endorsement from President Arthur. He claimed you and your partner saved his life recently.

  “I’d like to hear the details.”

  Pope gave him the summary of the case.

  “Interesting. James Hume and Harry Morse are well-known to me. Both said you are the top detective at Wells Fargo.”

  “I respectfully disagree, Governor. They are the two top detectives in America. No question about it. My wife, Sarah, is the best detective otherwise.”

  “I had some interaction with Allan Pinkerton during the war. She is better than him?” the governor asked.

  “Maybe not in his heyday, sir. He trained her. We visited him in Chicago a week ago. He has slid backwards badly after a stroke. I fear he won’t be with us much longer.”

  “What did you think of him?” Stoneman asked.

  “I read all of his books as a young San Francisco detective. He was like a hero to me. When we met, it was clear he cared a lot for Sarah. He was resentful to me, though I gave him no reason. I reckon it was related to his failing health.”

  “Don’t be too sure. I found him an irascible cuss twenty years ago,” Stoneman said.

  “I would have been surprised to hear it a year ago. After last week, I’m not surprised at all. Sarah always said he was testy. Nonetheless, he advanced criminology farther than anyone up to Jim Hume, who has taught me so much at Wells Fargo.”

  “I understand Hume had developed some court-approved tests for bullet ballistics,” Stoneman said, perhaps testing his interviewee.

  “He has. I used them in Cheyenne, Wyoming recently to prove a case against some stage and train robbers,” Pope said.

  “Hume said you have solved every case he has assigned you. Either by good detecting or good shooting,” the governor said.

  “Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn sometimes, Governor.”

  Stoneman smiled.

  “You realize if I appoint you for this job in Marin, you will have to run in an election to keep it in about two years?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Would Israel Pope be your campaign manager? He is a not a Californian by birth but by choice. And a state treasure.”

  “I have not thought about running, but I cannot think of a much better advocate.”

  “I don’t know, your telegram advocates set a pretty high bar. Other than at San Francisco, have you ever been a sworn officer?”

  “I was provost marshal to the secretary of war and was sworn as a deputy US marshal reporting to the attorney general during the Washington case. The attorney general asked me to keep my badge in case he needed me for something else during his term. So, I am sworn right now.”

  “Might be helpful for a sheriff chasing a fugitive around the state. Or, out of it.”

  “I was thinking the same thing, Governor,” Pope said.

  “Do you have any questions for me?”

  “No sir. I am ready to serve at your pleasure.”

  “I have a judge standing by. Give me a moment.”

  The governor called his secretary and asked the judge to be located in the building and brought into the office.

  After introductions, Pope raised his right hand. He held his left on a Bible.

  “Do you, John Pope, solemnly agree to uphold the ordinances of Marin County, the laws of the State of California and support the Constitution of the United States, so help you God?” the judge read
.

  “I do.”

  “Then, by the powers invested in me by the State of California, I appoint you Sheriff of Marin County for the remainder of the elected term of your predecessor. Congratulations, Sheriff Pope.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  “Sheriff, I don’t have a badge. You will have to get one from the man who was sheriff or have one made. I will give you a court order, under seal, commemorating this swearing in. It will be your official proof of being sheriff,” the judge said.

  “If you gentlemen have nothing further, I better get back down to Marin and start enforcing the law,” Pope said.

  “I will telegraph the Marin Sheriff’s Office and local Marin papers and advise you have been sworn in as sheriff. No need for you have to show up yourself and explain it,” the governor said.

  “Thank you, Governor. I appreciate the courtesy.”

  He was on a southbound train an hour later.

  Pope sent an advisement of his new status to Hume from San Rafael. Hume responded he would be there for the wedding or Sarah’s start as regional detective, whichever came first. Pope could turn in his Wells Fargo badge and resign then.

  After the telegrams were sent from the train depot, Pope went to the sheriff’s office and introduced himself.

  He liked the chief deputy, a man named Bill Isakson. He was a man of good administrative skills, knew everyone in the county and was well-liked. He just did not want to take the responsibility of being sheriff and was glad to welcome Pope.

  “We have ten patrol deputies and ten jailers. The only deputy other than me with supervisory powers is Jason Hinkley. He’s the chief jailer. Running a jail takes a lot of work with repairs, food, and staffing. Whenever you want, I’ll take you over for a look-see. We have a firing range and a garden over at the jail. I guess you know it’s just outside of town on a couple acres.”

  “Let’s plan to go over first thing in the morning for a tour and to meet Jason and whoever he has on duty,” Pope said.

  “I have some personal stuff to take care of over the next couple of weeks, Bill. A lot of the weight will stay on your shoulders like it has been since the sheriff’s accident. Sarah and I have to move from San Francisco, get a house near here, and get a church marriage added to our nuptials.” The sixty-year-old nodded with understanding and sympathy. He would not want to have to cram a lot of things in the short period of time the new sheriff allotted himself.

  Pope sat down in his new office and drafted letters to Hume, Morse, Brewster, Lincoln, Conkling, and President Arthur thanking them for their supportive telegrams. He advised he was sworn in today and ready to begin enforcing the law.

  He went to San Francisco later in the day and met with Hume, who still seemed a bit miffed at his leaving. Pope turned in his badge and a shotgun Sarah had checked out of the armory. He went on to several jewelers until he found one which would craft a sheriff’s badge for him. He chose a five-point star with balls on the end of the points. It would have Sheriff across the top of the circle in the center and Marin County, CA below. He chose to have it hammered out of a gold Mexican cinco peso coin like the Texas Rangers used. The jeweler promised to have it sent to him via none other than Wells Fargo within a week. In the meantime, he had his deputy US marshal badge in case he needed to show authority or make an arrest.

  Pope gave some thought about how he would approach the job. First off, he would wear a suit, except on a long trail. His experience suggested a California sheriff was a bit more formal than one on the frontier.

  He would use his single action Colt .44 with a smaller revolver as backup in an inside the waistband holster. He chose a .44 Webley short, barreled Bulldog revolver, infamously carried in a longer version by Custer seven years earlier, and Garfield’s assassin two years earlier. It was not a bad backup, short range weapon and oddly accurate for a short firearm. Pope decided to wear it on the left under his vest.

  Remembering the horrendous recoil of Sara’s pistol grip-only sawed-off ten gauge, he picked up a used Greener twenty-gauge and had the gunsmith saw off the barrel several inches in front of the fore stock and the butt just behind the pistol grip. It would be a lighter, but friendlier gun to shoot. Like the heavier one, she could carry it in a large purse.

  Hume had told him he wanted to meet with Sarah about assignments and reporting schedules during the coming week. He seemed to ignore she was on holiday. Pope would ask her to check on his new badge at Marks and Co. in San Francisco while in the city.

  The following day, he and Sarah went to the Presbyterian church in San Rafael and planned a small wedding for ten days hence. Sarah was Protestant but did not bother to tell Pope which particular denomination. Pope believed in God, but most of his religion from his grandfather was slanted to Indian beliefs. They kept quiet about all of this and planned the service with the pastor without any theological discussion.

  Within a week, Sarah had met with Hume in San Francisco and Israel Pope had received a low-ball offer on the ranch. After discussing the offer with his grandson, he decided to accept it without countering. It was in gold, which had a lot of appeal. Further, it was more than enough to buy the adjacent hundred acres and build a cabin for Pope and Sarah as a wedding gift.

  Sarah returned with a portfolio full of cases for primarily Marin and Sonoma Counties. Most were investigating the validity of lawsuit claims against Wells Fargo. One was a stage robbery at the farthest end of her territory. Hume, who did not seem to be angry with Sarah, said he reserved the right to expand her territory whenever needed.

  Both Sarah and Pope knew what he was doing was slipping one more experienced detective into Hume’s and Morse’s longstanding case against Black Bart. The robber had been single-handedly robbing Wells Fargo stages since 1877 and was the only blot on the reputation of the two great detectives.

  Sarah also brought Pope his new gold Marin sheriff’s badge from the jeweler.

  Israel and Millie Pope left for the ranch to be present at the closing. He took the gold and, at his grandson’s suggestion, converted it into a negotiable bond. He folded it up and stuck it inside the top of his long johns, somewhere a robber would be unlikely to look for it. He would convert it back to close on the adjacent woodland when it closed several days later.

  While the senior Popes were gone, Sarah and Pope met with a local builder. He gave them the price on building a two-bedroom log home with a tin roof. It would have a main room, a storage cupboard, a privy out back and a well. Pope decided to save money and build his own stable for Caesar and a horse for Sarah. The builder would also clear any trees necessary to use a horse-drawn drag to scrape a primitive road in from the main road.

  The last thing they needed to do was invite a few people to the wedding. After much discussion, they invited the Lanes. Joe was the Wells Fargo executive whose kidnapped daughter Mattie they had recovered. Millie Pope had served for years as their housekeeper and virtually raised Mattie and her older sister, Martha. Israel came into the investigation and proved a valuable asset. He, Sarah, and Pope all liked the family except for the wife and mother. Harriett Lane was a tough person to like. Millie, who virtually ran the household, was able to moderate her disposition.

  Sarah’s comment as soon as they found Millie would be marrying Israel was, “The poor family. How will they get along with such a horrible woman without Millie?” Her gracious feelings were somewhat lessened when the pretty young Mattie began to write love letters to John Pope which would have embarrassed a San Francisco Tenderloin madam. Sarah planned to smile directly at young Mattie as she said, “I do.” She only shared her plan with Millie. Millie, who had virtually raised the Lane girls did not say anything initially. Later, she cautioned Sarah against it. “Why add avarice to what should be the happiest day of your life?” she asked.

  Sarah thought of the close relationship she and older sister Martha established during the kidnap investigation. Martha had come into her room and climbed into bed to talk and be assured her sister
would be returned alive. Sarah realized her action would be unnecessary and hurtful to more than just young Mattie. She also realized it would be petty and beneath her.

  Towards the end of the two weeks, their wedding occurred. It was quiet.

  Guests included the chief deputy, Hume, Morse, the Lanes, the Kanes.

  Young Mattie, now a pretty woman, cried during the ceremony. Nobody but Sarah and Millie took notice as crying at weddings was not unusual. Her mother scowled as was her habit most times. The older sister schemed on how to become one of Pope’s deputies.

  Weather allowed an outside meal and reception at the cabin.

  Kane took his new friend Pope aside.

  “John, I have a problem which has just arisen. I may need your help. I don’t know whether your assistance will be professional or just personal. But it is highly confidential. I need to swear you to absolute secrecy and ask you follow my lead and not let any law enforcement zeal decide your efforts.”

  “Michael, it’s a pretty tall order. But I will abide by your conditions to help you,” Pope promised.

  They had walked away from the wedding party and were out of hearing of everyone.

  “My wife is not Ogarita Booth. She is an actor who is her best friend. My ‘Rita’ is really named Sally Hemsworth. The real Rita wanted to drop out of sight and asked my Sally to assume her identity. They look enough alike to be twins. Friends of Rita never picked up on the differences. It gave Sally the opportunity to be a famous actor,” Kane said.

  “What happened to the real Rita?” Pope asked.

  “She is happily living with a new husband out West as Rita with a new last name. What it is does not matter.”

  “So, Michael, I have not detected what’s worrying you yet.”

  “Herein lies the biggest secret you will ever know but cannot share.

  “A reporter in San Francisco spotted and recognized my wife. He wrote an article about Ogarita Booth and her new husband being in town.”

  “How does it worry you, Michael?” Pope asked.

  “Because her father saw it and realized my ‘Rita’ is not his ‘Rita’. He even looked us up and watched us without our knowing it. He knows for a fact I am not married to his real daughter.”