Riding For The Brand: Sage Country Book Three Read online

  I considered my response.

  “Listen, Bat, I appreciate your interest in this, but I made a statement at the time. Further, I’ve had bad experiences with the press, no offense to you. I don’t think me talking about it in print will improve the situation any.

  “I understand how you feel, John. What I have in mind is a question and answer interview. You won’t have to tell a story, just answer some questions, as I said, in your own words. I won’t submit anything for publication you don’t approve yourself. What do you say?”

  “I’ll think about it…”

  “Fair enough, I’ll ask you again before I leave on Monday. The thing is this; you need to strike while the iron is still hot.”

  “Yeah, that’s the problem. At this moment, it’s far too hot. I’m pretty much branded”

  3.

  On Monday morning, I arrived at the courthouse when the doors opened to have a look at the affidavit I’d tricked Tommy Turner into signing.

  “Good morning, Sheriff. What can we do for you today?” Mr. Harold, the County Clerk asked.

  “Do you remember the affidavit I had filed for record, a few weeks…”

  “…Of course, everybody and their dog have been in here to see it,” he interrupted. “In fact, on Friday, Bat Masterson himself was in here and asked to read it.”

  “No kidding, Bat Masterson?”

  “Oh, yes sir. He walked in as bold as brass. A fine looking gentleman, I must say. He didn’t look like a…” he trailed off.

  “Like a what, Mr. Harold?”

  “Uhh, a former law man was what I meant.”

  “May I see the affidavit, please?”

  “Certainly, it’s filed in Book “H”, right over there on the table. I expect it’s already open to page one hundred and eleven. I leave it out, so people can get right to it.”

  “That’s very…convenient.”

  “Yes sir, making public records available to the public. That’s just part of my job.”

  He had indeed left the book open to the correct page.

  I read the affidavit.

  It was written in the somewhat sloppy, but still quite legible, handwriting of the so called “Sheriff” of North Fork. He provided an abbreviated version of the events which culminated in eight men being killed and several others wounded. It listed those killed by name and stated that six of those men had been wanted outlaws with reward money available to whoever could capture or kill them.

  I knew my former deputy Bob Logan had collected all the reward money. I also knew he had plans to use half of the money to build a church in North Fork.

  Most importantly, the affidavit indicated I’d been the lone lawman on the scene, entering the Gold Dust Hotel and Casino to affect the arrest of Henry and Harvey Thondyke, on charges related to a bank robbery. I walked into the saloon at the exact moment the celebrated gunman, Wes Spradlin, had engaged his half-brother Andrew “Point Blank” Peterson in a gun fight. Both of those men had been killed in the exchange. The sudden drawing and firing of guns prompted the outlaws to try shooting their way out. I’d been assisted in my attempt to arrest the Thorndyke brothers by Bob Logan, a bounty hunter who had, until recently, been my deputy.

  The affidavit was signed by Tommy, me, and two other witnesses.

  It was the affidavit I had filed of record, but it wasn’t entirely accurate. Wes Spradlin had not been killed in the shooting. I concocted the story to help him get a new start in life.

  That was something Bat Masterson didn’t need to know, and I intended to make sure he never found out about it.

  Since I was already at the courthouse, I decided to check the deed records. I’d been planning to see if I could locate anything that might help me find out where Jacob and Sarah had come from.

  I went to the County Tax Assessor first and examined various maps to determine who paid the taxes and therefor probably owned the property around Yellow Butte.

  I learned there was a section and a half, nine hundred and sixty acres, along both sides of Buttercup Creek right at the base of Yellow Butte, belonging to a man named Murphy. His taxes were current and paid.

  I went back to the County Clerk’s office and looked up the deed granting the land to Murphy. It had been conveyed to Sean Murphy twelve years previously, by a man named R.W. Kennemer. It was still owned by Murphy.

  I couldn’t be sure I had the right tract of land, or that Murphy was the father of Jacob and Sarah, but it was a start.

  I had one more thing to look for.

  I searched through the brand book and found where Murphy had recorded his brand. It was a rocking M.

  Checking my watch I discovered it was nearing ten thirty. I’d promised Bat Masterson I would meet him at the Front Range Hotel and give him my answer before he got on the 12:10 for Denver.

  I was aware Bat Masterson was considered to be a friend of the great con artist, Soapy Smith. Smith had been involved in organized crime and crooked politics in Creede and now in Denver. It was rumored Masterson had supported his efforts. It was certain they frequented the same boom towns at the same time.

  I checked with the hotel clerk who gave me Bat’s room number.

  When I knocked on the door, Bat opened it. He was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. I wasn’t surprised to see he was wearing a handgun in a shoulder holster, similar to mine.

  He grinned when he saw me.

  “Well, I sure hope this is good news, John. I’m in the process of packing my valise for the trip to Denver.”

  “It appears you won’t be able to make the train.”

  “And why is that?”

  “I expect I’ll have to arrest you for carrying a handgun inside the city limits.”

  He looked startled.

  “You’re joking…right?”

  I shrugged. Then I waved my hand to let him know I wasn’t serious.

  “OK, here’s the deal. I’ll agree to the interview, under the terms we discussed. I will not stand for any fun and games. I know you’re a great friend of Soapy Smith, but I will not be scammed or conned in any way. Do you understand me?”

  He stiffened up a bit.

  “My association with Mr. Smith has nothing to do with this. Soapy has considerable influence in Denver and it doesn’t work in a man’s favor to be on his bad side. He tends to cause problems for people who cross him. As a sporting man, and the way I earn my living these days, I have to stay on his good side, if you know what I mean. Further, I am neither a con man nor a bunko artist. I have offered to interview you in good faith. Sure, I intend to sell the story to whoever will buy it, but I am not taking advantage of you in any way.”

  He appeared to be sincere. But good con men always do.

  Still, I couldn’t help liking him, even though I didn’t entirely trust him.

  “Alright then, I know I delayed you here over the weekend, and I feel kind of bad about it, so I’m inviting you to have lunch at my house, and stay the night with us. Tomorrow, you can catch the 12:10 to Denver.

  “Outstanding! That’s capital, simply capital. I accept your invitation, as it happens I’m about out of money. Can we sit down and do the interview this afternoon?”

  “I think it would be best.”

  “Well then, give me a few minutes to gather my things…”

  4.

  Our house was on the very outskirts of town, on the west side. It was down right beside Bear Creek, the stream for which the city was named.

  The house, a huge, two-story whitewashed wooden structure with a wraparound porch, sat on about thirty five acres of land. From our back porch we had a grand view of the mountains.

  Before we were married Lora had run a boarding house there, and we continued to take in boarders after we were wed. That all ended when I was shot by one of our guests.

  Although we were no longer accepting boarders, Lora decided to continue serving lunch and dinner on the premises. This kept Consuela employed, and made use of the space, without endangering the family. I
found it amusing (and rather convenient) I was now living in what was arguably one of the best restaurants in Bear Creek.

  It was a mixed blessing.

  I had both the opportunity and the responsibility to greet and interact with the visitors. I was aware I might’ve become an attraction for some folks, kind of like a trained monkey, a caged bear or some such oddity.

  I’d smoothed things over with Lora, and she agreed to allow Bat Masterson to stay with us until the next day. It turned out he was something of an attraction himself.

  At lunch, we discovered Bat was an accomplished raconteur. He held our guests spellbound as he told them stories about his time in the west.

  We learned, as one of the buffalo hunters in the second battle of Adobe Walls, he helped hold off a combined force of Comanche and Kiowa for three days.

  That was interesting to me, because my friend, Yellow Horse, was on the other side in that fight.

  Bat went on with stories about living in various boom towns. He never mentioned his days as a deputy to Wyatt Earp in Dodge City.

  “Yessiree, now, Creede is the place to be. She’s going to be a great city. Folks, I’m telling you, money flows like water there and so does the whiskey.

  I arrived in that delightful locale right at the start of the boom. There were dozens of new minors arriving every day.

  King silver lined our pockets, until the fire swept through town. Most of the buildings were just tents and slap together shanties. I had a fine gambling hall, but the fire wiped us out. My place was burned to the ground and there was nothing left, not so much as a single unbroken glass. Why, even the paper money inside my safe was all burned up. That fire nearly destroyed the whole town, but Creede can’t be kept down. No sir! She’ll come back bigger and better than ever.” He paused for effect.

  “Isn’t that the way it goes, folks? One day I was a well-established, wealthy, and prosperous business man. The next day we were all vagrants, and poor as church mice.

  One day, boom, the next day, bust. The town is still booming, but we’re busted. My wife and I are forced to make a new start in Denver,” he concluded.

  “What brings you to Bear Creek, Mr. Masterson?” Someone asked.

  “Well, I had planned to open a gentleman’s sporting club up in North Fork. I intended to sponsor prize fights and other similar propositions, but now I find myself without sufficient funds to do so. I decided to have a look around and see if the climate was healthy enough to risk securing a loan for the purpose.

  I’m given to understand the mines are not paying out as well as they were. And recent events,” he glanced at me, “have changed the climate up there. So, I’m exploring new opportunities.”

  “Have you considered Bear Creek? We have a fair grounds and rodeo arena. We even have horse racing. I would think this would be an ideal location for a prize fighting venue. Maybe you and the Missus should plan to move up here, from Denver?”

  “That is a possibility. I’m considering my options. Today, I’m just spending some time visiting with my friend John, here.”

  Lora narrowed her eyes and glanced my way.

  It was pretty clear she did not like our house guest.

  ***

  When the lunch crowd eventually cleared out, I sat down with Bat to do the interview.

  “I understand you were in Dodge City with Wyatt Earp and Doc Holiday. Is that correct?” I asked, seeking some common ground.

  “Yep, me and my brothers and Wyatt and his brothers, were all the law that was needed in Dodge. It’s where I first met Doc.”

  “I met Doc Holliday in Dallas, years ago. He filled a tooth for me. He got into a shooting scrape there and had to leave town in a hurry. I never saw him again after that.” I said.

  “Well, I did. I saw him again in Tombstone, Arizona. I was going to work for Wyatt, but there was an incident in Dodge City which required my attention, so I went back to Kansas. I never saw Doc again. He died right here in Colorado, just a few years ago.”

  “I know. I heard he died in bed.”

  “Yep, he finally wasted away. I always figured he would go out in a blaze of glory. He was a man who should’ve died with his boots on, but the consumption finally got him. It sure took a lot longer than anyone thought it would.”

  We sat in silence for a moment.

  “Are you ready to tell me about what happened up at North Fork?” He asked.

  I nodded.

  “Sure, but the story didn’t start there. Let me tell you a somewhat longer tale.”

  Bat licked the end of his pencil, and nodded expectantly.

  ***

  When we were done with the whole story, he started asking questions to clear up the details.

  “Are you sure Martin Pogue was one of the men killed?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it. He was a bad outlaw. If any man deserved to die in a pool of his own blood, it was Martin Pogue.”

  “We all do.” I observed.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I said we all deserve to die horribly.”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  “Bat, my point is we’re all sinners. We want to look at other people and see their sin, but we don’t want to recognize our own.”

  “Speak for yourself, sir!”

  I nodded. “I am speaking for myself. But, be honest, you must agree your choices have often included certain attitudes and activities which are not above reproach.”

  “Reproach from whom? I don’t believe society has the right to determine what is, or is not, acceptable behavior for me, or anyone else.”

  “I wasn’t speaking about society, but it strikes me as an odd position for a lawman to take.”

  “When I was a lawman, I enforced the law because without it, in those places, there would’ve been complete anarchy. I didn’t have any sense it was important to have a bunch of laws to regulate people’s individual morality.”

  “Now, Bat, I’m sure you would agree there are some folks who just don’t have much sense or self-control. People lie, cheat and steal. It just comes naturally. Unless we recognize and confess our sin, God will not forgive or change us. It’s an important part of being a Christian.”

  “Perhaps, but I am not one of them. I believe self-preservation is the only true morality. In this life you have to take advantage of every opportunity to get ahead. No one is going to give you anything. You have to find a way to get it for yourself.”

  “So, you don’t worry much about sin?”

  “What is sin? If a person wants to gamble, I see no harm in it. The same could be said for drinking and carousing. I imagine most folks would call those things sin, but a little of that now and then is harmless enough. It’s how I make my living. There’s always some sucker who’s just asking to be taken advantage of.”

  “Spoken like a true sporting man, Bat.”

  “Oh yes, I am that, John,” He grinned.

  Bat’s attitude worried me. I was concerned he’d become a complete reprobate.

  I walked over to a side table and took a deck of cards out of a drawer.

  “Perhaps you would be interested in a little game of cards.” I said, shuffling the deck.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  I fanned the cards, and selected three. I dealt them face up on the table. One of them was the Queen of Hearts. I turned the cards over, face down.

  “…Three card Monte? You’ve got to be kidding me.” He exclaimed.

  I quickly slid the three cards around, with a flourish.

  “Let’s call this game ‘Follow the Queen’. You just have to guess which card is the Queen of Hearts. Would you care to bet on it?”

  “I know what it’s called. I also know I can’t win. You’ve used some sort of sleight of hand to palm the Queen.” Bat said. “Where did you learn to do that? You’re as good as anyone I’ve ever seen.”

  “Perhaps you would rather play the Shell game?”

  “Of course
not, what do you take me for?”

  “I take you for a sporting man, Bat.”

  “Now see here. If you’re suggesting I’m a cheat or scam artist…As I said, you are mistaken sir.”

  “No, Bat, I’m not suggesting you’re a scam artist. I’m telling you I used to be one.

  I learned to play these ‘games’ when I was still just a kid. I grew up in a traveling carnival. I got to be pretty good at sleight of hand tricks.

  We Romani would sometimes take advantage of the ignorant and the ‘sucker’ you referred to earlier. We did little harm and then we moved on. But I felt remorse for the deception.

  I know people who are very good as short change artists and a host of other two bit tricks. You know, Bat, the short cons like these, they’re all as crooked as a dog’s hind leg. You might think they’re harmless. But wrong is wrong.

  There are also people who are good at the long cons. Those cons that take hours, days, or even weeks to put in place, and tend to pay off with big rewards of money stolen from people you call “suckers.”

  “I told you…I don’t do that.”

  “I heard you. I’m not saying you do. However I have to consider the company you keep. My point is; I’m not a sucker. Don’t ever mistake me for one. Do we understand each other?”

  “Why, John, you’ve wounded me. I’ve given you my assurance I will not attempt to take advantage of you, in any way.”

  “I’m taking you at your word for it, Bat”

  “It would not appear you do.”

  “You correctly told me a man’s reputation is largely out of his control. I know you have a long standing association with Soapy Smith. Need I say more?”

  Bat hung his head.

  “No, I hear what you’re saying. The man sticks to me like a bad smell. He has a lot of power in Denver, and he practically ran Creede.”

  “That bad smell you speak of is the smell of corruption. It’s what sin always leads to. No man should ever have to try to convince other people he’s not a crook, especially not a man like you. I’d get shut of Soapy, if I were you.”

  “I intend to.” He said, looking me in the eye.