Fiddlers Green
Mark Randall
Fiddlers Green
By Mark Randall
Chapter 1
Halfway down the trail to Hell in a shady meadow green, are the Souls of all dead troopers camped near a good old-fashion canteen,
and this eternal resting place is known as Fiddlers’ Green.
Marching past, straight through to Hell, the Infantry are seen, accompanied by the Engineers, Artillery and Marine, for none but the shades of Cavalrymen dismount at Fiddlers’ Green.
Though some go curving down the trail to seek a warmer scene, no trooper ever gets to Hell ere he’s emptied his canteen and so rides back to drink again with friends at Fiddlers’ Green.
And so when man and horse go down beneath a saber keen, or in a roaring charge fierce melee you stop a bullet clean, and the hostiles come to get your scalp, just empty your canteen and put your pistol to your head and go to Fiddlers’ Green.
Clinton J. Elsworth the third, was proud of his profession. So proud that he would get upset if he was called a ‘Drummer’. Clinton was NOT a drummer. He was a Regional Wholesale Sales Representative. Clinton knew this because that’s what he was told when he was hired by Jackson Ceruthers, President, of the Greater Jacksonville variety wholesalers, himself.
“Clinton My Boy, you can go far in this company. All you need is the drive to sell more of our dry goods and sundries than our competition. I am going to do something I rarely ever do with someone as young as you and with such little experience. What I’m going to do is give you the opportunity to open up a new territory for us. You will be the sole representative for the Nevada territories.”
It was those inspiring words that set Clinton out to conquer his new world. BUT first, he had to get there. It took 2 months of various means of transportation. Some pleasant, some not so much. His current transport was one of the worst that he had experienced.
Riding the Wells Fargo stagecoach was the cheapest, and easiest method he could find. They had routes that led to most if not all of his targeted markets. But the ride was dusty, bumpy and in most cases his riding companions unsavory. At least by Jacksonville standards. This trip was an exception.
There were 2 women and another man on board. The older woman, in her late 30’s early 40’s, while a tad old for Clinton’s tastes, was still pleasant to look at. Her riding companion however was a definite treat. She was in
her early 20’s, maybe younger. She was blond, slightly paler than her companion. Clinton wondered if they were mother and daughter. Both women studiously ignored Clinton. Refusing to respond to even polite comments as to the weather, their destination, Even asking their names was apparently an out of bounds topic.
The 3rd companion was a tall, 6 foot 2 or better, thin, well-dressed man.
He wore khaki pants, A boiled white shirt and canvas duster. To battle the dust, he had soaked his bandana in water from his canteen and then tied it over his mouth and nose. Clinton noted this and decided that on his next trip, he would include a canteen and bandana in his baggage. The stranger also wore a black cavalry slouch hat. Which he had pulled low over his eyes. For all appearances he looked to be asleep. Clinton found it difficult to believe anybody could sleep in these conditions. But all of his attempts to engage the mysterious man were ignored just as resolutely as the 2 women.
After 2 hours, the stranger pulled a collapsible cup from an inside pocket. Lifting his hat, He offered a cup of water to the ladies. Both eagerly accepted his offering. Clinton looked at the stranger with the obvious expectation in his eyes, he was grudgingly offered a cup. The ladies, while slowly sipping their ration, looked at Clinton with a touch of disgust or even horror when he gulped down his cupful and then handed the cup back with what looked like an unspoken demand for more.
Without taking a drink himself, the stranger capped his canteen and put his cup away. Clinton was tempted to comment on how rude the stranger was behaving. But as the stranger eased back into his seat, raising his bandana and lowering his hat, His duster fell open. On his right side was the well-worn butt of a pistol. On the left was the bone handle of a sheathed knife. After getting comfortable the stranger rearraigned his duster, hiding his weapons. And, as far as Clinton could tell, fell back asleep.
The way station at the midway point of their journey was just as frustrating for Clinton. The sanitary facilities were downright disgusting. Amounting to nothing more than a hole in the ground, surrounded by a flimsy wood structure. The flies were bad enough, But the SMELL, Clinton gagged and almost lost his stomach. It was only after he had finished, that he observed that the lady’s facilities were both separate, and fresher. Clinton decided that he needed to start recording these events. A sharply worded letter of complaint to the Wells Fargo office was needed. Obviously, somebody was NOT doing their job in an efficient manner.
Clinton was further outraged by the meal that was offered at the station.
A greasy plate of tough, overcooked beef and beans. Joined with grainy and gritty cornbread that could hardly be described as food. The only saving grace was that there was no charge. Clinton also noted that while his fellow female travelers also regarded the meal unfavorably, the tall stranger tucked into the meal with gusto. Asking for and receiving seconds. He even went so far as to wrap 2 large pieces of the cornbread into a kerchief that he produced from an inside pocket of his duster.
Complimenting the station masters cooking, he offered to buy him a drink.
Several more were shared, with the stranger paying the freight each time.
Clinton himself purchased a drink of what was described to him as ‘Rotgut Whiskey’. His first sip was liquid fire, scorching his insides all the way to his belly. However, by the time he had reached the last of the glass, the burning sensation had subsided and the ‘Rotgut Whiskey’
actually seemed pleasant. Unfortunately, the stage driver called for boarding before Clinton could order a second glass.
Clinton J. Elsworth was unconscious before the stage had left the station. And did not awaken again until reaching his destination,
“Wilkins, Nevada Territories.”
The arrival of the Wells Fargo stage generally attracts interest from several groups.
Obviously, the Wells Fargo office has a professional interest. Also people looking for deliveries and mail are also interested. Then there is a crowd looking for a possible monetary landfall from the passengers. Not least of which is are boys looking for any kind of opportunity. Usually being the strong backs needed to unload the cargo.
When the stage came to a stop, Clinton J. Elsworth the third was jolted awake. He was experiencing his first hangover of his life and was in an ill temper. As He started to rise, with the intent to disembark the stage. The tall stranger put his boot in Clinton’s way, “Ladies first, Drummer.”
As soon as the two ladies had exited, they were swarmed by the crowd of youngsters, all begging for the job of carrying the lady’s luggage.
Elizabeth Utley, the elder of the pair selected 2 of the strongest appearing boys, and directed them to take her luggage to the hotel.
After the ladies had disembarked, Clinton was allowed to leave. He immediately asked the station manager where the nearest apothecary was.
The Station manager laughed, “We ain’t got nothing like that round here.
You could try Doc Stone, but he’s in the middle of a poker game and not likely to appreciate being interrupted. Or, you could try the dry good store. They’ve got all sorts of nostrums and patient medicines. Albert Beale, He’s the owner. He brags that he’s got something to cure everything except a broken leg. Course Doc says that if death is a cure, then Al’s tellin’ the truth.”
Clinton moaned, his headache seemed to be getting worse in this heat.
“The store please.”
The station clerk pointed over Clinton’s left shoulder. “Right over there partner.”
Turning, Clinton saw the store sign for dry goods and bolted for it.
“Mister, what about your luggage?”
“Have it taken to the Hotel.” Clinton almost screamed.
Last off the stage was the tall stranger. Addressing the Station manager,
“Looking for the land office sir.” He asked.
“We don’t have one of those. Deeds and claims are recorded by the Sheriff. His office is right over there, next to the saloon. But he won’t be there. Him and Doc are playing poker with the Mayor and a couple of drifters. and from what I hear, the Sheriff’s losing. Which means he’ll be in a bad mood.”
“Well, I’d best not irritate him then. How about a hotel or boarding house? Someplace I can put up for a couple of nights?”
“Well, the Majestic is the hotel, right over there. Then there’s Mama Jones. She takes in boarders, her place is at the end of 2nd street.
White washed picket fence and all. Cain’t miss the sign. But if you’re feeling randy, the saloons got rooms overhead. A handy bedwarmer is included in the price. They charge by the hour, or the night. They also cost the highest of the 3. Mama Jones is a nosey old biddy, so expect your personals to get picked over when you’re not around. The Majestic is the best bet. The doors lock and their restaurant is the best in town.
That’s because it’s the only one. That is if you don’t include the cantina over behind the Livery.” The manager started laughing uproariously at his joke, as he walked back to the coach.
The stranger stood for a moment considering his choices. Then he hefted his saddle and duffle to his shoulder and headed towards the Hotel.
As the driver and guard were passing down cargo and luggage, the driver informed the Station manager that it looked like the run to Wilkins might not last very much longer.
“Yeah, I had that feeling. What with the mines still shut down and all that bandit activity, I’m surprised Wells Fargo hasn’t pulled the plug yet. I wonder where they’ll send me, or if they’ll even keep me on. I’ve gotten kinda used to this place.”
Checking into the hotel, Fullmer Gustin, the clerk, showed a more than passing interest to the stranger. This was partly due to the novelty of so many visitors to Wilkins. First were the 2 ladies that he had put into the quietest room in back. Then there was this tall drink of water. There was something about him that smelled of money, military and command.
However, his questions, while not rudely rebuffed, were unanswered. He asked for a room in front, facing the street. Even when Fullmer cautioned him about the noise level. When the Stranger signed the register, he wrote J. Anderson, Maryland.
“Well Mr. Anderson rooms are $5.00 a night, you get a pitcher of water and one set of towels per day. It’ll be extra if you want more. The jakes are out back. No loud noises after 8 and I lock the front door at midnight. If you’re out after midnight, Tough. I hear the livery stable will give you a spot in the hayloft for a dollar. Cletus Cudworth runs
the livery and is a right surly bastard. Dinner is served at 6:00, Breakfast at 8:00. Any other time of day try the saloon. They offer bread, cheese and pickled eggs to paying customers. nickel beer and 4
bits a shot for rotgut whiskey.”
As the Stranger climbed the stairs, he thanked the clerk.
Entering the room, the stranger carefully checked it over. First off, He made sure the window and door locked securely. He then looked at the bed and bedding. and the finally the water pitcher, which he found to be empty. This was soon remedied when he brought it back to the clerk, who gave him a bit of a stink eye, and got a pitcher full of water. Obviously Fullmer was no longer a friend of his.
Getting back to his room the stranger stripped down and started washing himself. There were various scars on his body. There were several obvious bullet scars. 1 in his upper left leg. The next in his right side. This appeared to be a bullet crease or a knife slash. It ran 3 inches. Anybody having a wound like that will tell you that, while not life threatening, it is painful, for a long time. The next bullet scar was in his upper right chest.
All 3 of these scars paled though when compared to his back. It was crisscrossed by whip scars. They covered almost all of his back. If you looked closely, you could see that some scars crossed others that had partially healed when the new wound occurred, which suggested that there had been several sessions.
After washing the road from his body, Anderson dressed in clean clothes.
He stood for a moment contemplating his pistols and knifes. Disregarding the firearms, He buckled on his favorite Bowie in the crossbody sheath.
He also secreted a double-bladed dirk styled blade, called an Arkansas Toothpick on the inside of his left boot. He then strapped on a behind the back sheath for a balanced throwing knife.
Checking his appearance, he was satisfied that the Bowie was the only weapon showing. Pausing for a moment before leaving, He pulled a 4-shot pepperbox derringer from his luggage. Checking it’s load he then stowed it in his hat.
After double checking the security of his door, He left the hotel. Using the back way, He avoided the curious eyes of the desk clerk.
Elizabeth Utley, Of the Philadelphia Utley’s, and her maid were enroute to the small town of Wilkins in the Nevada territories. Elizabeth had been given a letter of introduction to the Jackson family. They were in need of a Deportment and style instructor for their children.
Elizabeth had been forced to join the labor world due to several unfortunate investments that her Father had made. Her Father had called them investments, others would call them busted inside straights.
Elizabeth’s high society life vanished when her father in an effort to avoid his debts and responsibilities, put a .30 caliber bullet through his brain. When the knowledge of this became public, a clamoring of
debtors arrived on the Utley family doorstep. To satisfy those debts, Elizabeth had been forced to sell everything. And was left with a small stipend that was insufficient to cover her needs.
She was then approached by Mr. Clyde McElvey. Mr. McElvey said that he was an educational broker. And that he specialized in supplying teachers to the cities and towns springing up in the western territories. He was looking for women of high moral character, just like Miss Utley. He said that for a small fee, he would supply Miss Utley with a letter of introduction to a family needing instruction for their children.
Miss Utley paid Mr. McElvey his fee. And with what money she had left, purchased travel fare for herself and her maid Susan. To the town of Wilkins in the Nevada Territories. That trek had taken over 2 months and was now coming to a conclusion. Elizabeth had been forced to suffer innumerable indignities while on the road. The dust and dirt, the unsanitary food and water, the primitive personal relieve facilities, IF
they existed. The vermin infested bedding. The surly and disgusting behavior of her various travel companions. Through it all she had also had to deal with the lazy and ignorant actions of her maid.
In Philadelphia, Susan MacDonald had been an adequate handmaid. Tending to Elizabeth’s needs promptly and without complaint. But during this voyage, Elizabeth had been forced to remind Susan, several times, of her bond status. As time went by and they got further and further from civilized society, Susan became even more surly. Even to pointing out that the recently concluded war had freed the slaves. Elizabeth was almost forced to take a switch to Susan for her insolence. But she relented on the condition that Susan be more tractable. Susan agreed, But the seeds of rebellion had been sown.
And now, with the end of the road in sight, this insufferable boar of a salesman had been pestering both Elizabeth and Susan. It wasn’t until the Tall and Mysterious stranger that had joined them in Albuquerque had a word with him, that he stopped. And then at the last comfort stop before Wilkins, the boar had gotten drunk, Thankfully. Elizabeth would no longer need to suffer his presence.
When They arrived at Wilkins, Elizabeth asked for, and was given directions to the hotel. Supervising Susan and a local child acting as a stevedore, Elizabeth moved her luggage to the hotel and had secured a room for a week. For which the clerk required payment ‘up front’. There were no servants’ quarters available, So Elizabeth was forced to provide a sleeping pad for Susan in her room.
Having reached the conclusion of her odyssey, Elizabeth instructed Susan to see to their dirty linens, and at the dinner hour, assist Elizabeth in dressing for her evening meal. Elizabeth then stretched out on her bed and took a well-deserved nap.
It was well after sundown When Elizabeth awoke. She was at once disoriented, it was dark and she was in an unfamiliar space. Finding the lantern and matches, she lit the lantern. The room was bare. No luggage, nothing. All that remained was a pile of dirty clothes with a note pinned
on top. “Clean it yourself.” Scrambling Elizabeth pulled her purse from under her pillow where she had put it for safekeeping. It was empty.
There had been $500.00 in gold and silver coin in that purse. Gone. And to make matters even worse, Elizabeth’s letter of introduction was missing also.
Albert Beale had just completed his favorite chore of the day. A chore that he indulged himself in several times a day. He counted his money.
Albert would deny that he was greedy or a spendthrift, much to the amusement of anybody who knew him. In fact, Albert would more likely blame his wife. Who quite accurately was even greedier than her husband.
With a feeling of contentment, Albert considered what he would have for his lunch. He knew that if he went home, his wife would have leftovers from the previous evening’s meal. A wholly inadequate stew, long on gravy and short on meat. Albert would normally classify it as a soup. Watery soup at that.
The Hotel restaurant didn’t serve a noon meal. And given the cooks temperament, any attempt to con a meal out of her would likely get Albert poisoned. The only other choice was the cantina on the other side of town. Actually, Albert ate there frequently. The food was well made and tasty. That is if you could convince them to hold off on the spices. A little went a long way with those folks. Usually Albert would bring a bottle of bicarbonate soda with him. This seemed to cut back the after meal burn.
As Albert thought more and more about a meal of beans, rice and chicken at the cantina, Maybe preceded by a shot of the potent Mescal they served, He talked himself into the long walk across town. When he was suddenly interrupted by a stranger bursting into his shop.
“Shopkeeper, quickly please, I have this most intolerable headache. Do you have something for it?”
Recognizing a money moment, Albert paused, a finger raised to his mouth in consideration. “Well sir, I do have a fine selection of medicines guaranteed to reduce the pain of headaches. Some powders, some elixcers and syrups. Do you have a preference or are you looking for a general pain killer?”
Practically begging the stranger pleaded, “Please sir, Something fast.
This pain is most intolerable.”
Turning to the shelves behind the counter, “Hmmmm, Let’s see what we have? what is fastest? I know, this is probably the best headache medicine available.” Pulling a brown bottle from the shelve he placed in on the counter. But kept his hand on it.
The stranger eyed the bottle and asked, “What is it?”
“Well sir, it’s a new compound made from the leaves of the coca plant in South America. The natives there chew the leaves as a cure for headaches.
It also gives the user an enjoyable feeling. Which aides in the pain-relieving effects.”
“I’ll take it, How much?”
“Well sir it’s not a cheap compound. Just this bottle alone costs $20.00.
But I could sell you an individual dose,”
Interrupting Albert, Clinton pulls his wallet out and lays a $20.00 bill on the table. “I’ll take the whole bottle. Now please.”
“OK Sir, just be careful, this is powerful medicine.”
Pulling the cork from the bottle, Clinton took a health swig from it.
Whether from the semi refined cocaine in the bottle, or that fact that his hangover was naturally dissipating, or both, A feeling of blissful euphoria came over Clinton. The headache was forgotten and gratitude for that enveloped Clinton. “Oh, That’s good. What do I owe you shopkeeper?”
Chuckling Albert rang the bell on his register and said, “$20.00 please.
And well worth the price wouldn’t you say?”
After handing another $20 to Albert, Clinton replied “Without a doubt sir, now if you could direct me to the hotel sir?”
Grinning as he pocketed the second bill, “Out the door and to your right.
Can’t miss it.” With a little effort, Clinton found the hotel and checked in. His bed, being so tempting, soon Clinton was again in the land of nod. Not waking again until morning.
Chapter 2
As the stranger walked through the batwing doors, He stepped quickly to the side and paused to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. His entrance was noted by the other patrons. There were 4 men playing a card game at the table to the rear of the room. Their interest was obviously whether the stranger was a threat or a monetary opportunity. Along the right side of the room ran a bar. The bartender stood about mid-way, talking to 2 other patrons. Everybodies attention also seemed to be a threat assessment.
When everybody could see that the only weapon the stranger carried was a large bowie knife, Sheathed on his left side, in a crossdraw sheath, they relaxed.
At the table at the front left of the entrance sat 2 women. Gaudily dressed and heavily made up. Even with their finery it was obvious that these soiled doves had lived hard lives.
At the left rear of the room was a set of stairs leading up to a balcony that ran along the backside and over the bar on the right. These were the hourly rooms that the station master had mentioned. And the 2 ladies were obviously the bed warmers he also mentioned.
The stranger looked to the women, tipped his hat and greeted them
“Ladies”. They looked over the newcomer with the predatory sharpness of hungry lions. in seconds he was evaluated and passed their prosperity test, the younger one spoke up. “Care to join us mister. I’m Julieann and this is Maybelle. Both of us are lonely and would enjoy having such a handsome man’s company.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Miss Julieann, But I’m in here on a mission. Actually 2 missions, maybe later we can discuss terms and rules of engagement. But, in the meantime, can you tell me if the Sheriff is here, Or, if he isn’t where I might find him?”
Both women giggled, “Sweetie, “ The older of the pair, Maybelle said,
“You surely are a nice talking cutie. That fatass playing poker, the one facing the door. He’s the Sheriff. He’s been winning this morning, so he’ll be in a good mood. But unlikely to want to quit playing. You get done talking to him, Come on back. I’m feeling a bit of Christian charity, I might even be persuaded to offer you a discount.”
“Why, Miss Maybelle, you sure do offer a tempting choice. We’ll just have to see how my conversation with the Sheriff goes.”
With both women giggling behind him, the newcomer walked over to the poker table, He announced “Sheriff,”
The man seated at the farthest chair, He was a heavy man, wearing a red plaid work shirt with a silver badge pinned on the left breast. He looked up, “Yeah?”
Dropping a $20 gold piece on the table. “When you’re available sir, I wish to discuss some business with you. I’ll be at the bar awaiting your pleasure.” He then turned and walked to the bar.
At the bar, the bartender, being a past master at his art, had determined that the ring of the coin in front of the Sheriff as the genuine article and of high value. Unfortunately for him, His avarice and greed glaringly showed in his face.
Smiling at the stranger, “What’ll it be buddy? You name it, we got it.
The beers cold and whiskey strong. Prices reasonable.”
“Well barkeep, do you have anything not distilled in your back room?
Also, something that WON’T make me go blind? Whiskey and Scotch are favored, but rye and mescal are good in a pinch.”
Reaching under the bar, he grabbed the first bottle at hand. Bringing it up, and brushing the dust off, he recognized it as a bottle of scotch that the late, unlamented Chancey V. Farnsworth had required him to order. This bottle hadn’t even had the seal cracked yet. And they had a case of this white elephant in the back room. It was too expensive to sell to the usual clientele. Maybe, this newcomer could at least cover the cost. “Well Cap, we have this here, “ Looking closely at the bottle, and then offering it to the stranger, “Macallan single Malt? It’ll be 2
bucks a shot, If that’s agreeable.”
The stranger took the bottle and examined it closely, noting that the seal was still intact. “This is more than acceptable sir. By the way My name is Joshua Anderson, Late of the Maryland Andersons, Late of the 25th Cavalry. And what would your name be sir. Just calling you bartender isn’t really polite.”
“Names Bart sir. Bart Gibson. And yeah, I have heard all the jokes about Bart the Bartender.”
Joshua placed a $20 double eagle on the bar, the bartender snatched it and replaced it with the cleanest glass he had available. At the same time thinking that he would have to get one of the Mexican women to go through and thoughly clean all of the glasses and anything else. “There ya go sir. It’s a pleasure to meetcha Mr. Anderson.”
“The pleasure’s mine Bart.” Anderson carefully, and discretely examined the glass, determining that, while it barely passed a cleanliness test, His need trumped any squeamishness on his part. He chuckled at the memory of some of the liquids that he had been forced to drink over the past 6
years. A little dirt surely wouldn’t kill him now. Pouring a healthy shot into the glass, he took a sip. The pleasure of drinking an excellent scotch whisky was almost euphoric.
A voice, rudely interrupted Joshua. “OK, you wanted to talk to me, and you paid for the privilege. What do you want?”
Standing at his left was the Sheriff. Obviously, his poker game on hold.
Or at least his participation in it. Because the same players were still at the table. And, most importantly, the coins and cash at the Sheriff’s former position was still there.
“Yes Sheriff, it’s my understanding that You handle all the deeds and titles for the area?”
“Yeah, that’s right. We ain’t got no recorder. So, I collect the fees, keep the books and when the circuit judge comes by, he takes all the new stuff into Phoenix and records it with the territorial recorder.”
“I see. Well Sheriff, What I would like to do is buy some property in the area. And I was informed that You were the best person to point me to a good place. Something that My family and I could settle down on.”
The Sheriff sat for a moment, thinking. motioning to the bartender, he ordered a shot and a beer. Joshua noticed that there was no money offered, or demanded.
“Well, my names Pete Quigley by the way, yours is Anderson, right? You wanted for anything Anderson?”
Joshua Chuckled, “No, Sheriff, my slate is clean as far as the law is concerned. There might be a few unhappy husbands here and there, But the law looks on me with favor.”
“That’s good to know, Anderson. Well, probably the best place out there is the old Ruis place. They were an old Mexican family. Been here since the Conquistador’s. Land grants from Spain and all that folderol. Had a huge piece of land south and east of here. Had about a thousand folks working for them. Real Spanish Royalty.”
“Then after the war, we had a carpetbagger show up. Called himself General Farnsworth. He started buying up all the available land. And what was available wasn’t worth spit. Desert, cactus and sand. But he was willing to buy it. At a quarter an acre, it didn’t cost him much. Got to the point, he was among the biggest land owners around.”
“Then some of the smaller outfits started having trouble. night raiders, poisoned wells, menfolk shot and killed in their fields. We even started having problems here in town. Gunslingers and their hangers on shooting things up. But through all this the Ruis’ didn’t have any problems. I even talked to old man Manuel, he was the head guy. I asked if was having problems. He denied as having any, and he told me that if any did come up, He could handle it himself. He was a proud man, unused to asking for help. I had to remind him that this was America, and He needed to follow our laws nowadays. He assured me that he knew that and where the law was at.”
“6 Months later and there weren’t any small timers left. Those that weren’t killed outright, was burned out. And Old Man Ruis had a full-blown range war on his hands. I went to the City Council and begged them to let me help. Let me recruit a militia to help. They refused me. In fact, they told me that if I interfered in any way, I would be out of a job. And probably have posters put out on me. I was able to get word to the old man. I didn’t hear back.”
“Along about Christmas it all came to a head. I wasn’t there, All I ever heard was from some of the Vaccaro’s, the ones that survived that is.
They told me that early in the morning raiders came over the walls and took out the sentries. From what they reported these were Comanchero mercenaries. Before the alarm could be raised, the enemy was inside the walls. The carnage was horrendous. No mercy was spared for man, woman or child. By the end of it, The Ruis family had been slaughtered, no survivors. Including Old Man Manuel’s Great-great-grand daughter, 6
months old and her head bashed in. Some said that Farnsworth himself did the deed.”
“I couldn’t prove any allegations against Farnsworth. If fact there wasn’t anybody that would swear out a complaint. It seemed that he had succeeded in taking control of the territory. Believe me, I tried, I talked to everybody I could think of. I sent telegraphs all the way to Washington DC. All I did was waste time and money. It seemed that the bastard had got away with it.”
“Tell me Mr. Anderson, Have you ever heard the old saying of there being no honor among thieves? Well that’s where General Farnsworth had his waterloo. You see, in the process of all the murder, mayhem, theft and destruction that the General brought down on this county, He was stingy with his payments. From what I heard, He would routinely rob Peter to pay
Paul, get one gun slick to knock off the other, that was owed big money.
It all came to head right after the Ruis massacre. Payment was demanded by the various mercenaries that the General had hired.”
“The General was broke.”
“He wasn’t even a General, or a captain, or a sergeant. He had never even been in the military. It turned out he had been a butcher’s apprentice in Philadelphia. During the war he had learned a bunch of different ways to separate honest persons from their hard-earned money. He Accumulated enough to head west and take advantage of the confusion. Masquerading as a rich carpetbagger. But then, he ran out of money and all the gun toughs and outlaws that he had hired wanted what they were owed.
He was gunned down in the middle of town. and for 3 days the bastards raised hell. Everything and anything of value was taken. Eventually they rode away and we all came out of our hiding places and started over.”
“So, tell me Anderson, why shouldn’t I blow your carpetbagging ass back to Maryland, or where ever right now?”
Anderson slowly raised his arms, palms open. “before you go any further Sheriff, I remind you that I am unarmed. Well, I’m not carrying any firearms. All I have is this knife. And I can assure you that I am NOT a carpetbagger. What I am is an old, tired, worn out soldier. Looking for a home for himself and his family. I lost everything that I loved and held dear during the war. And now, with the resources I have available, I have come west, mainly to avoid those very same carpetbaggers you despise, as do I.”
“Now you can do one of two things, trust me or not. You say the word right here and now and I’ll be gone on the next stage west. No harm, No foul. And on your head be it. OR, you can say the word and I’ll do everything in my power to show you that I am what our government, sometimes laughingly, calls an Officer and a Gentleman. Your call Sheriff. Think of it like a poker hand, Call or Raise?”
The Sheriff stood looking at Anderson for a good 2 minutes. Nether one loosing eye contact.
Julieann exclaimed, “OH SHIT, Here’s trouble.” Maybelle glanced out the door, “Quick honey, upstairs before they get here.”
Both women jumped from their seats and bolted for the stairwell. and fled into the first room at the top.
Just as the door slammed shut, 5 young cowboys came into the saloon. They were boisterous and loud. Pushing and shoving each other. That is except for one, It was obvious that this was their leader.
He was also the youngest, in his mid-teens. While he had the appearance of a cowboy, it was the image of a child playing at cowboy. his clothes were just a touch too expensive compared to his compatriots. He also had a fresh haircut. The others had not obviously not seen a barber in a
while. They all had a least a week’s worth of beard and their hair, while short, had obviously been cut by an inexperienced hand.
As they gathered at the other end of the bar, the youngster demanded whiskey for all. The bartender, obviously wanting to avoid trouble started filling glasses.
As his companions started tucking into their drinks, the leader looked over to Anderson. “Hey grandpa, you want a drink?”
Glancing over, Anderson said, “No Thanks boy, I’m doing fine.”
“Oh, come on gramps, have a shot with me. I’m Billy Jackson, and when Billy drinks, everybody drinks.”
“Again Boy, I’m alright. I already have a drink.”
“LOOK GRAMPS, I don’t care a hoot about that, When I offer, you drink.”
As he was speaking, the young tough walked down the bar to where Anderson was standing. Reaching up he started to shove the older man. Before he could even touch him, Anderson’s left hand shot out and grabbed the back of Billy head. He had an excellent handhold and, yanking forcefully, spun Billy to where he was facing his friends. Who were standing slack jawed at the speed at which these events were happening.
Joshua then drew his bowie in his right hand and held in front of Billy’s eyes. About half an inch from Billy’s eyes. The speed of these events stunned Billy. When the world stopped spinning, Billy could see the razor-sharp edge of the knife in front of his eyes. The blade was so close that Billy could see that there were no chips or imperfections to that edge. In fact, he was fascinated by the glint of light following the edge. Not unlike the fascination of a cobra getting ready to strike.
“OK BOYS, “ Joshua spoke up, He had a tone in his voice that demanded compliance. “Fun and games are over. I want all you children to put those hoglegs on the bar. SLOWLY BOYS. Your friend’s future eyesight depends on my steady hand. Make me nervous and he’ll have a white cane and be selling pencils on main street.”
Slowly, Billy’s companions did as they were ordered. And placed their handguns on the bar. When that was finished, “OK Billy, your turn, use 2
fingers and sslloowwllyy pull your piece. That’s right son. Now carefully put it on the bar.”
“Bart, If you would please. Collect all those firearms and bring them down here, to me”
It was obvious that the bartender was torn. But he complied with the Joshua’s orders and brought the 3 pistols down. “Thank you, sir. Now BILLY, “ He gave Billy a little shake which caused a squeak from the young man. “Careful Billy, don’t want my hand to shake do you?”