Welcome! Jesus Christ is my LORD and Savior! Romans 10:9-10,13; John 3:16

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At this site, I discuss politics with a Right-Wing Conservative view that is pro-environmental, is in the defense of the freedom that is our birthright, and will go into detail discussing Conservative Fundamental Protestant Christian Theology that is pro-Zionist.

At times I will post some poems or other literary things I write, and may often post various entertainment or educational videos that I find of interest, and hope you will, too.

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In the Year of our LORD Jesus Christ / A.D. 2015

Statement of Principle: Barack Obama is NOT a United States Natural Born Citizen, and illegally holds office.

"No Person except a Natural Born Citizen…shall be eligible to the Office of President...."
US Constitution: Article 2, section 1, Clause 5

The Original Constitutional Intent of a Natural Born Citizen at the time and era it was written is defined in this: that a child is born to a US CITIZEN Father at the Time of Birth, on US Soil or exclusive US Sovereignty, (this includes those born upon a US Flagship on direct water passage in International Waters IF it is so done between soil of the United States to soil of the United States); and that the child has NO OTHER CITIZENSHIP(S) OR ALLEGIANCE(S) FROM BIRTH TO AGE 21.

The Founders utilized John Locke for this definition:“This holds in all the laws a man is under, whether natural or civil. Is a man under the law of nature? What made him free of that law? what gave him a free disposing of his property, according to his own will, within the compass of that law? I answer, a state of maturity wherein he might be supposed capable to know that law, that so he might keep his actions within the bounds of it. When he has acquired that state, he is presumed to know how far that law is to be his guide, and how far he may make use of his freedom, and so comes to have it; till then, some body else must guide him, who is presumed to know how far the law allows a liberty. If such a state of reason, such an age of discretion made him free, the same shall make his son free too. Is a man under the law of England? What made him free of that law? that is, to have the liberty to dispose of his actions and possessions according to his own will, within the permission of that law? A capacity of knowing that law; which is supposed by that law, at the age of one and twenty years, and in some cases sooner. If this made the father free, it shall make the son free too. Till then we see the law allows the son to have no will, but he is to be guided by the will of his father or guardian, who is to understand for him. And if the father die, and fail to substitute a deputy in his trust; if he hath not provided a tutor, to govern his son, during his minority, during his want of understanding, the law takes care to do it; some other must govern him, and be a will to him, till he hath attained to a state of freedom, and his understanding be fit to take the government of his will. But after that, the father and son are equally free as much as tutor and pupil after nonage; equally subjects of the same law together, without any dominion left in the father over the life, liberty, or estate of his son, whether they be only in the state and under the law of nature, or under the positive laws of an established government.”
John Locke, Second Treatise on Government, Chapter 6: ‘Of Paternal Power’ §. 59

"...the term ‘natural born citizen’ is used and excludes all persons owing allegiance by birth to foreign states.”
The New Englander and Yale Law Review, Volume 3 (1845), p. 414

In May of 2009, Barack Obama and the Government of the United States of America officially recognized Kogelo, Kenya, as the birth place of the putative President of the United States, Barack Hussein Obama II. It was attended by U.S. Ambassador Michael Ranneberger. The official Kenyan Government memo, Compiled by: Agwanda, J.O., ASDD and Comissioned by: Machage, T. N . , SDD
states very clearly and absolutely unmistakably that: “This was to honour the birthplace of President Barack Obama and re-dedicate the tomb of Barack Hussein Obama, Sr., the president's late father.”

Under Constitutional Intent of the Natural Born Citizen Clause in Article 2.1.5, the successful US Government Attorney of later Wong Kim Ark fame shows us that the Paternal Link (that through the Father's Status) is essential in determining who is or is NOT a United States Natural Born Citizen:
Birth, therefore, does not ipso facto confer citizenship, and is essential in order that a person be a native or natural born citizen of the United States, that his father be at the time of the birth of such person a citizen thereof, or in the case he be illegitimate, that his mother be a citizen thereof at the time of such birth. – GEORGE D. COLLINS, SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.”

“…at the time of his birth, Barack Obama Jr. was ...a citizen of the United Kingdom and Colonies (or the UKC) by virtue of being born to a father who was a citizen of the UKC.”
http://www.factcheck.org/askfactcheck/does_barack_obama_have_kenyan_citizenship.html {link since removed}

Rep. A. Smyth (VA), House of Representatives, December 1820:
When we apply the term “citizens” to the inhabitants of States, it means those who are members of the political community. The civil law determined the condition of the son by that of the father. A man whose father was not a citizen was allowed to be a perpetual inhabitant, but not a citizen, unless citizenship was conferred on him."

Since Barack Obama depends upon "operation of law" to claim citizenship status, he is NOT a United States NATURAL born citizen, and fails to meet Constitutionality.

Ex Parte Bain, 121 U.S. 1 (1887) @ 12
"It is never to be forgotten that in the construction of the language of the Constitution here relied on, as indeed in all other instances where construction becomes necessary, we are to place ourselves as nearly as possible in the condition of the men who framed that instrument."

Gibbons v. Ogden, 22 U. S. 1 (1824) @ 188-189 http://supreme.justia.com/us/22/1/case.html states:
" ...the enlightened patriots who framed our Constitution, and the people who adopted it, must be understood to have employed words in their natural sense, and to have intended what they have said. If, from the imperfection of human language, there should be serious doubts respecting the extent of any given power, it is a well settled rule that the objects for which it was given, especially when those objects are expressed in the instrument itself, should have great influence in the construction."

Thomas Jefferson, in his letter to William Johnson, dated June 12, 1823 from Monticello, wrote:
"On every question of construction [of the Constitution] let us carry ourselves back to the time when the Constitution was adopted, recollect the spirit manifested in the debates, and instead of trying what meaning may be squeezed out of the text, or intended against it, conform to the probable one in which it was passed."

Holmes v. Jennison, 39 U.S. (14 Peters) 540 (1840)@ 570-571 http://supreme.justia.com/us/39/540/case.html
“In expounding the Constitution of the United States, every word must have its due force and appropriate meaning, for it is evident from the whole instrument that no word was unnecessarily used or needlessly added. The many discussions which have taken place upon the construction of the Constitution have proved the correctness of this proposition and shown the high talent, the caution, and the foresight of the illustrious men who framed it. Every word appears to have been weighed with the utmost deliberation, and its force and effect to have been fully understood. No word in the instrument, therefore, can be rejected as superfluous or unmeaning, and this principle of construction applies …”

The various terms of Citizen in the US Constitution are described in this pdf. http://www.scribd.com/doc/11737124/Citizenship-Terms-Used-in-the-US-Constitution-The-5-Terms-Defined-Some-Legal-Reference-to-Same

By having a Foreign National Father, and a foreign citizenship at birth and retained to his 23rd birthday, and / or a renunciation of US Citizenship declared by his mother to the US Consulate and signed under oath on August 13 of 1968 to declare her son absolved of US Citizenship for an Indonesian one, http://brianroysinput.blogspot.com/2011/05/orly-taitz-still-standing-new-lawsuits.html

Barack Hussein Obama II is UNCONSTITUTIONAL and UNQUALIFIED for the Office of US President.


Elk v. Wilkins, 112 US 94 (1884) @ 101-102 states that:
"The main object of the opening sentence of the fourteenth amendment was …to put it beyond doubt that all persons, white or black, and whether formerly slaves or not, born or naturalized in the United States, and OWING NO ALLEGIANCE TO ANY ALIEN POWER, should be citizens of the United States and of the state in which they reside. Slaughter-House Cases, 16 Wall. 36, 73; Strauder v. West Virginia, 100 U.S. 303, 306."

Obama owed allegiance to both the United Kingdom (Great Britain) and Kenya at birth, regardless if he was born in the US or not. Only by complete dishonesty can anyone label the man a qualified occupant of the Presidency. Ipso facto and de jure, he is not legally President of the United States, and his entire occupancy is legally voidable. His short form is so easily reproductive forgery, it might as well say Mickey Hussein Mouse as it does here: http://i180.photobucket.com/albums/x13/Mactographer/birth_certificate_2-1.jpg

On January 19, 2011
and on January 25, 2011

it was almost conclusive in the journalistic sense, that the only thing on file in Hawaii as regards Obama is a data entry of : "Obama II, Barack Hussein, Male...." instead of any United States Birth Certificate or Certification of Live Birth.

"The burden of establishing a delegation of power
to the United States,
or the prohibition of power to the States,
is upon those making the claim."
Bute v. Illinois, 333 U.S. 640 @653 (1948)

That means it is upon Obama and/or his lawyers to produce Court admissible documents establishing his birth identity with location and witnesses to the birth (cf. Nguyen v. INS 533 US 53 (2001) @ 54,62), - -

Nguyen v. INS 533 US 53 (2001) @ 54,62 http://supreme.justia.com/us/533/53/
@ 54 : “The mother's relation is verifiable from the birth itself and is documented by the birth certificate or hospital records and the witnesses to the birth.”
@62:” In the case of the mother, the relation is verifiable from the birth itself. The mother's status is documented in most instances by the birth certificate or hospital records and the witnesses who attest to her having given birth.”

- - as well as having a US Citizen father age 21 or above at the time of birth.

John Jay’s letter to George Washington, July 25, 1787 states:
“Permit me to hint whether it would not be wise and seasonable to provide a strong check to the admission of foreigners into the administration of our national government; and to declare expressly that the commander in chief of the American army shall not be given to, nor devolve on any but a natural born citizen.

It is clear that a “natural born citizen” in John Jay’s intent is someone WITHOUT dual or multiple nationalities, but has only one since birth: that of the US by both parents and geography, and NO OTHER.

In 1874, the US Supreme Court ruled that as it regards Common Law, that if we follow that model, not only did a US Citizen Father have to be present to make one a US Natural Born Citizen, but a US Citizen Mother also. And that formula of Common Law is also operative vice versa in the phrase: “all children born in a country of parents who were its citizens “, that without a US Citizen Father, you could NOT be defined as a United States Natural Born Citizen, PERIOD!!!

At common-law, with the nomenclature of which the framers of the Constitution were familiar, it was never doubted that all children born in a country of parents who were its citizens became themselves, upon their birth, citizens also. These were natives, or natural-born citizens, as distinguished from aliens or foreigners.”
Minor v. Happersett, 88 U.S. 162 (1874) @167
(see also how Justia.com tried to bury this key reference case @ http://www.americanthinker.com/2011/12/justiagate_natural_born_supreme_court_citations_disappear.html )

On June 6, 1951, President Truman signed the 1951 British Treaty between the United States of America and the United Kingdom / Great Britain. This Treaty, ratified by the United States Senate, took effect on September 7, 1952. This Treaty authorizes the British Consulate to register the birth of British Subjects born in the United States of America, establishing a British jurisdiction over US Born Citizens of a British Citizen parent or parents. The British consulate of the jurisdiction of the United States where they were found, including the territory and later state of Hawaii, and were thus authorized to give British passports to those like Barack Hussein Obama II as a British subject and United Kingdom and Colonies Citizen at the petition of a British Citizen parent, like Barack Hussein Obama I's request (Obama's father).
http://travel.state.gov/law/legal/treaty/treaty_1507.html (See also 8 USC 1101 (a) (15) (F) (i) http://www.gpoaccess.gov/uscode/ )

While Obama declares he was born in Hawaii http://www.scribd.com/doc/56732637/Obama-Declares-He-Was-Born-in-Hawaii
neither Obama, nor his lawyers, nor the US Attorneys have ever produced one shred of solid identifying evidence of the man's identity into Court Evidence in a Court of Law. They refuse to enter his Birth Certificate or Certification of Live Birth, whether long or short, because both are forgeries. Even though under 333 US 640, Bute v. Illinois (1948) @ 653 and 533 US 53, Nguyen v. INS (2001) @ 54,62 they are so required to produce into Court's Evidence, submitting them as authentic under penalty of perjury to the Courts. IT NEVER HAPPENED because they are knowingly fraudulent documents.

Then there is Obama’s 1995 confession of legal identity facts as of then:
"You know, as soon as the Old Man died,
the lawyers contacted all those who might have a claim to the inheritance.
Unlike my mum,
has all the documents needed to prove
who Mark's father was."
Dreams from My Father, p. 345 Barack Obama
(confessing there is NO Birth Certificate of any kind for him in Hawaii as of 1995)

Obama can therefore be required by Law to produce an authentic US Hospital Birth Certificate into Court Evidence, something he has NEVER done, nor have in lawyers remotely done in the one reference they made to pro-Obama blogs in Hollister v. Soetoro Civil Action No. 1:08-cv-02254-JR.What is it that Robert Bauer of Perkins Coie offered the Court the one time he even referred to substantiation in Hollister v. Soetoro Civil Action No. 1:08-cv-02254-JR? Legal FRAUD upon the Court.

“Fraud on the Court is conduct:
1) on the part of an officer of the Court;
2) that is directed to the judicial machinery itself;
3) that is intentionally false, willfully blind to the truth, or is in reckless disregard for the truth;
4) that is a positive averment or a concealment when one is under duty to disclose;
5) that deceives the Court.”
Workman v. Bell, 245 F.3d 849 (6th Circuit 2001) @ 852

{{{Quote from Hollister v. Soetoro, Footnote 1: }}}1 President Obama has publicly produced a certified copy of a birth certificate showing that he was born on August 4, 1961, in Honolulu Hawaii. See, e.g., Factcheck.org, “Born in the U.S.A.: The truth about Obama’s birth certificate,” available at http://www.factcheck.org/elections-2008/born_in_the_usa.html (concluding that the birth certificate is genuine, and noting a contemporaneous birth announcement published in a Honolulu newspaper). Hawaii officials have publicly verified that they have President Obama’s “original birth certificate on record in accordance with state policies and procedures.” See “Certified,” Honolulu Star Bulletin, Oct. 31, 2008. This Court can take judicial notice of these public news reports. See The Washington Post v. Robinson,935 F.2d 282, 291 (D.C. Cir. 1991); Agee v. Muskie, 629 F.2d 80, 81 n.1, 90 (D.C. Cir. 1980). {{{Unquote}}}

Obama CANNOT and will NOT produce a valid Birth Certificate into evidence in a Court of Law because both released long and short copies ARE FORGERIES.
http://www.whitehouse.gov/sites/default/files/rss_viewer/birth-certificate-long-form.pdf http://brianroysinput.blogspot.com/2011/04/white-house-releases-long-form-birth.html

Snopes.com, another pro-Obama partisan propaganda site, self-patting themselves on how factual they are when it comes to Obama, couldn’t even cite the correct alleged obstetrician it claimed delivered Obama. When the Obama forged Certification of Live Birth Long Form came out, their facts that “Rodney T. West delivered Obama in Hawaii” were cast aside as fables they promulgated to the gullible masses for over 2 years. http://www.wnd.com/?pageId=295265

The Office of the White House Press Secretary linked journalists and other interested parties to what they called an authentic Obama Short Form Certification of Live Birth, as vetted by Snopes.com. Unfortunately, the link went to Ron Polland’s made from Template Scratch openly attributed forgery, of which Polland said he was the creator. In other words, the White House sourced themselves in a genuine copy of a known public forgery which url even contained Dr. Polland’s previous internet pseudonym in the url / jpg address itself. http://i305.photobucket.com/albums/nn227/Polarik/BO_Birth_Certificate.jpg

Obama also uses an identity theft Social Security Number of a now deceased person 042-68-4425 http://www.scribd.com/doc/47560424/Affidavit-Regarding-Obamas-Social-Security-Numbers-Susan-Daniels for someone born in 1890 AND ISSUED IN CONNECTICUT in 1977-1979 as if a Tax ID number for most all his adult life. It is time for Congress to empower a special prosecutor and move to Criminal Filings against him, beginning with a subpoena duces tecum of his alleged identity documents under Federal Rule of Criminal Procedures 17(c) and "call his bluff".

In matter of fact, my quoting the Kenyan Media by the same standards as Bauer’s use of “The Washington Post v. Robinson,935 F.2d 282, 291 (D.C. Cir. 1991); Agee v. Muskie, 629 F.2d 80, 81 n.1, 90 (D.C. Cir. 1980)” is de facto and de jure not only just as relevant, but MORE relevant, as it sources a nation of birth, and a national citizenship at birth as jus soli in Kenya by Government confirmation, where the Hawaii newspaper announcements neither address nationality nor location at birth, only that a birth somewhere in the world occurred for people alleged to live at so-an-so an address.

The Nairobi Kenya Eastern Standard is the source of the Birther Movement, substantiated by other African Media and Kenya’s own Government Officials in Public Statement of fact in Transcript. Of primary concern is the Nairobi Kenya Eastern Standard dated as Sunday, June 27, 2004. Its headline reads:
“Kenyan-born Obama all set for US Senate”

The first line reads:“Kenyan-born US Senate hopeful, Barrack Obama, appeared set to take over the Illinois Senate seat after his main rival, Jack Ryan, dropped out of the race on Friday night amid a furor over lurid sex club allegations.”

De facto, the Nairobi Kenya Eastern Standard states clearly in the headline that Senator Barack Obama is Kenyan born...hence, born in Kenya. http://web.archive.org/web/20040627142700/eastandard.net/headlines/news26060403.htm

There are no other living witnesses besides Barack's step-grandmother, who says she saw him birthed, and she says THAT was in Kenya! http://www.wnd.com/?pageId=107524 and that claim was vetted twice by Kenya's Parliament, one of which in March of 2010!!!“

Thursday, 25th March, 2010
The House met at 2.30 p.m. p. 31 ...2nd paragraph
[Mr. Orengo, Minister of Lands of the nation of Kenya, speaking]: "...how could a young man born here in Kenya, who is not even a native American,become the President of America?It is because they did away with exclusion." http://www.scribd.com/doc/29758466/RDRAFT25

In others words, NON-Natural born Citizens of the US can now be President of the USA, starting with Barack Hussein Obama!!! See also: http://brianroysinput.blogspot.com/2011/04/obama-fec-audited-in-2011-little-bit.html

In matter of fact, various Secretaries of States will declare to the effect that the States have no right to verify if a candidate running for President is even a US Citizen, let alone qualified.

{{{Quote}}} “…neither the Connecticut General Statutes nor the Constitution of the State of Connecticut authorizes me to investigate a Presidential candidate’s eligibility to run for the office of President of the United States.” Secretary of State, Susan Bysicwicz (Connecticut) November 26, 2008. http://moniquemonicat.files.wordpress.com/2008/11/obama-sec-of-state-connecticuit-fax-name-removed.pdfSee also: http://brianroysinput.blogspot.com/2010/01/was-obama-ever-vetted-as-qualified.html

It is a legal fact that Natural Born Citizenship is required to be a US President, which Obama does NOT have... NOT having the proper US Citizenship Credentials to produce into evidence in a COURT of Law, and especially by NOT BEING a UNITED STATES NATURAL BORN CITIZEN by the same principles of primogeniture and entail in regard to a sole US Citizenship (i.e., because he has NO US Citizen Father to Naturally take the place in Society of). Hence, he is a Usurper of the US Presidency, and an active criminal regularly committing felonies every time he acts or speaks in the fraudulently obtained office of the US Presidency.

Obama's own Mother declared Obama Jr. lost his US Citizenship as of August 13, 1968

Stanley Ann Dunham Obama Soetoro-Passport Application File-Strunk v Dept of State-FOIA Release-FINAL-7-29-10

Obama's Mother formally reported on her son so as to declare Obama Jr. lost his US Citizenship as of August 13, 1968 and denounced him officially before a Department of State Representative and signed such official documentation, intending that he had officially become a permanent Indonesian Citizen, absolved of any claim to a US nationality.

Obama's mother signed under oath on the back page of Form FS-299 of 7-64, following the instructions:

"I have not (and no other person included or to be included in the passport or documentation has), since acquiring United States citizenship, been naturalized as a citizen of a foreign state, taken an oath or made an affirmation or other formal declaration of allegiance to a foreign state…

{If any of the above-mentioned acts or conditions have been performed by or apply to the applicant, or to any other person included in the passport or documentation, the portion of which applies should be struck out , and a supplementary explanatory statement under oath (or affirmation) by the person to whom the portion is applicable should be attached and made a part of this application.}

Ann Dunham wrote Barack Hussein Obama (Soebarkah) and struck his name out to indicate that he was legally to no longer be a United States Citizen, and the document stood to apply all relevant passages that could apply to a 7 year old who lost US Citizenship by naturalization to Indonesia with a renunciation of his allegiance and renunciation of his citizenship by both he and his mother and his step-father for him.

Again, his own mother on August 13, 1968, before a Department of State consulate, denounced her son Barack Hussein Obama as having foreign allegiances and foreign naturalization to Indonesia, and signed to this effect in form FS-277, writing and striking his name out.

We must remember that:

Chin Bak Kan v. United States 186 U.S. 193 (1902) @ 200

We do not need a Presidential candidate or President so badly, that we have to go outside the pool of two citizen parents at their birth on US Soil for a President, regardless of the candidate's ethnicity. The DNC yielded to a known unqualified candidate as a means of desperation, as if the pressure of exigency to get their Party the Presidency in 2008, and discarded the sacred trust of the People of the United States in upholding the US Constitution, by offering the most powerful office in the world to a United Kingdom and Colonies foreign national turned resident of the United States who may or may not even have as much as a secondary US Citizenship under the Immigration and Naturalization Act of 1952's statutory law, if he indeed was born in Kenya as the media and Government of Kenya claims.

Under Original Intent and interpretation of the 14th Amendment, Obama fails to qualify as a 14th Amendment Citizen without a US Citizen Father and by having foreign dual or multi-national citizenship at birth:

The Congressional Globe, 1st session, May 30, 1866

The debate on the first section of the 14th Amendment


Senator Jacob Howard (R-Michigan) authored a "subject to the jurisdiction" clause into the 14th Amendment. Upon his introduction, the ff. are his remarks.

Part 4 (column 2), page 2890

Mr. Howard: The first amendment is to section one, declaring "that all persons born in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the States wherein they reside...This is simply declaratory of what I regard as the law of the land already, that every person born within the United States, and subject to their jurisdiction, is by virtue of natural law and national law a citizen of the United States. This will not, of course, include persons born in the United States who are foreigners, aliens, who belong to the families of ambassadors or foreign ministers accredited to the Government of the United States, but will include every other class of persons.

Senator Trumbull of Illinois, chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee concurred:

Part 4 (columns 1-2), page 2893

Mr. Trumbull: The provision is, "that all persons born in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens." That means "subject to the complete jurisdiction thereof"... What do we mean by "subject to the jurisdiction of the United States"? Not owing alliance to anybody else. That is what it means.

...It cannot be said of any...who owes allegiance, partial allegiance if you please, to some other Government that he is "subject to the jurisdiction of the United States."

...It is only those persons who completely within our jurisdiction, who are subject to our laws, that we think of making citizens; and there can be no objection to the proposition that such persons should be citizens."

Part 4 (columns 2-3), page 2895

Mr. Howard: I concur entirely with the honorable Senator from Illinois, in holding that the word "jurisdiction" as here employed, ought to be construed so as to imply a full and complete jurisdiction on the part of the United States...that is to say, the same jurisdiction in extent and quality as applies to every citizen of the United States now.

Then we have the dilemma of Law Legislated under an illegal Obama Presidency.

The U.S. Supreme Court, in the case of Fletcher v. Peck, 10 U.S. (6 Cranch) 87 (1810) @ 87
The principle asserted is that one legislature is competent to repeal any act which a former legislature was competent to pass, and that one legislature cannot abridge the powers of a succeeding legislature. The correctness of this principle so far as it respects general legislation cannot be controverted. But if an act be done under a law, a succeeding legislature cannot undo it. The past cannot be recalled by the most absolute power.”

By NOT having a legal US President in Office, not one single piece of Legislature signed by Obama is "under law" unless one can show that it was voted on by a 2/3 majority in both the House of Representatives and the US Senate and would have passed anyway, even if Obama were not in Office to exert the influence he had in the office of the US Presidency he usurped / illegally held and illegally maintained by fraud or its variants. Therefore, the objection that might be cited in Fletcher v. Peck, 10 U.S. (6 Cranch) 87 (1810) @87 that a succeeding Congress cannot void out the legislation of a preceding Congress -- when that legislation in the preceding Congress was an illegal action via a signing or benign neglect affirmation by an illegal Executive -- is therefore easily overcome.

Marbury v. Madison, 5 U.S. 137 (1803) @ 180 states that
“a law repugnant to the constitution IS VOID. . . .” and
“in declaring what shall be the SUPREME law of the land, the CONSTITUTION itself is first mentioned; and not the laws of the United States generally, but those only which shall be made in PURSUANCE of the constitution,have that rank.”

I advocate that we follow the US Constitution and the advice of the US Supreme Court for such a crisis as this, and VOID OUT Obama's entire Presidency!!! Amen!!!

To all true U.S. Patriots, Obama is and remains unforgiven,

and we remain justified in both saying and doing this, because it is the appropriate response to an "alien national" who has usurped the Presidency, who is absolutely unable to produce -- and his own lawyers refuse to put forth under penalty of committing felonies to attest to its unfraudulent veracity -- evidence of a United States Natural Born Citizenship to Barack Hussein Obama II in ANY U.S. Court of Law. They won't even place his alleged Birth Certificate or Social Security Card before the Court as genuine under penalty of perjury. Under Bute v. Illinois or 333 U.S. 640 (1948) @ 653, WE THE PEOPLE have the right to demand Barack Obama PROVE the right to his claim of the U.S. Constitution authorizing him, a suspected illegal alien and known foreign national, to the powers and authority vested in that of a President of the United States...who saw fit to help re-write a foreign (Kenyan) Constitution to include Islamic Sharia compliances and to make himself once again one of its current citizens while occupying and claiming to be "First Citizen" in the Presidency of the United States.

Peace and Liberty. Semper Fidelis.

Sunday, August 2, 2015

Fictional Story: Recollections of a Western Deputy (1871 -1897): "November 21st, 1879 - Bloody Friday, and its before and after events"

Recollections of a Western Deputy (1871 -1897)

Friday, December 12, 1879   

"November 21st, 1879  - Bloody Friday, and its before and after events"

     On the 25th of September,  there was a fire in the town of Deadwood out in the South Dakota country, where more than 300 buildings burned down and over 2,000 folks was made homeless. 

 On or about a frosty November 20th, after coming back up from the badlands with the lone surviving fugitive of 5 I arrested, as me and the Marshal was comin' up middle of the town from the south, 3 wagons was comin' through Rustler's Pass in the east.  --

We originally had 5 men on a fugitive warrant dated September, but was late gettin' to us and didn't arrive until the mornin' of October 26th.  It arrived with a new Judge named Jedidiah Smyth who brought 7 cocky 20 - 23 year old and one near 30 year old who was professional gunslingers with badges.  I didn't like either their looks or attitudes, and something was amiss that I just could not quite put into words, or quite know clearly what was wrong.  It was more than a feelin', but the Marshal was now back out in the street with me givin' me orders and a job to do, even as I kept a dead eye on these fellas and had my loops off the hammers of my six guns, my hammers cocked, and instinctively ready to draw even while I was listenin' eyein' them as they wouldn't stop starin' at and eyein' me.  

The Marshal gave me an hour to saddle up and make preparations with Beth at the General Store and another hour to go home to say goodbye to the wife and see she had what she needed.  I waited a few moments until the hired guns with badges followed the judge into a house to let, and then put my guns back to safe at rest and secured in the holsters, afore carryin' out the Marshal's directive.  In less than an hour and a half, me and the Marshal was saddled up, and ridin'  at a good trot to where we was a goin', as it looked like rain would be rolled in by late afternoon or early evenin'.  

In a growin' new city called Dallas, havin' hightailed it part of the way by trail and part of the way by train as we tried to beat returnin' when snow and ice was on the ground, though we arrived on November 3rd, on November 4th we picked up 5 rustler - murderer - stage robbers captured in a crooked card game by 3 Texas Rangers.  While we was there me and the Marshal helped stop a back-shootin' of a Texas Sergeant, who thereafter took us under his wing as his personal guests until we could have a local judge sign off the release we needed for out of state extradition at 9 am the mornin' of the 4th.   That Texas Ranger Sergeant  talked us into buyin' two extra 16 round Henry repeatin' rifles with sleeves at $10 apiece, and then and extra 300 rounds apiece for them guns.  They was brand new and rarely used, and we would find out later that they was confiscated off these same fellas we was bringin' back, who had just bought them (they said) with money from a poker game.  The Sergeant had told us that these was confiscated and sold to us as the hotel these fugitives stayed in was owed money for bills they accrued through the meals, rooms, and liquor supplied to them.  

While passin' the time until we could get our extradition and receipts of prisoners signed off, I showed the Texas Ranger Sergeant a few pointers on sharp shootin' I learned durin' the war, and he showed me two new things I didn't know myself that helped make me even better.  Those two pointers both helped me and the Marshal at about 3:30 in the dark mornin' hours of the 7th, when 11 others of the gang  of the 5 fugitives we was arrestin' bushwhacked me and the Marshal in a wood outside a train depot somewheres in western Missouri,  and whether accidentally or intentionally, they  killed 4 of their boys in our custody in a furious 6 minute gunfight in which me and the Marshal fired off near 200 rounds apiece, while we killed 8 of theirs and 3 got away (we know at least 2 bein' shot, and both of them at least twice or maybe even 3 times based on the blood spray onto a few of the trees and leaves on the ground where they was).    

The Local Sheriff came out and we stayed another 6 hours filin' reports and fillin' out paperwork, and then caught the late mornin' train headin' where we wanted to go, and rode in the mail car to keep out of sight and spare any passengers as much we could of any danger we might put them to if we was in their midst.  

-- Now regardin' those 3 wagons that left Deadwood, South Dakota way.  They came from the East Road and me and the Marshal had just cut through the middle of town from the south.   We both met at the same juncture of where South Road and Main Street meet, and out of habit in greetin' new and passin' through folks, got to talkin'.   Even as we was talkin., I casually noticed that a new Tavern had taken over what was just a Hay and Feed Store on the Southeast corner of where South Road and Main Street met.  It seems that the Marshall was familiar with two of the men and one of the women folk in one of those 3 wagons, and after I got our lone fugitive put behind the bars, I was to take these folks up to Marshall Jackson's house and get them familiar with the place afore I could get home and see the wife and my children.   I came home and found a very happy and joyous family greetin', which made me feel like I was really home in a way I wanted at that moment to last forever.  Then,  I noticed the wife had a limp she was hidin' and I was concerned, but she didn't want to spoil the moment.  That night, I saw the reason for her limp.  There was a huge black and blue mark that covered most of the wife's left outer thigh, hip area, and up to her side below the ribs.  It looked as if it was done by stomps and kicks.  She refused to talk about it, and in my mind I was determined to find out what had happened.  

How Friday November 21st will be remembered in our town as "Deputy B's   Bloody Friday" 

   We was now dealin' with a Judge named Jedediah Smyth, who made even  Judge Hollister a deeply feared of him and cowardly regardin' that man.  The Marshal and me were given a bunch of writs piled up signed off by Judge Smyth while he was out drinkin' all night in a Saloon, and the oldest of his gunslingers with a badge came in just after 6 in the mornin' and plopped the whiskey smellin' writs on the Marshal's desk  and told the Marshal the Judge was wanted them all to be to be served before Court commenced at 11 am that mornin'.    Near as I could tell, there must have been 60.  I was wrong.  That turkey trottin' coot of a Judge had signed off 86 writs that needed to be served to every single business and some of the residences on Main Street. 

The Marshal and I spent 20 minutes goin' through them all, and then he muttered some profane words, grabbed up his new Henry repeatin' rifle, loaded a last 4 shells into it, and then told me to come with him, as we was gonna have words with this new Judge.  

Judge Smyth was walkin' west, held up in his swagger by Judge Hollister, as they staggered toward the home Judge Smyth had rented on the south side of main street.   Marshal Jackson stopped him at the front two foot high white picket fence gate, and Judge Smyth was infuriated that we would dare question his authority and tried to claim we was in contempt of lawful writs, refusin' to process serve them.  

Judge Smyth stated that the town folk had no say in taxes, and that in spite of it bein' raised without a vote or notification of those bein' affected at any open Town Council Meetin' (but done in secret somewheres), beginnin' January 1 of 1880, a new tax of $1 a month was being charged on businesses and 50 cents an month on residences.  But the way these wrong form documents was worded, it most certainly wasn't the way it was claimed by Judge Smyth.  The way the document read, there was to first be a charge of $1 in January, followed by a $1 increase every month to infinity.  February 1880 would be $2, March 1880 would be $3, and so forth.  By December 1880 it would be $12 for that month, by December 1881 it would be $24 just for that month, and so on.   Marshal Jackson refused to serve illegal taxation notices, filed on even the wrong kind of forms, needin' to be a summons, and then contradicted the verbal testimony given of their intent by first quotin' the erroneous language from these unlawful documents, and then Marshal Jackson in a red faced rage tore them in pieces and threw them in Judge Smyth's face.  Judge Smyth was so errant in the due process of the Law, that we both doubted if he ever had a license to practice or that he was even a Judge. 

 As Marshal Jackson  turned, Judge Smyth began pullin' a lady deringer to shoot the Marshal in the back, and I broke Judge Smyth's nose with a quickdraw backhand strike of the barrel of my 6 gun near and onto the bridge of his nose, as I  then stepped my right leg into his standin' leg spread sideways past where his crotch was, tripped him backward to the ground while walkin' through, and grabbed his right wrist with the deringer with my left hand, and pressed my right .45 into his left eye and ordered him to drop it, as I was arrestin' him for attempted murder of a Federal Officer in the performance of his duties, and that he was personatin' a Judge.  My hammer was cocked, my finger on the trigger, and then for whatever reason, I smiled.

Judge Hollister screamed,
"For godsakes Jed, he means to kill you if you don't drop that gun.  Let it go or he'll surely send you to hell!  He's got that look I told you about!"   
Judge Smyth dropped the derringer, and said while lookin' at me, "I'll kill you first, and then the Marshal later.  For now, the Marshal can wait."  

The gun was on the ground, and even Marshal Jackson was tellin' me not to shoot the skunk.  I then pulled the gun out of the Judge's eye,  brought it about 4 inches to the side of his head, and fired off a round next to his ear, and said,
"Any time you want to kill this Federal Officer, you remember, that sound you just heard will be the last sound you hear if'n you are jackass enough to try it."

By this time, there must have been a hundred or more early mornin' townsfolk a gathered to witness what was goin' on.  Judge Smyth got up and whimpered away into his rented house while bein' helped by Judge Hollister.  As me and the Marshal was talkin', and unusual like we was walkin' a good ways up Main Street for a change instead of ridin', just before we hit South Road.  We stepped to the side and up on a boarded walk that hadn't been covered with an overhead yet, but had the frame in place, and the Marshal pulled out a cigar and decided to have a smoke as we kept talkin' as to what our next series of actions was to be and what resistance we might expect and what to do to out maneuver and outflank, and so on. 

As me and the Marshal was chewin' the fat and flappin' the breeze a bit,   9 year old  "Fanny" (I forget her first name) Magnusson, came runnin' up and told me and the Marshal what had been happenin' for the last week and a half.  While me and the Marshal was away, Judge Jedediah Smyth brought in a gang of 9 gunslingers.   We had seen 8 when we left, but now there was a 9th who was head louse of the gang.   They was a terrorizin' the town, and folks that was a gettin' hurt wasn't talkin'.   On November 1st, while makin' a trip for supplies at beth's General Store, 5 of them gunslingin' skunks pushed around my Mrs,  knocked her down, and then one of them kicked her repeatedly in the side and left leg.  My nephew and one of the boys from the war was pistol whipped and kept back by another 2 of the gunslingers, and an 8th backhanded Beth to the ground as she was pullin' a double-barreled 20 gauge shotgun.  The Sheriff and the rest of the town did nuthin' but stood and watched from a distance from either the middle or across the street until it was all over, afore takin' the Mrs to the doctor and then home.    For a few days the boys from the war and a few of the neighbors got together and did an armed vigil over the wife and my children, so that until the 5th of November there was always 2 or 3 armed men at the house and others close by.  But the town militia, which could have planted these vicious and rabid wolves 6 feet under, the town militia was not initiated because the sentiment was to wait for Marshal Jackson, who also was head of the Militia.  It also seems that November 5th was when it was made clear that these 9 skunks was only interested in terrorizin' specific locations and people that Judge Smyth would announce beforehand who and what and where the night before at Pete's Snake's Eyes Tavern, the townsfolk night riders (whoever they was) organized listeners at any of 11 different points in and even under the buildin' to hear who - what -where and to move that individual or family into hidin' and safety until the danger was past.  

Then Fanny told me that the leader of the gunslingers, the one who pushed my wife down, had also had one of his men put a revolver to my 6 year old Winchester's head with a threat to kill him if she fought back, afore kickin' and kickin' her on the front board walk of the General Store in front of scores of town folk, and that the one doin' the kickin' of my wife had a hideous laugh. 

 Then, from across the street, we heard it.  Me and the Marshal and Fanny looked over to the Snake Eye's Tavern, as "Fanny" got scared and said,
"That's it.  Please don't go Deputy B.!   They're all in there!  All but the Judge!  You'll get killed!"  

Then the sound of 7 or 8 other men could also be heard laughin' along with that hideous laugh, which was like a horse-like whinny with an inhale "haw" of a jackass to finish its breath.  It was beginnin' to be a bright not white cloudy mornin', and already my fury and rage was wellin' forth up in me, so that I was seein' black and to me it was almost like early evenin' with the sun almost down.  

   They was all at the bar in the newly opened Pete's Snake Eyes Tavern, which was also owned by Judge Smyth.  I had only one thing in mind at that moment...but I was so far along in a state of rage, I forget what it was.  

I do remember that I looked at how close we was to the General Store owned by the Widow Bennett, one door up at the corner, and her place bein' but 71 paces from Pete's Tavern and how what seemed greatly far away that the jail was.  It may have only been 230 paces back the way we had come, maybe a bit more, but it might as well have been 5 miles the other way at that moment in time.  

  I told Fanny to get on home to safety with all haste, and to mind herself as she crossed the street.  Without lookin' to see if she'd gone,  I then quick marched round the corner over to the General Store, oblivious that the Marshal was quietly followin' behind me,  and told its store owner, Beth, I was takin' some .45  six guns after fumblin' around for a few moments to find them, and makin' sure they was all the same caliber.  I loaded 2 and put them Alamo style in the belt behind and against my back, and another two up front in the belt against the bladder.  I put my last 5 double-gold eagles I was carryin' on the counter in order to pay Beth, and then emptied two boxes of .45 shells in my left and right leather vest pockets so that they was bulgin' and ready to spill out.  I then went across the street to where those skunks was.  Folks in the street at first froze in their tracks and looked at my face, then ran for cover like the shootin' had already started as I marched them 71 paces from the board walk at the General Store across South Road to the open double doors that went into Pete's.  

When I entered the tavern, there was 7 of them all lined up at the bar, drinkin' whiskey and rye, while 1 other  was at a table, playin' cards with hisself.  One of the gunslingers with a badge was missin'.    No one else but them and the one bartender was in the bar, and there was recent bullet holes was in the walls of that Tavern just about everywheres.  Those bullet holes wasn't there afore I left with the Marshal for Texas weeks earlier.  

   Even as I came in, one of them in the middle was braggin' how they "kicked around the wife of Deputy B". and how they "own the town", and that I was "probably home hidin' behind her skirt afraid to come down", or words to this effect.   Just then, the bartender looked over and dropped and broke a bottle of rye, as the skunks let out a roar of laughter.  

I loosed the hammer loops off my holstered .45s.  I then placed my hands behind the back onto the rear .45s and cocked the hammers and stood thar' perhaps 5 paces past the doorway, a round wood table with no chairs a pace behind and to my right a pace over.  I felt my face go into a murderous death sneer, and it was somethin' I felt sure as some people feel a smile.  

The bartender raised his hands, and said, 
"Deputy B.   Please.  I had nothin' to do with what happened to your Mrs."

Right as he said that, they all stopped laughin', as they hesitated perhaps 2 or 3 seconds and drew breaths and suddenly began to draw and either turn to their left or whirl out and around their fellows a little out from the bar to fire. Providence had ordained it for me that they wasn't near as fast or accurate as I thought and didn't care (at that moment in time) if they was.  

 I drew the rear .45s, emptied them into the nearest 3 of them straight ahead of me at the bar,  dropped those empty two 6 guns to the floor, and pulled the two front 6 guns afore they could hit the floor,  and  shot the one at the table and two scatterin' for the middle of the room with the other 12 slugs.  The sounds of a gunfight inside were not only deafenin', but they gave off what seemed to be like a strange disorientin' triple echo, and my eyes was a vibratin' like they was in an earthquake, never mind that they and my nostrils was beginnin' to feel the effects of acrid smoke and all the sparkin' goin on!

 I let go of those two empty 6 guns and started to lose my field of vision, even though I doubt that more than 4 or 5 seconds had passed since I first began firing those rear guns at the first.  The one at the table, even though I shot him 3 times in the middle, he only bent over hard, a bit, and still was able to begin runnin'  away and out the back, firin' wildly and missin' the whole way.  The last two fellas along the bar was makin' for the far end of the bar as I pulled my holster six guns and emptied the last 12 slugs in their sides at the heart and heads, missin' 2 shots which lodge in the bar's ledge.  But by now, I was havin' serious vision problems to see anything more than a 5 or 6 foot wide path.  I tried to scan the room, as I holstered my right 6 gun and  furiously was strugglin' to reload my left 6 gun, but by now, my hands were shakin' like I was stripped to nothin' but my long johns with the rear squatin' flap down and unbuttoned , and as if I was bein' out in the mountain snow before a cold wind passin' through a glacier near the Arctic somewheres and suddenly I get hit with that draft.  WWWWWhoa!!!.   

As I slipped the 4th round in my left 6 gun, everything was turnin' black.  I finished the last two, and switched which 6 guns I was loadin', as I quickly tried to reload past my now uncontrollable hand and now body shakes as I was just standin' thar', movin' only a step or two over toward the middle of the room.  Just as I slipped the 5th bullet into my right holster's 6 gun, suddenly there was a child's scream out in the street.

I ducked down and whirled about, strikin' my right cheek bone against a table I didn't see, and at the same time my cheekbone struck and rapped the table, I heard a rifle shot just outside the door and very close.  A body of a man holdin' a double-barreled 12 gauge shotgun fell through the doorway, and I more or less fell to my left as I was facin' the doorway now, fallin' back away from the door to the side and out of the way.   The dead man fell forward with a double cocked back shotgun until  his  face and shotgun came down about knee high as he was fallin' prostrate, and then at that point both barrels let loose, shot through the bar wall, and killed the crouchin' bartender behind it.  The man with the shotgun was Judge Smyth.  Marshal Jackson had saved my life by shootin' the man intendin' to shoot me in the back.      

I made my way through the room I was in, past the bar and to the back exit of the Tavern, and found that the man with 3 bullets in his middle who ran this away, well he was able to then cut out over to Main Street and run near 88 paces eastward afore collapsin' and dyin'.   He reminded me of a couple wild game I've shot that can run more than a quarter mile afore dyin' of their wound(s).

The lone survivor of the gang was in an outhouse back of the tavern, tied in by rope that some children led by little "Fanny" Magnusson (who had double backed while I went to the General Store, and who, with three other children of her like age, had slip-knotted and wrapped the one man buildin' with before the gunfight had even started).    Since that outhouse was weighted down with a wide base and heavy lumber to keep it from tippin' over in high winds, even though it was behind buildin's and out of the wind, still the last gunslinger was unable to get out. About a dozen folk was gatherin' around and behind me, but as soon as they heard the gunslinger beatin' on the door, they all took cover.  I motioned "Fanny" and the children to get back, and waited a few seconds for them to get behind solid cover before continuin'.  

After the children were safe, I called out to the fella in the outhouse.  No answer.   I then identified myself and asked who he was, and he began shootin' through the door.  I couldn't tell if it was at the rope or at me, as he was firin' in the same general direction, so once again, I emptied both six guns, and got off 12 to his 5.    All 12 went in as direct hits.  Liver, center of chest, heart.  Only then, I realized there was a house full of 12 children in the line of fire behind this very same outhouse I was shootin' at, and could have accidentally hit had I missed.  I felt so ashamed that I almost could have killed an innocent child, that I resolved that I would make sure that I would do my best to never make that kind of reckless mistake again if it at all could ever be helped, and pass that as part of the trainin' along to those in the Militia, in the family, or whoever else I showed how to handle and properly use a gun.    Then I realized...what if the judge and these fellas weren't fakes?  

Today would go out like wildfire and spread in reputation for hundreds of miles around, but most likely in whispers, and I knew I most certainly could hang for what I've done this day, if these fakes weren't fakes after all.  

I was so tired of killin'.  Ever since the first year of the Great war, I sometimes felt like I wore this strange guilt that comes from killin' and livin' after, as if I wore that ethereal sense like an invisible cape while my mind was able to often fold it up and put it away, because every killin' I did was an act of defense and righteously savin' the lives of others  in their defense. And with marriage and a family, each time, I was able to go home, leave any guilt like it was just a boot print in the road to be washed away, and to enter my house justified.   Perhaps that is all a man can ask.  To be able to come home in peace, even after killin', and to enter his house justified.  

But I was tired of killin', and I wasn't even sure what the legal consequences was from what happened this day.  I was so distressed, that I spent too much of the next 4 days in the outhouse losin' piles of weight over it.  

Both me and the Marshal traveled to the Capitol and turned ourselves in and were placed under arrest and under suspension  until a tribunal of 3 judges could investigate and report back their findings to the Adjutant General. 

 On Monday December 1st, this year of 1879, both me and the Marshall was exonerated, and was only to forfeit any pay for the duration we was suspended.  We were both restored and the Marshall decided that I would enter into a new arrangement he made with the town, in which while I was still a Federal United States Deputy Marshal, I would stay mostly in town and report to Sheriff Bond and be his ramrod and trouble shooter.  For each arrest, I would get $2, plus $50 a month and found, plus whatnots.   However, the Marshall would likewise get $2 for any arrest I make from the town as well,  and this would be collected in fines at sentencing and payable from that which was collected.  I talked it over with the wife, figurin' maybe she would encourage me to do carpentry or own a Livery and Black-smith business, or find somethin' else,  but after a lot more talkin' than we was used to doin' with each other, she counseled me to please stay a Deputy Marshal.  I gently put my hand on her outer left thigh, where she had been so badly bruised and asked her if that was why.  She nodded a bit, and I knew.  So without any more hesitation or doubts, I agreed.   I would go to work more or less as a town trouble-shooter under Sheriff Bond, and keep the Peace as best I could.

My day of return was to be December 10th.  

On Wednesday December 10th, I felt like I was off to a good start.  I broke up 3 dog fights, rescued a cat out of a tree for a group of new children moved to town, resolved a billin' dispute between a merchant and a family by makin' a barter's trade that made both content,  shot a large garden snake at the Widow Rose's place and made her feel better, and delivered 3 sets of groceries at 5 boxes apiece for my Cousin Beth as my nephew took sick and wasn't able to go.   

Yesterday, December 11th, I didn't do so well.  At 8 am somebody stole my horse Reindeer, and it wasn't until 4 in the afternoon that I found it was Kenneth Beavers who did it, and then quickly found my horse again.  His mother agreed to beat him with a switch, and just as she was about to lay into him, I was robbed of the pleasure of seein' and hearin' it when I got called away to a scuffle at a 30 cow Dairy on the East part of town on Main Street between 5 women.  A crowd of more than 120 had gathered when I got there and more was a comin'.  The Dairy, bein' what it was, and two of the women bein' those washin' cows, we was in a part of the corral where in the midst of my tryin' to break up the scuffle, I tripped and that sent me rear first, and  then face first,  into a  2 foot high and 4 foot wide cow patty at Howell's Dairy.  Of course the women all forgave each other, and a crowd of what was now near 180 folks blocked me from gettin' at them as they scurried away from arrest.  It took me near two hours to fully clean up under a water pump that I had to prime 4 times and each time with a quarter bucket of clean water, and then I had to take two baths with soap and water down at the new Barber Shop which had hot baths for 25 cents for each bath besides.  I had one bath with my clothes on to wash my clothes, and then one without the clothes.  Unfortunately, the barber misunderstood about my pants, and sent them to an Irish lady who did Chinese Laundry, and I was stuck in a tub for 45 minutes afore someone got my cousin Beth to bring me a new pair of britches.  I guess she was mad, 'cause she stormed in, hurled it like a ball into my face, sendin' my head back to whack the cast iron bathtub with a loud thud, as the pants bounced off my face and went out an open window.  A few minutes later a very polite little 5 year old boy who was just outside the window when the pants bounced through them and outside, well he brought them around and up to the Barber, and the Barber , after rewardin' the little boy with a shiny penny, well the Barber was able to give me my pants so I could finally get out of the tub decent like, get dressed and go home.    

When I got home, it was past 5 pm, and once again, with soap and water and 8 towels, I had to bathe outside.  It was near 8 o'clock at night afore the wife would let me back in the house, a givin' me the smell test, and then washin' my hair in a wash basin besides, and even addin' some kind of barber shop hair tonic I didn't know she had bought me once more for good measure.  

This mornin', Friday December 12th, I had to take one more bath while standing in a tub and usin' soap and water for the wife's sake.  Only after this last bath, after I dried and dressed, she let me know I would have to undergo one more hot bath with soap at the Barber's afore she would hug and kiss me again.  What's more, even as I left all dressed for work, the children did the "sniff, sniff," test afore lettin' me hug and kiss them for the mornin' goodbye.     Then when I went to saddle up my horse, even  Reindeer gave me the "sniff, sniff," test three times, as he kept nudgin' me away afore he would let me saddle him up. 

 Yes sir...it seems as if life has sure got back to normal right quick.

-- Deputy B.  

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Recollections of a Western Deputy (1871 -1897): Friday, October 24, 1879 Celebratin' Our Little Neighborhood Hero: Fanny

Recollections of a Western Deputy (1871 -1897): 
             Celebratin' Our Little Neighborhood Hero: Fanny

Friday, October 24, 1879       One of the things I enjoy lookin' at is when a child or a group of children in their innocence remind me of me.  I don't mean they look like me or are kin to me, but that some of the experiences I get to see them go through are a lot like the ones I had as a young 'un.    Take 9 year old "Fanny" Magnusson.  This little blond haired and blue eyed girl who Scottish Family traced back to the Vikings,  led about a group of 6 or 7 children about her age down to my eldest son Winchester's age of 6.  When I was a child, my hair was very light brown to an almost blond in summer, and it would darken in the winter.  Later on, it turned a medium brown and stayed that way, but one of my childhood friends was also a gutsy little blond and blue eyed female, who when she got older, moved away as she began changing into a beautiful woman, and dashed the hopes I had of askin' her for marriage, though she was just a year older than me and I was 12 and she was 13.  I heard tell she married a month before I left to serve as a scout for General Lee for a while, bein' reassigned with the highest honors and recommendations from a genuine Christian gentleman and shrewd soldier who had only recently commanded at West Point, and used to happily chuckle how he would have loved to have had me as one of his fine young cadets at West Point, as if it were a prayer and a wish that could somehow someday come true.  
That aside, come to think of it, I've been callin' this 9 year old little girl "Fanny" for so long, and so have her friends, I forget what her first name really was.  No matter.

  About a year ago, Winchester had adopted a Momma house cat with the kittens, and that was when he and little "Fanny", a neighbor from down the street who was 8 then and Winchester was 5, well that was when these two children took a gleam to one another and became friends.  They was so close, you would have thought they was kin, like me and my cousin Beth.  It was really cute to see these two together, and they never argued with one another neither.    A few days after Winchester found  this Momma house cat who had her litter over by the big tree next to the horse stall, some 40 feet from the kitchen side door of the house later, a group of 4 wild cats attacked the Momma Cat and her litter in front of a frightened  and screamin' Winchester, and killed them all afore the wife could run out of the house and kill one of them wild cats with a meat cleaver toss and them grab another by its back and neck skin (as it jumped to attack as the other two skedaddled).  Well sir, the wife bein' who the real fine woman that she is, she brought that wild and clawin' cat around head  high and vertical, and then she kicked that cat in the rear end like it were a ball near 30 foot up that tree over by the covered horse stall where I generally keep my horse "Reindeer" at.  The neighbors all up and down the street heard that wild (might as well be an alley cat)  critter's dyin' scream and came a runnin'.   But by then it was all over.   The cat sunk its claws at just over 29 feet up that tree, and died clinging.  A few hours later I returned home, hearin' the news from every neighbor as I slowly rode up the street.  A couple of the neighbor's children boast smilingly how "Mrs. B.  kicked the cat!" , and "Mrs. B. saved Winchester's life!" afore bein' chased or called inside the house by one of their parents.    I was concerned over that last utterance.  But when I got home, the wife came out the Kitchen door and told me what had happened.   I climbed up a ladder and used a pruning hook extension, I pried the dead wild house cat off the tree, and we watched it fall to the ground and bounce a few inches and come to rest.   Sure enough, it was in rigor mortise.    Well sir, there was one sole survivor in that litter that those wild house cats didn't kill, and Winchester named him "Danny".    That was last year.

    Now a few days ago, "Fanny" came over, and Winchester followed along to the front corner of the property, and then came back with her to speak to the Mrs. to ask permission to play and be kept an eye on.    Because of Winchester's age, and him bein' the first of our children,  the wife and I had forbidden him to go past the corner of the property, and if the neighbor's children was invite him to play in the road, they'd have to ask permission, as the wife would watch from the kitchen door and keep them up near a direct line of sight.  Furthermore, any time a horse or carriage or wagon came down the road, they was to call out to stop, clear the road, and not resume until it was safe to do so. Well, the wife consented to watchin' them, but was drawn away to change the undergarments of Winchester's siblings when another wild house cat attack happened again.   
This time, Danny the cat was near where the children was playin'.  He was a smart and gentle cat, that was somethin' to behold.  One time some months back, Danny the cat almost got hisself run over by a passin' horse drawn buckboard as he crossed the road.  Winchester saw it.  After which he spent weeks keepin' a sharp eye on Danny whenever he got close to the road.  He would them scoop him up, and lecture him, plant him gently on all 4 paws, and turn his head to look up the street and then the other way down the street, and carry him across.  He then got to the point where he would just shout out, "Danny!  Look!"   And sure enough, at the edge of the road, that cat lookin' back at Winchester then looked Left, and then Right, and if the coast was clear, he went.  If there was traffic, that cat kept a lookin' until it was safe and then went.  Pretty soon people could easily spot and tell it was Danny from a quarter mile away.  He was the only cat in town that stopped by the side of the road, looked this way and that to see if it was safe to cross, and only then crossed the road or street that he was at.  I even seen that dang cat at the other end of town do that look this way and that in order to cross the street and then, to my alarm,  enter under the porch at the house of ill repute that the Town Council, the Mayor, the Judge, and many others liked to think they would visit on the sly.  As I rode by on reindeer, I heard the Mayor's voice call out, "Here, Pussy!" and thought to myself, "He better not be callin' that dang cat!", as I was lookin' back to see what I could tell by the shadows on the window shade as I was passin'.  When I saw it was the shadow of a woman standin' on the bed over him..."Phew!!!...What a relief!"      

   I told the wife about it, and she gave me this look.  It wasn't just "a look," it was "THE look."    As my mind raced back to try to figure what she was givin' me "THAT look" about, she then threatened to knock me up side the head with somethin' hard when I wasn't lookin' if I put the scare into Winchester by tellin' him where his cat was disappearin' off to of late, and tellin' him some "blue story" with it.   When she said "blue story", I went, "Oh!" and knew what she meant.  (I was goin' to leave that part out anyway.)      But it still could be from bad to worse, as he could make his way over thar' and find a litter of more critters, and the town would be askin' why he would bee-line straight to a place like that, and then where would I be?  Six feet under and sent there by the wife, that's where I would be!

    Anyways,  the wife was off changing baby and infant dirties in another room, and Danny the Cat was watchin' Winchester and some neighborhood children play with a ball in the street.  Suddenly, 3 wild "house cats" attacked Danny.  Winchester immediately ran to protect a screamin' in pain Danny the Cat from three attackers and got bit and scratched on the hand and arms.  Fanny then jumps in thar' as Winchester falls back, and kicks one cat off, and grabs another up by the tail, and whirls it around over head like a ball on a rope, just as I was ridin' up the road at a distance beholdin' all this.  She whirled it 2 or 3 times over head and then smashed its head against a horse hitchin' post.  The melee then goes into the side yard of my property toward the covered horse stall and tree by it, and "Fanny" catches a second cat pursuin' and on top of Danny, whirls that wild house cat around a few times over head and tosses it head first into the tree.  The third cat then attempts to jump on Winchester's face, but one of the other children grabs it by the hind legs and pulls it back so that it lands belly flat on the ground, and then they all begin stompin' it to death.  Fanny gets herself a club shaped  (near 18")  log from the loose logs near the horse stall, and comes out and finishes the job, clubbin' that last cat to death with several hard precise blows to the top of its head.  

Some of the parents that came runnin' were upset at the first, but I hailed Fanny as our little neighborhood hero, and announced that in two days hence, all these children and their families was invited for a Barbecue of a fatted calf I would butcher and open pit cook out in the Front Yard, with all the fixins except dessert, and asked if some of the women might supply pie or some other somethin'  like that they would like to share.  This would be to honor Fanny and her savin' Winchester from serious harm and also for her savin' Winchester's cat. 

Afore I knew it, the Marshal and the Sheriff and their kin invited themselves over, and the wife invited her family as well as Beth and her young uns from mine, as well as the 4 good ole boys from the Great War and their kin.  In fact, we had over 400 folks, I reckon, perhaps nearer to 500, and of all the leftover beef I thought we would have left over,  there was only bones for people's pet dogs, or to be used as soup bones. But not one went without a good portion of beef, either spit turned or seared perfect on a 5 foot by 5 foot cast iron plate I got hold of and hadn't known what to do with until now.    It was a huge success.  I haven't seen anywhere near as much laughin', and singin', and just plain fun and gettin' along since afore the Great War.  And that only once, and not lastin' near as long neither.   From late mornin' until about a half hour after dark, it was a wonderful whole day affair.  I don't reckon I've ever seen the Mrs. and her family so proud of me as I did of them as we was puttin' the last cleanin' up touches that night, most of the folks cleanin' up after themselves, so it really wasn't very much that was left.      

--  Deputy B.

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Saturday, July 25, 2015

Fictional Short Story: Recollections of a Western Deputy (1871 -1897): Horse-shoes A Fallin'

July 5, 1879            Horse-shoes A Fallin'

    On July 4, we had another odd duck day.    At the Rodeo celebration, two men billed themselves as Trick Shooters, and decided to do the bullet into the horseshoe trick.  This involves 7 horse-shoes all of the same exact size and shape.  The first is blank with 6 nail holes, the second has a .44 slug in the first nail hole, the third horse-shoe has two slugs in two of the nail holes, and so on.  The one who throws the horse-shoe up in the air, always acts like a Circus clown, and always puts the horse-shoe in a small barrel before tossing it up in the air again to be shot.  Each of the slugged horse-shoes hand on an inner ring numbered by white paint on the barrel wall as to how many slugs is in the horse-shoe below it.  It gets tricky on really cloudy days, as once they did the trick for the first slug, and all 6 was placed in the horse-shoe they showed to the crowd in St. Louis or somewhere that someone told me once when I was 9 days out trailin’ a skunk who shot and near killed two of the Governor’s servants and barely missed the Governor at his house, putting two bullets through his coat tails.  That killer fell of a mountain tryin' to take a quick trail on the 10th day, and rock-slid down off the trail after it gave way some 40 paces and went over a cliff to the rocks below, and split in an upper and lower body at the belly, missin' about a foot in between all splattered on the rocks.  
That fella with me on that manhunt told me that when the crowd (in St. Louis or somewheres like that name) saw these trick shootin’ fellas was usin’ blanks and makin’ the crowd out to be fools, they skinned every lick of clothin’ off of those phoney sharp-shooters, and made them do a farewell down the middle of Mississippi River, chased by rowboats of angry folk shootin' up the water to keep them floatin' down to some down river town to be arrested later for indecency.  It appears that the naked sharp-shootin' phonies were taken up, and charged and then served 60 days hard labor afore getting’ out.  Yet, here they was, 3 years later, once again pullin’ the same act hundreds and hundreds of miles away, hopin’ no one was the wiser…only one of them was too dead drunk to go on. 

So, needin’ the money for the act, the one who threw the horse-shoes decided to go on anyways.   He quick learned a fella who was about only half as drunk as he was, and swaggered about half as much when they walked out to do the act.  The one who was to throw the horse-shoes high up in the air, 40 feet or more, stood about 30 feet away from the fella who he quick learned regardin’ the act.  The other  drunk was supposed to take a six gun and shoot the horse-shoe in one or more of its holes while high in the air at or near its zenith.  Unfortunately, he looked a little sleepy.    The shooter bein' drunk, watched the first horse-shoe  go up and watched it fall.  And when it was dead between him and his partner at about eye level, the dang fool shot his partner about 8 inches below the heart, just missin’ the kidney, intestines, and artery.  He forgot to replace the quick learn fellas lead bullets with blanks.   Once shot, the fella who threw the  horse-shoe bent over like he was punched in the gut, and walked away, and left the Rodeo, grabbin’ the local horse doctor to pull the bullet out in the privacy of a new Livery that was two buildings away from where they was when he grabbed the horse doctor.  I followed along to see what the problem was, and caught up to them as the horse-doc was layin’ his patient on the ground and sayin’:
“Leroy, even if you had twice your brains, you’d still only graduate from bein’ a dimwit to to bein’ a half-wit!  And if you had even 4 times the smarts, you’d be so full of gas , that if someone like me came along and poked you with just one finger in the belly, my guess is that you’d give a new definition to blowin’ your brains out!” 
Leroy replied,
“Ain’t nuthin’ you could ever prove, you old horse-quack!”

And with that, the horse-doctor pressed one finger hard into the center of the patient Leroy’s stomach, and Leroy passed gas so badly that even I had to leave and open both barn doors to the Livery to spare the animals in thar’ the misery.  I was lookin’ quick for a pipe or cigar smoker to help undo the stench that went up my nostrils, and instead had to stick my face in a water trough and blow out one nostril at a time with a forceful exhale on each one.  And while I was off doin’ that, the horse doctor got the bullet out, but he operated on the ground next to a mule (about an arm's length to the patient’s right and about so to the horse-doctor’s left). 

I returned just in time to see the patient sit up and cry out like a jackass in pain, which type of scream startled the mule, which then kicked the horse-shoe thrower in the right side of the head so that he died.  And what was worse, is that the mule’s shoe was loose, so that it stuck in the side of the man’s head in a perfect indentation over and around his right ear.   There was exactly $1.09 in Leroy’s pocket, and a pair of spiffy new lookin’ boots on Leroy’s feet which the horse-doctor took as his rightful fee.  The town’s newly arrived mortician got a hold of the body, set up a tent peak show as the folks left the Rodeo, and charged 5 cents a look, and 10 cents more to touch.  He made some $73.90, gave the man’s partner $5 (when he finally regained consciousness that evenin’ or last night) and buried the horse-shoe thrower free of charge, usin’ an old paint stained tarp he was goin’ to burn as trash anyhow, but at least made the hole 8 feet deep, as he threw another body on top of that, of some unknown fella who died getting’ bucked off in the Bronco bustin’ event, and landin’ in his head.  When his neck snapped, it jiggled like limp noodles on a fork that the Latin folk out of Italy eat.     Yessir, the mortician not got a two for one on that grave, but he then buried the widow Morning Star’s -- who we call Widow Morganstern’s – cat at about 4 feet down, and placed a 140 lb natural rock that was headstone chiseled to the cat in exchange for $2, two free coat sleeve and inseam sewings,  and 5 chickens.  So if you folks ever get to the Common Graves in an otherwise overgrown and abandoned acre in the southwest part of town, and you find the stone dedicated to a cat, just that two fellas are buried under you know what. 

Most folks still hold to buryin’ their kin on their own land, which is their right to do.  Folks round here, and I suspect most anywhere (except perhaps those who live in the big cities and whatnot) only require that such buryin’ always be far enough away from a common underground water source so as not to contaminate it for the rest of us that is livin’.  It’s called common sense; and in my experience, most city folks don’t seem to possess anywhere near enough of it. 

After conferrin’ with Marshall Jackson and Sheriff Bond, I went home and checked on the wife, who is 6 months along.  I found her layin’ down on our bed, sweatin’ up a storm.  I changed her clothes, and the sheets, and gave her well water cool downs on her face, neck, and arms. I made sure the children were well, clean and fed and not thirsty, and the like.   I tried to talk to her mother, who was lookin’ after the children, but after I got home, seemed to be doin’ little more than slammin’ this or that door shut every few minutes.  Her mother was stormin’ back and forth through and in and out of the house.  If she was doin’ anything after I got home aside from door slammin’, I was in uncharted waters to apprehend what it was.   

After my mother-in-law’s  husband died, I bought her a property less than a 5 minute walk away to the West of my 11 acre place. From the front gate of my house, a normal person can run there to my mother-in-law’s place  in less than a minute.  She was upset…hell, she was always upset about somethin’.  That old battle axe was still mad at me not just for marryin’ her daughter, but also because I didn’t buy the new house bein’ built on the property to the west of mine, where the town just finished gradin’ the last of its in town streets.  After the house to the west of my property, the town graded a north-south street, and then there is that house on the opposite corner and hers to the west of that on the next corner of that same  block (they call “town land” inside the same three or more sided section of roads “a block” now).  While she has a now graded level dirt street to walk up and down on, she’s upset she has to walk so far.  Who wants to live right next to a mother-in-law hoverin’ over anything and everything you visibly do?  She practically lives here all day anyway.  I have a nappin’ room that I want to eventually turn into a bedroom for my oldest child, Winchester, and two of his little brothers (the twins) in another year or so, but for now, she uses it to lay down in some several times durin’ the day, as she is hoverin’ about the wife and children 6 days a week from 7 am to near 4 in the afternoon.

Sometimes she can’t sleep, and I find her at 4 in the mornin’ in the kitchen. 
What I don’t like, is she helps herself to my supplies and sometimes takes baskets of food and even some of the smaller livestock.  Last week it was 2 chickens and 10 pounds of flour and half a pound of salt.  This week, she had her son take and butcher one of my goats.  He promises to make me a fine waterskin bag out of the hide after havin’ it a couple of months or more.   He was hopin’ to make it a weddin’ present with the 3 other goats he took over the last couple months previous…goats I though ate through their ropes and ran away. 

 Sometimes in the last few weeks…correct that, since about the beginnin’ of May, if I come home durin’ the day when the old battle axe of a mother-in-law is at my and the wife’s home, I have to sneak up to one of the windows.  And if my mother-in-law is in a real bad temperament…like how my wife gets for 2 or 3 days in a month when she has one of her moon rages, usually only when she’s not carryin’, but sometimes will also get just as upset when she’s carryin’…I’ll only sneak up to the window of the room I see the wife at when her mother isn’t with her, but only after mufflin’ the horse hoofs with cloth I tie to the hoofs.  On those occasions, I usually only get to whisper with the wife a few private words quickly, afore kissin’ her and sneakin’ off.

Otherwise, I will generally just wait for the mother-in-law to leave, and usually the coast is clear like clock-work about 4 in the afternoon, usually by 5 minutes after 4 on most days. 

   Once, that old battle axe caught me and the wife while I was on my horse whisperin’ to the wife at one of the windows, and that snappin’ crab pulled the wife back and broke that rollin’ pin she brought with her out of the kitchen (for some reason or other), she quick as lightnin’ broke the rollin’ pin of on my head, and one of the pieces that broke off and killed my one and only turkey that I was fattenin’ up out thar’ in the yard.  Of course, she took up and kept the turkey and took it home with her. That fat bird was near 26 pounds as best I can figure, and was near prime for eatin’.   The next day, I saw it curin’ out on a hook off her front porch, and two of the in-laws sittin’ outside eyein’ me and smilin’ and wavin’ even as they was guardin’ it.  She was takin’ no chances, as she knew I would take it back if no one was lookin’.   That’s her idea of gratitude.  It’s no wonder the Dutch side of the wife’s family asked the Danish side to move out.  They was all nice, really nice and honest and good folk on both sides…with one exception…you know who. And from what I hear, she used to also be really really nice,  years ago.   

For them that wouldn't know any better, my mother-in-law is a very lovely to look at woman in her own right, but she has this foul temperament to those who ain’t of her own kind.  When a woman gets that way, she can be like a beautiful apple on the outside, at first pleasin’ to the eye, but if you bite into it and it is sour or rancid in some way, even if you just look at the unbit side, that displeasin’ knowledge, for you, makes it an eyesore that turns your stomach.  I think that describes how I felt about her more times than I care to admit, and how she must have generally felt about me. 

Between the wife and my father-in-law afore he died, I know some of the history that led to that twice fallen Valkyrie to bein’ how she was.  In or about 1851, she married a merchant (my now late father-in-law) who hailed out of Holland, who had originally intended to live and settle in Denmark, and this made her and her family very happy.  While in Denmark, the wife was born.  

       After 10 years of great success in Denmark, for whatever reason, my late father-in-law decided to move to Holland, even though he grew very wealthy and remarkably successful.  Most of the wife's memories are of how beautiful and wonderful Limburg (a province there) was, and still is.  Apparently, that province dates back its settlement by the Celts to the Roman times, even to the years spoken of in the New Testament and a generation or two afore that (the wife's family says).  Her grandparents worked and lived out of the perimeter of second largest city in in Holland, a place called Maastricht.  When she reminisces of it, I can see in her face how happy and joyous and innocent her childhood was.  That soothes and pleases me.

Many of my late father-in-law's own  in-laws who also were livin’ off what he made and supplied them, followed him to Holland (and made him pay for the passages and fares as well); and for almost another 10 years my late father-in-law then made  his wealth by tradin' and sellin' with the English, the Germans, the French, and finally some American  buyers who happened to be visitin’ Holland at the time.  The wife learned to be fluent in all Danish and Dutch, and German and French, but until we was married, never quite picked up and understood the English language.  Afore he died, her father had me pay to have the wife tutored by two different women teachers who properly educated the wife, as he always said that I did to the English like a sloppy butcher does to a cow, and makes a mess of it all.  
      Over the course of 6 or 7 months, the American buyers in Holland who dealt with my late father-in-law in his last year there, well they held him spellbound with history and tales of what it was like in America.  After nearly half a year or more of bein' carried away in his mind with what he was told over long hours of  intoxicatin' drinkin' with intoxicatin' speakin'...afore he knew it, he set up his father and mother in a fine small house on a nice property with plenty of monies for the next 10 or 15 years of livin’, and struck out for the United States not long before war broke out between the Germans and the French over the Lorraine and Alsace regions on their border areas, or somethin’ to that effect.  My father-in-law could have just as easily returned to Denmark and lived quite happily and comfortably, but my mother-in-law grew angry and bitter, and never forgave him for not takin’ her to a beautiful country she so rightly loved. Instead, he sparked out to a new and alien land, filled with filthy people who themselves were filled with filthy manners who couldn’t generally speak a word of the civilized languages that she was fluent in, but that was mostly in certain cities he kept to from New York City to Chicago, until he came out West, and then it really got dirty, where they hitched to a wagon train and settled in a field by a stream away from the west of the wagons who formed a town…this town. 

I don’t rightly blame my mother-in-law for lovin' her heritage, though we have idiots and snobs and ignoramuses who claim heritage is prejudice, just so long as it is everybody else's heritage that is wrong to be proud of and not theirs.  I sometimes try to imagine what life might have been like if I wasn't so blessed with my Mrs.  Then, after a while, I scare myself, and put it out of my mind.  I think if  other men who also are husbands would learn to do that more often, they wouldn't be ruinin' their own marriages or themselves with prostitute diseases, and set about to drinkin' too much to get over their misery.  

Let me give you one example on how I scared myself thinkin' on this recently, just after my mother-in-law filled the top shelf of a closet full of horse-shoes, so that when I opened the closet door, 46 horse-shoes suddenly and without warnin' fell on my head and planted my backside to the floor.  As my head was spinnin' and as stars were a poppin' and a flashin' before my eyes, for 45 minutes or so, until a couple of my infant children found me and tried to work my face with their fingers like they was grabbin' at clay, I sat thar' and thought over what it would have been like had I been a Confederate Sailor instead of havin' served in the Confederate Army durin' the war, and life after I mustered out.  

  Even if I were a sailor, and went to Texas or Chihuahua or somewheres where I could have married one of them fine polite missies out of Mexico, I can only imagine the senora’s mother likewise bein' a battle axe herself as well, be her roots in Mexico or in Spain.  If that were the case, I can't imagine a mother-in-law who wouldn't also be lookin’ down at those not meetin’ her notion of what a husband should be for her daughter or whatnot, especially since I was reared Protestant and most of them beautiful senoritas are Catholic.  I would have to learn Latin, because that is all they speak at Mass; and probably, I would find myself ear drug out of bed so often on early Sunday mornin's...well, I can just imagine havin' this one big long and wide floppy ear droopin' like a hound dog, and me cryin' out in pain every Sunday mornin' as I get cussed out in Spanish and in Latin.  Just think of it...I'd have to go to sleepin' on the other side of the bed just so that kind of a wife could pull my other ear down like a dog just so the ears would match.  And how do you'd think I'd keep thhose long droopy ears tucked up under my hat?  And I can see myself just takin' off my hat in a big wind, my then 8 inch long floppy hound dog ears a stretched out like sails in the wind, floppin' and a flappin' away.  No sirree...none of the pretty little senorita's for me.  I'll take the wife kick and punchin' me out of bed durin' one of her nightmares or chasin' me down with a broom or brekin' somethin' over my head if I've done somethin' wrong.  I'd rather do that than be hearin' "Look!  Here comes Deputy Floppy Ears.  Here boy, go chase this stick!".  
And it was right about at that point that saliva wet sticky fingers gripped my face, and I yelled "Ahhhh!", scared the kids off cryin', as the wife came in and broke her favorite broom on me as she beat me out of the house.  Then, she demanded I buy her a new broom afore comin' back in, and all my money was on the dresser.  When I told my Cousin Beth, she gave me a new broom.  Then when I was leavin' her place, she called out my name, and hit me so hard in the face with a 2 pound sack of flour, that she put my head where my feet was.  When I came home, the wife only said,
"Don't bother to tell me."

and brushed my clothes off with her new broom, and then wiped my face with her apron.  I then followed her in with my head hangin' low, as a couple of the children cheered and celebrated that "Mother beat up Father again!"    

       From what I hear, Denmark has been able to keep the same flag for somethin’ like 7 centuries.   To me, that speaks of the kind of stability and idea of peace and serenity I think she’s constantly lookin’ for and can’t find here.  I’ve killed more men than I can count in times of war and in service as Deputy Marshal.  Let me correct that, I’ve killed more men than I would ever WANT to count, and it is all I can do to ever put it out of my mind, and focus on the good things and beautiful things in life, to ever keep the good in mind, because these things, includin’ innocence, overcome evil just by bein’ good and pure.   Or as the bible says, If the salt loses its saltiness strength in bein’ salty, and becomes without taste or effect, it is no longer of any use, and will be cast down and aside, and trodden underfoot as worthless, as good for nothin’.   If our children ever learn to lose their innocence and purity and in bein’ good, they will lose their strength as a people, and be taken up and cast down as worthless and good for nothin’ by those who destroy and take away their innocence.  And if that ever happens, it would be like the end of the world.  May that day never come. 

-         Deputy B.  

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

Fictional Short Story: Recollections of a Western Deputy (1871 -1897): Circumstances Leadin' To The Deaths Of The Wife's Father and Judge Cork

January 18, 1877   

Circumstances Leadin' To The Deaths Of The Wife's Father and Judge Cork

       Earlier this month, me and the Mrs. had our 4th Wedding Anniversary.  It seems to be a new thing that people are bringin’ up, as when I was a young un’, sometimes the only way one would ever knows when you was hitched was by peekin’ in your family bible, as even the date and the number of years was just kept THAT private.   Or maybe it was just the way we was in the area I was reared up in, out on the farms and in the small towns about us…I reckon I don’t rightly know. 

But now, near 12 years after the Great War, things are changin’.   We’re a continent where most of both Protestant and Catholic Europe is becomin’ a big part of our one nation, and new traditions are sometimes bein’ created by us; and, you could say, maybe even for us (in order to sell us somethin’ we never knew, wanted, or though we needed afore).   This country is buildin’ a lot of what they call industries in the east, but north of the Mason-Dixon line, and a lot of the financial robbery of the South (which is what them top varmits in their various syndicates  invaded the South over) was found to have been merely to make sure that another country hostile to their greed wasn’t at their underbelly while they often enslave the free white man in industrial slum and mine shack livin',  and for the moment call it "voluntary un-indentured low wage with high profit yield servitude", according to Banker Sneed (whose two older half-brothers work as accountants reportin’ regular to some of these families of high finance out of New York and Boston).  But enough with politics, as to us out here in the near to Wilderness Areas of this vast continent, what happens back East might as well be happenin' on the other sid of the planet for all we care.  It's only what directly affects us that we have either the time or energy or inclination to care about, because livin' is both hard and a family (and sometimes greater group than that) effort.  

The other Deputy Marshals have all gotten sick with the fever, so I have had to stop doin’ what I was special hired to do, in bein’ a ramrod and trouble shooter with a deputy Marshal’s badge and a Marshal’s authority,  and to take over the court proceedin’ duties of securin’ Court Sessions to bein’ peaceable and deliverin’ and removin’ those in or those takin’ into custody.   Personally, I am glad that this will be over soon, as the session we had a week ago is an example of why I had enough of this kind of Deputy Marshalin’ already, even though I will still have to do regular servin' all day in Court at the beck and call of the judge in the future.  This part, I have trouble bein' patient with. 

On last week’s Monday, on the 8th, we had a situation where two farmers livin’ on opposite ends of town argued over who owned a no brand Jersey cow.  One of the farmers was my father-in-law.  Judge Cork was still fillin' in for Judge Hollister, who no one knew what had happened to him, except that he went away south to Texas somewhere.  Unfortunately, Judge Cork was makin' unwanted intimations on the wife's 16 year old female cousin, who was livin' under the watchful eye of her uncle, my father-in-law.  Many of us were concerned that his intent was to corner her somewheres and rape her, be it in a field or in the woods or even by forcin' her into an outhouse or somethin'.  The Marshal said his papers as a Judge were in order, and until I had somethin' definite, I wasn't to touch him.  Over the previous month, I seriously considered bush-whacking him about 30 or more ways, scoped out locations and thought of means and times and ways with most of them almost guaranteeing no witnesses, but I always held back and refocused that to a better use, on helpin' the wife have another little one instead.

Judge Cork knew full well that my father-in-law's cow was the only one with a unique bell-shaped blood red birth spot on its left hind quarter.  I suspect Judge Cork put former banker Redmond's brother-in-law up to lyin' in Court and committin' perjury.  I spoke up as an Amicus Curiae, a friend of the Court, in which I could resolve the matter and speak to a bill of sale that was given Judge Cork in my presence earlier by my father-in-law that he claims to no longer have.  Judge Cork told me to "Shut the hell up.  You will speak only when spoken to, and when I tell you to do something, you will do it without question or hesitation, or I will hold you in contempt of Court and fine you $200 and 30 days.  And in case you wonder why so high a fine and so long a jail sentence...it's because I can."  

The judge decided to see which of the two could better recollect the particulars of the cow.  It bein’ too cold to go outside, I was then ordered to bring that fat she thing into Maywood’s bar, where we was holdin’ court, and produce it near the new fangled pot-belly stove where the Judge was.  After lookin’ the cow over, Judge Cork ruled against both claimants, and ordered that the cow be executed, and that I was to do so forthwith.   So I quick pulled my right  .45 revolver, placed it behind the cow’s left ear, and shot it without hesitation.  That was a mistake, as the cow didn't fall down and die, it went wild, and side swiped me on her left some 9 feet back into the bar, knockin' over tables and chairs, and losin' control of its bowels.  Then it went over to the right side ways and then back end in a circle, knockin' over another half dozen tables and twice that more chairs, and came round and fell iver and on top of the new pot-belly stove, screamin' moo in pain as it was brand sizzlin' and finishin' it bowel and urinary movements.    I then shot it through the forehead, where i should have shot it the first time, and then shot a third round in her again between the eyes just to make sure.  At which time the Judge jumped up and was screamin’ what in the blazes was I doin' as he wanted to hang the cow.  With that, he fined me $50 to pay for damages and ordered the cow be removed and taken to Butcher Beavers, who would divide the cow up into equal portions for him, the Marshal, and the town council.  Havin’ shot the animal in his Court, I wasn’t to get any, and was ordered to clean up the mess.  Not only was I upset that I was unfairly fined $50 for doin' what he ordered lest I be fimed $200 and 30 days in jail,  but my other contention is this.  Now what kind of a Judge would ever hang a cow as a way of slaughtering the critter?  

Afore I would kill this motherless son of a, I wanted my dang money back.  But first I had to hook the hind legs of the cow by rope to the horn of the saddle on reindeer, and drag that cow out of the saloon, where I then hitched the rope to a two horse flatbed wagon, and dragged it the 26 or so rods to Butcher Beavers store, and he took care of the rest, right thar' in the street once I hauled it onto a set of planks he laid out for me to drag it upon.  After which, I took a shovel, a couple of buckets, a broom,  some rags and three gallons of turpentine to the mess.  I moved all the tables and chairs to the side of the room well away from the mess all in the middle of the floor.   After I got the main mess up, between the shovel and the broom, I laid down two gallons of turpentine afore I realized there were still hot coals in that dang pot belly stove.  In an instant, I had the entire center of the floor on fire lickin' flames 4 and 5 feet high!  At first I took a couple whiskey bottles and began pourin' that on the flames, but that didn't work and it only make the stink smell a little better and the flames lick a little more orange. A few of the townsfolk sounded the alarm, and eventually about 20 of us soon put the flames out about 5 minutes later.  No real damage done, but I figure it would be a few months before the stink got aired out.   When I got home, the wife chased me from comin' in the house, hittin' me 30 or 40 times with a broom.  She then sent me to the stalls to change and ordered me to bury the clothes, as she said they was the same as bein' skunked, and beyond savin'.  The kinds of drafts and chills I got changin' as fast as I could in near O degree weather, made me appreciate what them women in dresses have to put up with in cold weather.  The wife then made me privately bathe with hot water in the kitchen, and change clothes again.  After which, she served me up a vegetable stew and fresh baked bread and only cold water to drink  (as we had run out of coffee and tea, and I forgot to buy some from Beth at the General Store afore comin' home).  

Come Wednesday, just as you walked in Maywood's, you could still smell the burnt bourbon faintly.  Just about every fella in the place suddenly had the urge to take up smokin'.  Most smoked pipes and cigars, and some smoked that fairy tobacco called cigarette, which is like havin' a tobacco toothpick burnin' off the lip, and is rarely puffed at by those usin' it from what I see.  One out of town fella came into Maywood's and aside from the near fog-thick smoke, he  noticed the "burnt" smell of the floor that looked like it had been through a fire, and said the place not only smelt like it had a fire and but that it had the nice faint fragrance of bourbon.  Then he made a mistake of comin' in a few more steps and whiffed and almost gagged, and asked "What, pray tell, is that other odor?"   In unison, from half a dozen or more came the reply, "Don't ask!"  And with that, he turned and almost ran out of the place.  
Judge Cork decided to invite himself to sit with me and the boys in our monthly poker night, and then upped the stakes from cents we always played for, to dollars.   I got all the money I was fined back at poker on Wednesday night, and cleaned the judge out for the entire $138 he earned in court fees from Monday to that Wednesday afternoon.  He was finger-nailin’ the deck, and I let him think only he knew which cards they was after he had done it.  The then took the $50 I needed for Court costs, and gave the boys $22 apiece as part of the winnings.  They and their wives was all sure happy about that.  

That was the calm before the storm.  Two days after that, on Friday mornin', disaster was comin' and seem to be startin' with the wife havin' nightmares. She kept on wrastlin'in her sleep, twice chokin' me awake at the Adam's Apple and sayin' a whole lot of words in Dutch and Danish, one of which translated was "I will never forgive you." and another translated was, "I will not!  She's not yours to take!  Go to hell!"     

      Twice more after that I had to wake her as she punched and kicked me in bed.  Then finally, she awoke as if in another moon rage again, and was so offended about whatever it was in her dream, that with both feet she kicked me in the front thighs right out of bed.   Then she fully awoke and realized what she did and we checked...yep, it would be two big black and blue marks a comin' on the front of my thighs.  I was grateful she didn't break my legs, but that didn't slow the pain down for the next 45 minutes none.  After a while she was totally settled down, and eventually we both went to a somewhat restful sleep for about 2 hours. 

At about 4 in the mornin', about half an hour after time for milkin' cows,  I got up earlier and set about the kitchen to prepare the mornin' meal when a knock came at the side kitchen door, with word from her 16 year old Dutch female cousin.   She rushed past me and said "Judge Cork had just killed Uncle..." when a knife came flyin' out of the dark as I jerked back, and its sharp blade cut a 19 inch slice through the skin from just to my right side of the inny belly button to a place on my chest just over the heart.  The wife's cousin screamed somethin' in Dutch, perhaps two words, at the top of her lungs.  My left hand caught the left handed knife wielder, and I twisted in such a way that I dropped him to the floor under me, disarmed him of the knife with the right hand, and instantly placed that Arkansas toothpick all the way through his forehead with such force, that the point went through the back of his skull and pinned it to the floor.  I jumped up and reached for the shotgun over the kitchen door and checked a few steps to the outside for others as the wife came into the kitchen wieldin' both my .45   "6 guns" she got from the bedroom.  Two of the neighbors down the street saw there was a commotion and came to look.  They saw I was pulsin' blood and seemed to be losin' some of it fast.  After gettin' me to lay down and have the wife and her cousin apply a clean cloth with pressure, one went for the doctor and the other went for the Marshal.   Judge Cork had killed the Mrs.'  father with a knife blow from behind and chased her cousin more than a mile and a half on foot across the farmin' field, through the woods, and down the road to where we was.  Had Judge Cork stabbed instead of slashed...well, I really don't even want to think about it.  

In most all of 1863 and part of 1864, I served with three different trick shooters who taught me how to become a perfect and near perfect shot most all the time.  They didn’t mind as it help pass dead time and because I already had a natural talent and lots of prior ability in shootin’.    The last 4 months with Corporal Harry Sutter, I was able to make a leather holster rig so that I could learn how to quick draw a revolver, rather than to have it snapped shut and lose precious seconds drawin’ it out when the enemy came on us sudden-like.  Just afore he died, Harry made me a second rig, and we practiced on my left hand fast draw and what I needed to know for two-handed fast draws.  I think he was able to impart most everything I needed to know, but I couldn’t help but always think and regret that there wasn’t one or two more things he could have taught that I would certainly have wanted to know. 

After the war, there was a few times I put on a sharp shootin’ show to make money at it; but 8 times out of 13, the money I made didn’t even cover the cost of replacin’ the ammunition.  Folks was just tired of war and guns and even the noise.  “If you want to pop off them 6 guns”, one town constable said once, “why don’t you head out west of the Mississippi River, and take your 4 ‘follow the leader’ boys with you.”    And that is exactly what we did.  Our homes was all gone, the whole South was turned into a mostly tyrannical and near lawless run place (from what we saw of it)  that sided with thievin’ Yankee Carpet baggers, and sometimes our helpin’ our own was doin’ a bunch more hurt than good.  So we hopped up on our horses, and moseyed out West, crossin’ by ferry in Tennessee.   We had 14 Yankee dollars in borrowed money from a no good carpetbagger who tried to single handedly hold me up, and two gold watches the boys had left from the war...but only one was runnin' and the other was broke and only worth its encasement.   My quick draw and sharp shootin' ability really came in handy after the war...but not now.  Not now.  

And here I was, on a floor, about to have 84 stitches that will lay me up for the next 6 weeks, sliced at my own kitchen door when I was without my guns on and surprised out of the dark like some 14 year old who's not quite what one would expect to be a man yet, and all the fancy quick draw and trick shootin' accuracy I had for that moment I needed my guns and didn't have them, that ability didn't account for a hill of beans without my guns.  I plan on spendin' a lot of time gettin' back to readin' the Bible, which is a regular textbook in schoolin' and education,  so that in perhaps 3 days or less I could reread the entire New Testament and the Psalms, and give thanks for at least bein' able to be able to save my wife's cousin and kill that no good skunk.   I figurin' on that because I found some other passages that say somethin' about grinding even bones of the wicked into powder or dust,  and found them to be comfortin'.  One might even say, inspiring as well.  But who's to say?   

Come Sunday, having left the door wide open, it was discovered by one of the men assigned to doin' a night watch on the town that someone left $50 in gold pieces for a like amount of black powder they took from Jake's Mining and Farming Supply Store, and blew up that no good Judge's corpse into nothin' but sharps - blood splotches - and little red chunks of flesh (at or about  2 in the mornin' after they threw it in his open grave before any ceremony could be commenced for him at 10 that same mornin').   It was by sheer coincidence that I broke 11 stitches after goin' to the outhouse out back of the house near or about the same time the explosion happened more than 2 miles away, and a few of the more vocal women publicly and without proof accused me of plantin' a long fuse, perhaps an 18 minute or longer fuse,  which would allow me an alibi.  I told my accusers they was crazy, and as far as breakin' 11 stitches, that as at least when I go, sometimes I have to use my stomach muscles and grunt a few extra squeezes to get mine to pass, and anyone who don't ever have that experience either uses Castor oil like some drunks down whiskey or rye, or perhaps they must be doin' like the witches and ridin' the broomsticks and gettin' splinters in places they don't want mentioned.  That shut them up right quick.   I sure hope it also make them pack up move out of town to some other part of the country as well, and good riddance.  But so far, all I get now is a bunch of dirty looks from most everybody for havin' said it. 

-- Deputy B.