by Dan Arnold
“Yeah, well, I thought about doing that, but I wanted to give you the chance and the time to do the right thing. These days, there are a lot more folks here who want to see this town become a decent place to raise a family. Many of the miners are among them, and there are new settlers coming in who could turn North Fork into a healthy and thriving community.
It’ll soon be the twentieth century. Here’s something else to consider, there’s a big timber company looking to locate somewhere near here. They might want to come right into North Fork, if it was cleaned up. They would build a mill. This town could really become something. You could be a part of it.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. I know there’s been talk of the wives of the miners raising a ruckus, even though some of those women are reformed whores themselves. Now they want to build a church and a schoolhouse.
It’s damned hard to stop progress. I guess it’s been a pretty good run, while it lasted. I’m not stupid; I’ve invested in some things here and there. Some of the others may not be smart enough to see what’s coming. I can only speak for myself.
I know Ian McGregger will want to fight this for sure. He owns the Gold Dust Hotel and Casino. It’s all he’s got. Probably a couple of others will join him too.”
“I’ll give you thirty days; not one day more. I won’t interfere or hound you between now and then, but I’ll be watching. This town is going to change. It has to happen; it’s going to happen, one way or another. If y’all don’t do it yourselves, I’ll be forced to come up here with all of my deputies and a posse and we’ll clean y’all out completely and permanently.”
We both stood up.
“I’ll stop by to see you on my way back down from Flapjack City.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he said, sullenly. “The less we see of you, the better … for everybody.”
7.
It had been a long day. I’d ridden out at sunrise to go to North Fork and Flapjack City, and I was getting back into Bear Creek well after dark. The sun goes behind the mountains early, but it had been full on nighttime for the last two or three hours. I figured it was sometime after nine o’clock by now. I’d eaten lunch in North Fork on my way up to Flapjack City, but I didn’t stop there for supper on my way back. Dusty and I were both worn out, sore, and hungry. Riding downhill is hard on a horse, and I frequently dismounted, leading him down the steepest grades.
From the top of the mesa above the bridge over Bear Creek, I could see lamplight in the windows of Mrs. O’Malley’s boarding house, upstairs and down. It was the last house you passed on your way out of town headed west, and the first house you came to heading into town from the west. There was a carriage house with a two seated outhouse behind it and a small barn in the pasture that went down to the creek behind the house. I wanted to stop and see Lora and maybe get a bite to eat, but it was too late to visit and Dusty needed to be fed and turned out for the night. As we passed by the picket fence in front of the house, I saw movement up on the big wrap around porch near the front door.
“John, is that you?” Lora called.
“Hey, girl,” I replied, reining to a stop.
I stepped off Dusty as she ran down the steps and across the walk to meet me at the gate. She was wrapped up in a shawl, but when she got closer she dropped it around her shoulders, and I could see she had let her hair down. Her dress was light pink silk with red and blue paisley swirls. I could hear the sound of the bustle’s train dragging over the pavers. I kissed her as I wrapped her in my arms.
“Oh, John, I was so worried. I’ve been watching for you for hours.”
“Now Lora, we’ve talked about this. You can’t keep a watch for me every time I ride out of town, and you can’t worry every day about what might happen.”
She looked up into my eyes. “I know, John, but tonight it’s different. It’s the first night there are no guests. I was all alone in this big empty house and ... you were gone, way up into the mountains, and … well, I just got worried.”
“Why sure, honey, I understand.”
I hadn’t thought about her being all alone that day. We’d discussed whether or not to keep taking in boarders after we were married, but we hadn’t decided for sure yet. Lora didn’t want to have anyone there as she prepared for the wedding. This was the first day in years that she’d been left all alone.
“Are you hungry? Do you want to come in and get something to eat? You can leave Dusty tied here at the rail.”
Talk about tempting!
“I’m starving, but so is Dusty, and I’ve got to get him up to the livery stable.”
“John, you could just turn him out into the pasture here with the other horses,” she said coyly.
Oh boy!
“Now, you know I can’t do that. They might fight, and one of them would get hurt. Besides, it wouldn’t be proper.”
She smiled invitingly and batted her eyes at me. “Why John, whatever are you suggesting?”
“If I turn Dusty out into the pasture, I won’t be leaving here tonight.” My voice had gotten husky.
“That’s what I had in mind. What difference do a couple of days make?” she said.
I had to double check my convictions.
She sensed my struggle. “Easy there, cowboy, we can wait; besides, I was half teasing anyway.”
“Oh, yeah? Well try that again Saturday night—after the wedding!”
“Can I at least make you a sandwich? I’ve got fresh bread and some beef and cheese.”
“Now you’re talking,” I said.
She whisked away from me toward the house, so I led Dusty over to the hitching rail.
Typically, I won’t tie a horse by the bridle reins. Dusty ground ties really well, but he had carried that bit in his mouth all day, so I pulled his neck rope out of my saddle bags. As I went to take off his bridle, I thought I saw the glow of a cigarette about fifty yards up the street, on the edge of the first block of homes. That, coupled with the sense that I was being watched made me uneasy. I chalked it off to being over tired and jumpy. It was probably just some gent out for an evening stroll. I started brushing road dust off me as I headed for the house.
***
“John, I really don’t like being here all alone,” Lora stated. “I think we need to continue to take in boarders.”
“We can, but don’t you think it will be better once we’re married and both living here?” I responded.
She shook her head. “No, I know there will be times when you’ll be gone for days on Sheriff’s business. I don’t want to be here all by myself.”
“Are you afraid something might happen? Don’t you feel safe?”
“I guess that’s part of it. Having to deal with the chores and the house all alone in bad weather is part of it, but the loneliness is the biggest part.”
She was right. There would be times when I would be gone. She had always had help running the boarding house. Consuela came and helped with the cooking and cleaning. The male boarders had helped with hauling firewood from the woodshed and pitching in to help with any heavy lifting.
Lora once told me, the one thing she’d wanted more than anything was a family. She had not been able to have a child in her first marriage. Her first husband’s death had left her with a huge empty house and some land on both sides of the creek, and that was all. She’d taken in boarders to make ends meet, but she also thrived on the requisite activity and the social interaction with her guests. Her cooking skills had won her a loyal following, and there were days when townspeople who were not boarders were lined up to get a chance to sit at one of her dining tables.
“Okay, then. That’s what we’ll do. I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’m sure Consuela will be ready to come back to work anyway. I would prefer it if you let her do most of the work and you became more of a woman of leisure. After all, I’m supposed to be the bread winner, and I am the Sheriff of the county. I wouldn’t want folks to think I couldn’t provide for my wife.”
&
nbsp; “That’s just your pride talking.”
“Yeah, maybe so, but I’m serious. People talk, and some of them go out of their way to find things to criticize. I am a public figure.”
“And a fine figure of a man at that,” she grinned.
“I’m glad you think so.”
8.
It was late when I led Dusty into the livery stable to strip off his saddle and tack.
Inside, it was blacker than pitch. I lit a lantern so I could see what I was doing. I groomed him, and as I was rubbing liniment on him, I became aware of furtive movement above me in the hay loft. I was comfortable with the sounds of the horses moving about in their stalls as they checked out Dusty and me. I was familiar with the sounds of scurrying mice, and I even knew the barn owl that roosted by day in the rafters. This sound was new and unfamiliar.
I was tired of having the creeping sensation I was being watched.
The lantern cast long shadows away from us, and there were places in the stable the light couldn’t reach, staying hidden in darkness. Dusty and I were clearly visible to anyone who might be watching us, but I couldn’t see into the dark beyond the lamplight.
There were three ways to get into the hay loft. One way was to go up the stairs that ran along one interior wall, right by the front entrance to the stable. The stairs were there to make it easy to carry things up and down from the loft.
The second way was a ladder attached to the wall of the office going up to the edge of the loft where it became the ceiling above the office. I could see the bottom of the stairs, and I was standing near the ladder. If I attempted to climb up to the loft from here, whoever might be watching me from the darkness of the loft would have a clear shot at me in the light.
The third way up into the loft was the ladder attached to the outside of the building at the back of the barn. That ladder went directly to a door next to the big doors in the end of the loft where the block and tackle was hanging out for use in getting bales of hay and other heavy things up into the loft. There was no lock on that door, as it was at the back of the stable in the enclosed area directly behind the barn.
I untied Dusty and led him out the back of the stable and turned him out into his pen. Al had put out fresh hay for him, and his water trough was full. I went quietly up the ladder and found the door was open. I peeked into the loft.
I nearly fell backwards off the ladder when I found myself face to face with someone who had been watching me climb the ladder. I had my gun in my hand before I realized the pale face, only inches from my nose, was that of a small frightened child. It was difficult to see in the darkness of the loft here at the back of the barn, but my eyes had adjusted while I was putting Dusty into his pen. I could see the child clearly enough to recognize she was no threat to me. I holstered my gun and climbed up into the loft as the child backed slowly away from me, fear evident on her face.
“Hello there. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” I said. I crouched down, hoping to be less threatening. The little girl appeared to be no more than four or five years old with a smatter of freckles, straggly blonde hair with hay in it, and a dirty and tattered smock of some sort.
“Leave her alone, Mister.”
The voice preceded the appearance of another child coming forward from farther back in the loft. I could see this child somewhat more clearly because the lantern down below was casting some feeble light up into the loft where he was. He was only a year or two older than the girl, with similar freckles and the same hair color. He had no shirt, and he was wearing a pair of bib overalls. He was barefoot, as was the little girl, but he had something she didn’t have. He was holding an “Arkansas Toothpick,” a big, long-bladed knife, trying to be menacing. I could tell he was scared, too. I could actually see him trembling, but he still managed to move up beside the girl. Brandishing the knife, he pulled his sister around behind him.
“Well howdy. Are you a friend of Al’s?” I asked. “He and I are friends, too. I keep my horse, Dusty, here at the livery stable.”
“Who are you?” The boy asked.
“My name is John, John Sage. I’m sorry if I woke you up. I didn’t know you were here.”
The boy and the girl looked at each other, both still frightened.
“Well, I’ve got to be going. You might want to close this door after I’m gone. Is it okay with you if I go down the stairs, so I can turn out the lantern and close the front doors?”
The boy shrugged.
“Okay, thanks. I hope I didn’t scare you,” I said as I walked past him. “Say ‘hey’ to Al for me.”
When I got to the top of the stairs, I turned around.
“Oh, I told you my name—you remember—John Sage. What’s your name, son?”
They were both still staring at me, wide-eyed, but the boy managed to mumble, “Jacob.”
When I got to the bottom of the stairs I looked up at them where they stood side by side.
“Hey, Jacob, I’m going to turn the lantern down now and close the doors behind me, so y’all back away from the edge of the loft, and have a good night, okay?”
When I got to the lantern and started turning it down, I looked up to the edge of the loft; I couldn’t see them. I went out, closed the doors and locked them with the key that Al lets me hang on to.
I stood there in the street for a moment. I was thoughtful as I walked to the courthouse where I had my own cozy bed in the basement dormitory, just down the hall from my office and the jail cells. The boy had been scared, but he had stepped up quick to protect his sister. I admired that about him.
I grinned a little.
That boy reminded me of … Me.
9.
The gunfire could be heard all the way in the basement of the courthouse. I ran, flying up the stairs with three of my deputies, arriving on the square in time to see the aftermath.
“Bank robbery,” someone yelled.
I couldn’t believe it. Who would be so brave, or so unbelievably stupid, as to try to rob a bank in downtown Bear Creek, first thing in the morning?
Downtown Bear Creek was a busy place. What had started as just a dusty street with a few simple clapboard businesses was being transformed into a modern city. Nearly all the buildings were either brick or stone. The streets were even bricked now. The town had a pretty bad fire in its early years and had been rebuilt. As it grew, it was mostly built in brick and stone, bigger and better, although there were still a couple of buildings here and there off the square that were built of wood.
There were two banks in town, both of which were brick.
On the north side of Main Street, the First National Bank was in the middle of the block.
On the south side of the square, on the corner opposite from the Barbershop, was the Farmer’s Bank and Trust.
I’ve always found that a town with more than one bank tends to be a pretty healthy place. It means there are enough people and enough businesses to support two banks. It means more available money in circulation. Bear Creek was a pretty busy place because it was the commercial center for the whole area, and the growth in this part of Colorado was almost overwhelming. Bear Creek was booming.
Criminals usually follow the money.
Evidently, the robbery had occurred at the First National Bank. I saw the tail end of a fast moving horse clattering around the corner going west on Line Street. I could hear a lot of hoof noise on the bricks and people yelling. More shots were fired from around the corner and up the street.
I sprinted for the corner with my gun in my hand, but by the time I got there, all I could see were people rushing into the street as the riders galloped away. I got glimpses of the riders as they approached the railroad tracks, but they were too far away and there were too many people in the way. I had no shot with only a handgun. I became aware of my deputies beside me. We hustled over to the bank and arrived right behind Tom and a couple of policemen.
“Back up people; make a way,” Tom yelled. “Joe, you and Clyde keep the cr
owd back.”
“Pitch in and help, boys. Ask if anybody can describe the thieves,” I told my deputies.
Tom and I went inside. We found a couple of customers and all of the employees shaken up, and a dead man lying on the slate floor in a pool of his own blood. He was the only one who had actually been shot. I knelt beside him and recognized him as Ted Johansson.
He had taken a shotgun blast directly to the chest. Ted had been a mule skinner for Atwater Freight. He’d died with a pistol in his hand.
“What happened here, Dave?” Tom asked Dave Wilson, the bank manager.
“Well, Marshal, we’d just opened, and when I let the customers in, three men pushed inside right behind them. They wore dusters and had bandanas pulled up over their faces. They produced shotguns out from under their dusters, and told us to lock the front doors and put the closed sign back in the window. Two of them held guns on the customers and the tellers; the other one made me open the safe and start filling two satchels with money. They didn’t even ask me to open the vault.”
“How much did they take?” I asked.
“I won’t know for sure until we count it, but that’s the funny thing; I filled the satchels with mostly the loose and bundled smaller bills. When the satchels were full, the man told me to open the front doors again. He hadn’t paid much attention to what I was putting in the satchels. They probably left about five thousand dollars in the safe, and I never opened the vault at all. They couldn’t have gotten away with more than about eight or nine thousand dollars, altogether, in those two satchels. They were in a big hurry to get out of the building.”
I was thinking that smaller bills were easier to pass.
“How did Ted Johansson get shot?” Tom asked.
“When the first two men got outside, Ted started to pull that gun out of his pants from under his shirt. The last man, as he was going out the door, pointed his sawed off shotgun at Ted and said, ‘Don’t do it, mister,’ but Ted tried anyway ….”
