Revenge Requires Two Graves

by George Emery Townsend

  Chapter 34

  Marshal William Larsen

  Marshal William Larsen walked with a tall shadow in the western town of Pueblo de Los Angeles. He had started his young life on the trail after joining a small gang when his wild spirit was not yet tempered by maturity. They had started out by robbing travelers along the trail, stealing cattle and finding just about any other kind of trouble they could get their hands on. They were opportunists by nature and carried with them the thoughts of one day being as well known as Jesse James, the Dalton gang, or Billy the Kid. There were just five boys in the group, all friends from their youth, growing up together in a small town in Kentucky. All they wanted was a little freedom and a chance to escape their parents' way of life. Going west was to them the very answer to all their dreams. They wanted to be their own men. Larsen was the least enthusiastic of the five to become an outlaw. He knew though that leaving home with his friends was the only way he could ever free himself from the life his parents had planned for him on the farm. The boys had heard that the West was where a man could stand on his own and no one could tell him what to do or try and stop him. They made their way half way across the country when they fell upon what looked like a golden opportunity. That’s where they made the mistake of their lives.

  It was a hot September afternoon when they spotted a freight wagon being pulled along the trail by a team of four mules. The driver had a guard seated next to him on the front of the wagon with two outriders on each side. All but the driver had Winchesters out of their scabbard with the butt resting on their calves.

  “This looks like what we’ve been waiting for!” smiled the lead boy.

  “With two outriders and a guard that wagon must be hauling something awful damn valuable,” giggled the smallest and youngest of the gang.

  “I say we ride down there guns a blazin and take that wagon away from those men. With the money we’d get from that load, we’d be able to live like kings!” pumped the lead boy again.

  “Are you out of your mind? I know you saw the guard and outriders. They’re carryin’ Winchesters and they don’t get hired to do a job like that unless they know how to use ‘em,” argued Larsen.

  “Larsen, if you don’t want to go along with us you don’t haveta’. But we’ll all know you’re yella!” threatened the lead boy.

  Larsen hated being called yellow; it was the worst thing he could be called. The thing of it was his troop also knew he hated it and it was the easiest way to get him to do what they wanted him to do. Larsen rode over to face the lead boy, “don’t you ever call me yella’ again. You know I hate that, now let’s ride!”

  Larsen and the other boys headed down the slope toward the wagon.

  Without a plan or idea the five rode straight for the prize.

  All five could feel the rush of excitement as they rode, the hooves kicking up little puffs of dust with each step, the weight of the six-guns on their hips. Now was their chance to finally use their guns for what they were made for. The guard and outriders all took a bead on the boys with their rifles. The sound of each chambering in a load should have sent the boys running. But they stood fast on their course. The threat even seemed to increase their purpose. As they rode on, one of the outriders called to the boys to stop, a warning that their lives would be in peril if they rode any closer. When they felt they had covered enough ground and their ability to control their emotions had waned, the lead boy looked over at his friends for the last time, “Let’s go in shootin’ boys!” he yelled.

  Larsen tried to stop his friends by calling out. But even his horse was caught up in the rush of the charge, the gunfire, so Larsen drew his gun, as did the others. The attack was over before they covered another twenty feet.

  When Larsen opened his eyes he was looking up at a star filled sky. He rolled over onto his side and then to his stomach. His head was pounding like a cast iron skillet had struck it. Willing his arms and legs to pull in under him he pushes himself up slowly to his feet. Staggering next to the trail by the light of the partial moon, he looked down at the lifeless bodies of his young friends. He stumbled to each motionless form hoping for life, but found none. In a matter of just a few seconds he had lost all his youth. Standing among the dead he made the decision that he would never ride the outlaw trails again.

  For the last twenty years Marshal Larsen had done a good job. He had kept his town clean and safe without building himself a reputation. He decided to pay a special visit to their town’s new arrivals. Larsen walked into the Bella Union and stood in the doorway. The Bella Union was the finest hotel on the west coast, with the exception of a couple hotels in San Francisco. It was two stories high and had twelve rooms. The lobby was large and plush with red upholstered furniture and red velvet wallpaper with a fancy saloon attached. Downstairs was a café. The smell of burning cigars filled the air along with the sound of men discussing politics and ranching. No one really noticed him enter or cross the room and that’s the way he liked it. He strolled up to the desk and struck the small bell to alert the clerk that he needed help. Through a curtain on the right side of the desk stepped a tall, thin, frail man, with greased down hair parted in the middle and spectacles hanging on the end of his nose.

  “Yes, Marshal, how can I be of service?” asked the thin man, who made it obvious he had more important things to do than stand at the desk talking to the marshal.

  “I understand you had a young woman and older man check into the hotel a few days ago?” questioned Larsen.

  “That’s correct Marshal,” answered the thin man who went about his business straightening the desk papers.

  “Wally! Pay attention. Have you seen them this morning?” sounded the marshal, now becoming a little irritated.

  “Yes Marshal, I have,” Wally stubbornly answered.

  “Damn it Wally, you can be a real pain in my ass sometimes.”

  “I surely do not know what you mean, Marshal?”

  “Where did you see them? And where are they now?” demanded Larsen.

  “Why didn’t you ask that in the first place and save both of us a lot of time, I believe she is in the café havin’ breakfast.”

  “Wally…God…” the marshal did not finish his statement. He knew it would be a waste of time. As he walked away, Wally just retreated back through the curtain with the morning mail in his hand, thinking about his next task.

  Larsen walked across the lobby and stepped into the café. It was a large room with several tables and chairs spread throughout. They were all set with plates and utensils on a white tablecloth. As soon as he looked over the room, his concern about being able to pick her out of the crowd was disposed of. Sitting dead center was a very attractive young woman who carried a great deal of self-confidence. With her at the table sat two of the town’s low life. The marshal recognized them both as the vermin he arrested on more than one occasion for a plethora of violations.

  As he closed in on the breakfast table, each man rose from their seats.

  “Miss Foster? I hope I’m not intrudin’,” said the marshal as he removed his hat.

  “Not at all Marshal. These gentlemen were just leaving,” said Miss Foster with a nod to each of them. The two men walked away, but looked back giving a sneer to the marshal’s back.

  “Poor men were looking for a hand out; I was able to spare a few loose coins for them,” lied Miss Foster.

  “I’m sure you are most generous, Miss Foster. I’ve heard that you’re from Wisconsin. Things out here I believe are quite different. You will want to avoid men like those who you gave money too.”

  “Why, thank you Marshal for the warning. I will just have to be more careful in the future. Now, what can I do for you? I’m sure you are a very busy man.”

  “Yes, well, most of the time. But I do enjoy welcoming nice people, like yourself, to our fair city,” smiled the marshal.

  “Why thank you, Marshal, I didn’t know there was this much gallantry out here in the West,” purred Samantha.
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  “Well, I’ll agree it does come in short supply. But generally speaking men of the West wouldn’t stand for another man bein’ disrespectful to a woman, you can count on that,” spoke the marshal as he began to realize just how attractive Miss Foster was.

  Samantha did not miss the look on his face either. She learned at a very young age how to spot that look and turn it to her advantage, “Marshal, if I’m not imposing too much, would you be willing to escort me around? I’m sure you know every inch of this town and would be most informative as my escort.” smiled Samantha with a little girl pout.

  “Well, I don’t see no harm in it, I guess,” blushed the marshal. “When would you like to go?”

  “Well Marshal, I’m done eating, how about right now?” said Samantha, rising from her chair not waiting for an answer.

  “Well, yes, sure, nothing like the present I always say, miss, that’s what I always say…” said the marshal, trying to figure where Mildred would be just about this time of the day.

  Samantha walked around the table and took Larsen’s arm over hers and marched towards the door. Larsen was elated at the fact he was going to be seen walking a beautiful woman down the boardwalk. At the same time however he couldn’t help feeling like a heel knowing the disaster that could be in the making.

  As they walked, the marshal thought he would at least try to find out if what the older man had told Mildred was true.

  “So, Miss Foster, what part of Wisconsin are ya from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I don’t mind, Marshal, I have nothing to hide. Please don’t arrest me,” laughed Samantha, which caused the marshal to laugh back. “My family ran a small milling town in southern Wisconsin,” answered Samantha.

  “Wisconsin, that’s a piece away, what would bring you all the way out here?”

  “Opportunity, Marshal. California is going places. I think it will be the next great empire, and I want to be a part of it.”

  “But there just aren’t that many trees out here for you to timber. At least not in this part of California,” questioned Larsen.

  “Well then maybe I came to the wrong place,” laughed Samantha.

  “Oh, you’re just havin’ fun with me,” sighed Larsen.

  “You know Marshal, I really am,” smiled Samantha as she looked up into his eyes to set the hook.

  That evening Larsen arrived to a cool reception at Mildred’s house.

  “Mildred, I don’t understand why you’re so mad at me. You asked me to try and find out what Samantha, I mean, Miss Foster is up to. The only way I know how to do that is to be nice to her, get her to lower her guard. She’s new in town, no one knows her, and so she’s the only one that can tell us what she’s up to.”

  “What about talking to the man that came here the other night? You know, the one that gave me the warning,” asked Mildred with her arms crossed in front of her and her toe tapping on the floor.

  “Hell, Mildred, I’ve looked all over town for that fella’. He ain’t no where’s to be found,” explained Larsen.

  “Well then why don’t you arrest that girl? The man warned me she was dangerous, I’ll bet you a few days in jail and that Miss Foster, or Samantha, as you called her, would start feeling everything,” spoke Mildred firmly.

  “Well, now, I can’t be goin’ around arrestin’ people just because someone said somethin’ ugly about ‘em,” said Larsen with his hands held up in a helpless expression.

  “Something ugly, something ugly, now you listen to me Marshal William Larsen, I think that girl has already got you hoodwinked and cow-eyed for her. If you don’t wake up and snap out of it you just might feel a fry pan up against the side of your head,” threatened Mildred, “Now please get out of my house!”

  Larsen knew when he was licked and headed straight for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow Mildred, when you’ve had a chance to calm down a little,” misspoke Larsen as he moved toward the porch. Mildred picked up one of her vases, launching it with furious precision and making contact with the back of Larsen’s head.

  Now he would have to stop off at Dr. Griffin’s office before going to the jail, as the cut on the back of his head was going to require a few stitches.