BEAR CREEK (SAGE COUNTRY Book 1) Read online

  “He isn’t exactly stupid, Tom. It has more to do with his need to feel powerful. He believes he’s untouchable, smarter than we are. He needs to feel superior. It’s also just possible he might come into town today and attempt to catch a stage, or even get on the train,” I mused.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said.

  “Remember, he thinks you’re the only lawman left in town. There is no telling what he might try. Just be alert and watch your back. He probably won’t come at you head on. He prefers to kill unarmed men and catch them by surprise, if he can. He will use any advantage he can get. I expect he’s gotten away with this sort of thing before. We have a couple of advantages ourselves,” I added.

  “What are they?” He asked.

  “Well, you’re not alone. We’re ready for him and…”

  The door opened and in walked the giant of a man, who was now the new Sheriff of Alta Vista County.

  “Good morning, Sheriff Atwater. What brings you by here?” I asked.

  “Is it true you beat up my man, Bob Maxwell?”

  “I had to subdue him. He was drunk and disorderly and he had assaulted a couple of people,” I responded. “Do we have a problem?” I leaned back in my chair.

  “There’s only one other man who ever beat him, single handed,” he started.

  I was pretty sure I knew what he was going to say next.

  “That man was me,” he finished.

  “It doesn’t surprise me in the least.” It was exactly what I expected him to say. “So, do we have a problem?”

  “Naw!” He grinned. “I’m just glad the situation got handled. I’ve seen what happens when he gets drunk. He had it coming.”

  I was glad he understood.

  “He might not be so lucky next time. There were no charges filed this time, but there sure could have been. He would have been facing some jail time and probably a hefty fine.”

  Atwater nodded his understanding and added,

  “I reckon it’s worse than that. One of these days he’s likely to kill someone, or maybe get killed himself.”

  I nodded.

  “So what can we do for you, Sheriff?”

  Tom stood up.

  “I’m going to go do my job.” He held up a hand. “I know, I heard you, I’ll keep my eyes open. Nice to see you, Sheriff,” he said, on his way out the door.

  The Sheriff took a seat in the vacated chair.

  “Well, I’d like to kinda get some direction. I don’t like to go down the wrong road. If you know what I mean,” he said.

  “No Sheriff, I’m not following you,” I said, straightening up in my chair.

  “You know, with the lawman stuff.”

  “Could you be more specific? Exactly what is it you want to know?”

  He looked around the office for a moment, as he gathered his thoughts

  “I come into this part of the country, right after the war, with a good wagon and a team of oxen. I started hauling freight to the mining camps. Pretty soon, I had enough money to buy another wagon and hire some help. I ran mule teams and jerk lines. After a few years, I found myself making a delivery to Bear Creek. The railroad was being built through here then, and I saw the possibilities, right off.

  I decided to make my headquarters here and it worked out, real well. I helped build this town. Now, everybody on the Front Range knows Atwater Freight. I got warehouses in Denver, Cheyenne, even Omaha, now. If it gets moved, in this part of the country, Atwater moves it. I don’t compete with the railroad, we work hand in glove.

  “Yes sir, I’m aware of your success. What are you driving at?”

  “I guess the point is, I won the election because everybody knows who I am, but I don’t know nothing about being a lawman,” he concluded.

  I knew he wasn’t bragging about his accomplishments. He was just stating the facts. I appreciated his honesty. I was also impressed he had the humility to admit his lack of qualifications. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he understood his limitations. He had accomplished a lot, by hard work and determination. He was smart enough to know what he didn’t know.

  “What was your plan? You had to know if you won the election, there would be a lot you had to learn,” I speculated.

  “Yeah, I did. I figure to hire people who know what they’re doing. I’m no great shakes with numbers and books, so I hired a book keeper. He keeps our accounts straight, so I don’t have to. I expect to do the same thing, with lawmen.”

  I nodded.

  “That’s a really good plan and the sooner the better. How can I help you?”

  We talked for a long time. I explained it was vital to get men who could be trusted. There were plenty of experienced lawmen out there, who were only about one step away from being outlaws. Others would be looking to steal his job. We talked about how important it would be, to have deputies manage the jail, placed in some of the outlying towns and patrolling the roads.

  The door opened and a man stuck his head around the corner.

  “Howdy” he said “I’m looking for Marshal Watson.”

  When he stepped into the room we saw that he was wearing a tin star.

  I saw no reason to beat around the bush.

  “Marshal Watson has been killed. I’m John Everett Sage, the new Marshal. This is Clay Atwater, the new Sheriff of Alta Vista County.”

  “Well then, I’ve come to the right place.” He grinned.

  15.

  It turned out his name was Tommy Turner. He was the town sheriff of North Fork.

  “I’m looking for a fella that caused some trouble yesterday evening, in our fair town. He rides a big bay gelding with two white socks,” he said.

  “What makes you think he might have come here?” I was thinking about Rawlins.

  “Well, last Friday, when this guy passed through North Fork, he was headed this way. So I figure he probably came back here, after doing what he done.”

  “What did he do?” Sheriff Atwater asked him.

  “He beat up one of my …uh…ladies of the evening, and shot a fella that tried to get in the way,” he answered.

  “You’re telling us that you have a whorehouse in North Fork and he beat up a whore and killed a man last night?”

  “Well, it ain’t exactly a whorehouse. It’s a saloon, with some girls who provide services. The fella he shot ain’t dead, neither,” he clarified.

  I looked over at Clay, where he had moved to lean against the wall.

  “Clay, did you know about Sheriff Turner’s ‘full service’ saloon, in North Fork?”

  He nodded.

  “North Fork is where all the miners from Flapjack City go for entertainment. The mine owners won’t allow any women up there,” he said. “It ain’t legal here in Colorado, but neither the State nor the County, has any real law enforcement up in the mountains. They can do as they please in North Fork. Many of the miners have their families living there. Eventually, the wives of the miners will probably put an end to it.”

  I thought about that.

  It is an unfortunate fact, so many young women with no education and no prospects find it hard to survive out here. Too many are left to make a living, doing what they can. It is a horrible life, mostly ending in sickness and despair.

  “How do you know he was headed here, last Friday?” I asked the ‘sheriff’ of North Fork.

  “The girl he beat up told me. She says he’s some kind of hired gun. He told her he was going to Bear Creek, to catch the train, for some kind of job in Wyoming. But he came back to North Fork, yesterday.” He shrugged. “I figured he ran down here, after.”

  I thought about Tom, out on the streets alone.

  “Does this man have a name?” I asked.

  “Goes by Ed…something. She couldn’t remember his last name. He probably lied anyways,” he speculated.

  I stood up and headed for the door.

  “Sheriff Turner, we’ll have a look around. You hit the streets and the livery stable. See if you can find t
hat horse. I’ll send my deputy back here. If you find the horse, you come here and tell him.

  Clay, you and I will go up to the depot to make sure he doesn’t try to get on the 12:10 to Denver, or catch a stage.”

  I didn’t think to make it a request or say “please.”

  We found Tom over by the 1st National Bank. I told him the situation and sent him back to the office. As we made our way toward the railroad depot, it seemed like every horse in town was a big bay.

  Clay went to the Stage depot and I went up to the Railroad depot. As I walked by the telegraph office, the clerk called me over.

  “We’ve had some responses to your telegrams” He handed me several telegrams.

  The first one was from the sheriff in Cheyenne. It read:

  “Have not seen suspect will be on the lookout Fred Barnes Sheriff Cheyenne, Wyoming ”

  The other telegrams from lawmen all over the area, said pretty much the same thing, except one. It read:

  “Rawlins wanted murder suspect location unknown Maxwell Warren U.S. Marshal Denver, Colorado

  The last telegram in the pile wasn’t from the local area. It made me smile. It read:

  “Yes See you soon Yellow Horse ”

  I asked the depot agent if he had seen Rawlins, but he had not. Clay came up and told me that no one matching Rawlins description had booked a ride on the stage.

  We waited and watched for a little while.

  At about 11:30 we saw a carriage approaching the depot with two riders ahead of it and two behind. Each man had a rifle across the pommel of his saddle. I recognized Glen Corbet the foreman at the Bar C, as one of the lead riders. In the carriage were Bill and Annabelle Courtney and the Governor, with a driver. I noted that the harness horses were a matching pair of bays. One of the cowboys rode a bay as well. When the buggy got to the station we greeted each other. The riders dismounted and tied their horses while the passengers stepped down from the buggy, then we all went back up on the platform.

  The 12:10 to Denver reached the station at 12:06. The passengers boarded without incident. Once the baggage and freight were loaded, the whistle blew and the train chugged away at 12:17, after only eleven minutes at the station.

  The Courtney group headed back to the ranch.

  Clay and I went by the stage depot again, but Rawlins was nowhere around. We walked back downtown. We found Tom and the sheriff from North Fork, at the office. They had seen no sign of Rawlins, or his horse. The four of us went to the Bon Ton for lunch. It was the first time there had ever been four armed lawmen in the restaurant. We got some looks.

  Later, after another fruitless search, we concluded that Rawlins probably hadn’t come to Bear Creek after all. Maybe he was hiding somewhere in the town, but it was unlikely. He had to know people might be looking for him now.

  The sheriff of North Fork went back into the mountains.

  The rest of us went about doing our jobs, with a heightened sense of vigilance.

  I didn’t go to the viewing that evening. I had seen Jack both alive and dead. I preferred to remember him alive. Also, I was new to Bear Creek and not really a part of the community. I wanted the people who knew and loved him best, to have that time together.

  The next morning when Tom came in, he was in a mood of some kind. I wondered if he might be unhappy I had not come to the viewing. Maybe it was losing his father in law and all the grief and sorrow for both he and Becky.

  I was wrong on all counts.

  We were walking through town together that morning when I asked what was troubling him.

  “People,” he said. “Stupid, small minded, morally corrupt, people.”

  “How’s that?” I asked.

  He stopped and leaned against a hitching post. We were on the west side of town, down near the creek, in front of someone’s beautiful two story home, with a wrap-around porch.

  He made a gesture with his hand, as if to include the whole area.

  “We serve these people as protectors and enforcers of the law. Jack lost his life at the hands of a vicious killer, and some of these people…” He trailed off.

  I waited and pretended to look around.

  When I realized he wasn’t going to complete the thought, I prompted him.

  “…What about these people?”

  He took a deep breath and rubbed his face.

  “Last night at the viewing, Wilson Monroe,” he looked at me, “you don’t know him. He had the nerve to walk up to Becky and me and ask us if we had considered the possibility that you….had …murdered Jack, to get his job.”

  “Listen, Tom. People are people, wherever you find them. Good ones, bad ones and everything in between. These folks here are no better and no worse than anyone else. We all have our problems. I get it though. I understand how you feel. Let it go. There will always be some who insist on seeing everything through their own twisted and perverse imaginations. It’s best not to dwell on it.”

  I was very close to being completely angry myself.

  The front door of the house opened and a woman came out on the porch.

  “Good morning, Mrs. O’Malley,” Tom called.

  “Hello, Tom. Is everything alright?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. We were just enjoying the view of your garden.”

  The yard was surrounded by a white picket fence. Inside the fence were a variety of flowering plants, and a vegetable patch.

  She came down the stairs and walked out to the gate. She was wearing a light blue dress that was made of a shiny fabric that might have been silk. Her long dark hair was pinned up behind her head. She was carrying a hand towel, indicating that she had been doing some sort of household chore

  I was startled at how beautiful she was.

  “Would you gentlemen like some lemonade or a cup of coffee?”

  she smiled at me.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  I swept off my hat.

  “No, ma’am, I’m quite certain we haven’t. I mean….I would have remembered,” I stammered.

  Tom saved me further embarrassment.

  “Lora O’Malley, may I present John Everett Sage. I’m pleased to report that John has been kind enough to assume the duties as Marshal of Bear Creek.”

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, sir.” She turned back to Tom.

  “Please tell Becky I was serious last night. I will be bringing food to your house for as long as you need me to. We will have a ton of food left over after the reception today. If there is anything else I can do…if she just wants to talk, I will be there for her.”

  “Thank you. She knows it, and you’ve been very kind,” Tom said.

  She turned back to me.

  “Mr. Sage, can I interest you in some refreshment?”

  “No ma’am, I mean…yes ma’am, but not at this time…” I felt my face going red.

  “We have to get back to the office now, Lora. Right away, in fact,” Tom said, sticking me in the ribs with an elbow.

  “Well then, until we meet again.” She smiled at me again and turned back toward the house.

  Tom kind of pulled me away and directed me up the hill, toward the square.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were interested in her.” He said, grinning.

  “Good night, Tom! She’s a married woman.”

  “Was,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, she was a married lady. Now she’s a widow.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that.”

  He chuckled.

  “Her husband died nearly two years ago. They didn’t have much, except the house and land. She’s had to take in boarders to make ends meet. I can tell you, she’s a great cook.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me.

  “You might want to consider moving out of the hotel,” he grinned.

  “Stop it!”

  “That’s too bad. I think she likes y
ou.”

  “…Yeah? Well, maybe.”

  I’d have to see about that.

  16.

  I was pleased but not surprised to see so many people at Jack’s funeral. Every seat in the chapel was occupied and a great crowd of people waited outside to accompany the hearse to the cemetery. Because I came in with Tom and Becky, I was able to sit with them.

  Bud McAlister, the minister spoke about his long standing friendship with Jack. He reminded us that life on earth is temporary and that it is only a small part of eternity. He told of how he knew Jack had gone home to be with the Lord and be reunited with his lost loved ones. He talked about how our loss and sorrow were nothing compared to the joy Jack was now experiencing. He promised that one day, if Christ was our Savior and Lord, we would see Jack again. He said if we died without a personal relationship with Jesus, we would be dead and separated from God and our loved ones, forever. He invited anyone who was not a believer to come and talk to him or anyone in the congregation, about how to meet the Lord.

  After the service we followed the hearse to the cemetery. We walked through the west side of town, down across a bridge over Bear Creek, and up to the cemetery on the top of a hill, dotted with pine and spruce. Along the way, as we passed through neighborhoods, many people came out to pay their respects.

  I thought about how different this parade was from the one we had seen on Saturday.

  There was a reception after the funeral. Because Tom and Becky’s house was small, Jack had lived at the jail, and neither Tom nor Becky had any family to host it, the reception was held at Mrs. O’Malley’s boarding house.

  She was bustling about, seeing that everyone was taken care of. Tom and Becky were busy with people offering condolences and telling stories about Jack. I went out on the porch and walked around the house. Here on the porch and out in the yard, there were little knots of people talking and drifting. At the back of the house were two rocking chairs side by side. From here there was a view past the well house and the carriage house, down the hill to Bear Creek with the mountains towering up behind it. Between the house and the creek was a pasture with a couple of chestnut colored horses in it. I figured they were carriage horses.