Fictional Story - Recollections of a Western
Deputy
A next and possibly closing installment (no promises...we'll see) of the fictional narrative of Recollections
of a Western Deputy (1871 -1897).
The
deaths of Sheriff Bond and Marshall Jackson and the semi-retirement that followed
March 14, 1884, was
a nightmare. Sheriff Bond was all set
to retire, stepping aside for two new qualified men to be elected to fill his
shoes in June. He and his Mrs. would never
see the day. Marshall Jackson was dying
of a stomach cancer, and he had only months left to live, but was keeping his
illness on the quiet. He would come in
the office at all odd hours in the whole 24 hours of day and night, stay for anywhere
from 45 minutes to 3 hours, and disappear for hours at a time. He was going through more than 2 bottle of
cocaine opiate kind of cough syrup, and sometimes when you walked up to the
door of his house, you could hear him screamin’ through a closed mouth,
sometimes grittin’ his teeth, doubling over or grabbin’ onto a chair or table
or wall in intense pain.
On March 12th, two of the other deputy marshals
brought in five visitin’ ex-cattle punchers who raped the wife of a passing denizen
and beat the husband near to death. The
sixth who raped and killed the one female child died in a hail of gunfire at
the scene of the crime by his own
confederates, and that led to there bein’ witnesses and evidence left at the
scene to leave no doubt as to who these low downs was. In less than two hours, near 80 armed
townsfolk and the two deputy marshals on duty had these men rounded up and
ready for a hemp neck-tie party, but Marshal Jackson rode out, and ordered the
no-goods off to jail, to be shipped out to the Capitol for trial. There would be no opportunity to blow up his
office and jail again, as was done months previous. It was called a change of venue. Within 3 hours, both deputy marshals plus one
more, levin’ me and the jailer behind, would be escortin’ the varmits to our
State Capitol for trial thar’.
Meanwhile, as that was a happenin’, 13 men from Canada rode
in, led by a man called Jacque Chirac.
He was wanted by the Canadian Mounties in the worst way, but we didn’t
know it yet. They came and took up
residence in LeRoy’s Saloon, where they used a long sheet of cast iron to sear
up some of the best beef one ever ate, as well as had singers and 5 musicians
and dance hall women, and 15 rooms for sleepin’ it off to boot. On the
mornin’ of the 14th, I was called to settle a ruckus thar’ between
some of Chirac’s men and about 20 of the townsfolk. One of Chirac’s men cheated at cards and then
used a knife to stick through the hand of the one accusin’ him, and pin it to
the card table. As Chirac’s man stood
up, an Ace of Spades and an Ace of Diamonds fell from his sleeve to the
floor. When the cards were counted by an
onlooker, there was 56 cards in a 52 card deck that Chirac’s man was shufflin’
in the game as he was called on his cheatin’.
I came in at a Mexican standoff.
3 of Chirac’s men had drew down on the town, and the town drew down on
them. I ordered everyone to holster
their weapons. The townsfolk complied,
Chirac’s men didn’t. The cheater then
said the words, “Marshal, I’ze gonna kill you.” As soon as he said it, I quick drew faster
than they could realize to pull the triggers, and splatter the backs of their
heads and brains across the room. I then
quick drew with my left and shot one of Chirac’s men who was then pulling up a
sawed off shotgun to my left, and then pointed both barrels at a sittin’ Chirac
who sat quietly with both hands stretched out on the table in front of him,
starin’ blankly ahead, some weird gold lookin’ Indian smithy doo-dad around his
neck . I took him and 8 of his boys into
custody with the help of the 20 townsfolk who earlier had their guns out, and
locked these foreigners up.
As I went down to the telegraph and sent off several wires,
lingerin’ over a bit as I was inquirin’,
I was gone well near an hour or more as I reckon. In the meantime, Marshal Jackson got the
word, came to the office, and moments afore I got back, released them all,
orderin’ Chirac and his remainin’ 8 men out of town, and without their
guns. I was flabbergasted. Me and the Marshal then went inside and had
strong words so hot, that it was a wonder we didn’t set the roof on fire. I was so angry, that if the Mrs. would have
come in at that wrong moment, I would have forgot myself and washed her mouth
out with soap…I was that mad. Afterwards,
I followed Chirac out about 8 miles, and then rode back, and went straight to
the Telegraph Office.
At the Telegraph office, I learned that Chirac was wanted
serious in Canada. An international
warrant was issued for his arrest. He
and his men had killed 3 different Sheriffs and 4 railroad deputies on the way
down here, and raped and killed half a dozen more folks who worked for the
railroad, both men and women, and in the United States, there was issued a Dead or Alive on him, which means they prefer him dead. For folks
round these parts, Sodomy is still a Capital Offense that rarely is ever spoke
about, or ever makes it to trial.
Usually before the Law gets them, the night riders or some outlaws do
the favor and often disappear without a trace. It is somethin’ that even if everyone sees it,
it never happened, and unshakeable alibis spring up fast like fresh grass after
a good rain to prove they was somewhere’s else than they was. Chirac had a bounty of 8000 pound on himself
alone, and with his men, another 5000 more in Canada. Here in the United States and territories, he
was worth an additional $15,000 offered by the railroad, and $3500 offered by
the three towns whose Sheriffs he killed.
Marshall Jackson had cost me some serious money and serious time if I
was to go after the skunk. Two more of
my old troop had moved here on invite from the other 4 who served under me durin’
the War, and I had the sense to put them on standby as my Minuteman Posse to
help keep me from getting’ blowed up again as I explained in my last entry.
I sent my 3 eldest boys out to notify them to be ready at
first light, and I sent my eldest daughter Hallie to notify my cousin Beth that
we would need 10 days of provisions for 7 of us, and I
would have my new pack horse, Nellie, carry most of that.
I went and
notified two newly appointed reserve deputy marshals, Lars the Blacksmith, and his brother-in-law
who I called Findon, (always forgettin’ how to say his Finnish first name), that
they would be on duty beginnin’ 8 that night and keepin’ a low profile at the
office, lettin’ Sheriff Bond and his two new deputies take care of the town
when they was about to do so.
After these things, I went home, spent time with the kids and
the wife, and went to bed early after supper.
At 1:30 in the mornin’, I awoke suddenly and drew my revolver and sprung
from bed, as I tried to perceive where the dream ended, and the reality of the
darkened bedroom began. The wife whispered
out, “What is it?” “Shhh”, I
replied. As I stood thar' tryin' to fully wake up, I thought for a moment a shadowy
figure was to my left, with a face looking much like Marshall Jackson was
fallin’ in pain, and to my right, two unknown shadowy bodies layin' on the floor, but just for a moment thar’
and then they was gone.
“Somethin’s wrong”, I told my Mrs. Immediately I went and checked on the
children, and then about the house on the inside and then out the kitchen door
and about the house on the outside.
Nothin’. Yet, there was a sense
of urgency, an urgency to be somewhere’s else right quick. As I came back to the kitchen door, knowin' I had just killed 4 men and the gang being set at liberty for no good reason, the wife
had her two gun pistol belt and a short barreled 12 gauge shotgun in her
hands. I explained briefly what I was
feelin’ and barred the side door, and expressed some private feelings and then rushed off to finish gettin’ all the way dressed. While I was doin’ that, the Mrs. woke Winchester
up, gave him his .41 pistol belt and a .30-.30 Winchester and told him to get
dressed quick and to follow me at a distance.
My pausin’ at the door to kiss the wife goodbye was enough to
have Winchester make it to the kitchen before I was out the door. The Mrs. explained to me briefly what was
goin’ on, and I told Winchester to count slowly to 10 before trailin’ me. He gave me a “Yes, Father.” I hugged him briefly and kissed him on the
forehead and turned and rushed out the door as the wife lightly touched my
shoulder goodbye as I passed runnin' with my two gun holster belt, a saddle bag full of ammunition over the left shoulder held fast by my left hand and a .44-.40 rifle in the other hand kept straight down to help me keep my wind.
I was so concerned that I found myself doin' somethin' I almost never do anymore, I was runnin’ down the road toward Main Street, not even
stoppin’ to saddle Good Ole Boy. It was
like I didn’t have the time. After more
than a quarter of a mile, I made it south into Main street, and for some unknown
reason, I then ran East. About 200 feet later,
on the north side, was Sheriff Bond’s little house, and thar' at the little picket fence gate lay Marshall Jackson and one
of Chirac’s men, both dead. :ight was comin' down from the porch lantern of the house, and I could reckon Marshall Jackson had
been stabbed. I would later find out he had been stabbed some 19 times, the first 7 from behind, but he had somehow fought and then taken the knife away from his attacker,
and stuck in in his murderer’s skull like he was bringin’ down an ice
pick. And there they was, blood so
flooded out black, even in the flickering shadowy semi-darkness, you could both see it shine like black water and also smell it more than 40 feet
away even if you didn’t see it right off. Then I
noticed the Sheriff’s home door had been forced open, like it had been kicked
open, even though there were no locks on his doors. Another lamp was burnin’ dimly sideways on the
floor, and havin’ the oil so low, it had not exploded. The Sheriff’s right fist was closed up, and
his face was beat in so badly, that one would never had knowed it had ever been
a human face. His fat wife lay naked,
raped, and strangled to death next to her husband’s body. No one was about. In the Sheriff’s hand was the Cree Indian Smithy
doo-dad I saw around Chirac’s neck only yesterday. I
rushed outside, and scanned about. Another 30 feet or more by the next horse trough, lay both of Sheriff Bond's new deputies, dead. I saw my eldest boy Winchester behind me a ways at a short distance and asked by using Indian sign language if he had seen anything. He responded with his hands that he saw lots of shadows running
behind these buildings on the north side of the street in the direction towards our house. I then spoke out loud and told him to
hit take up the hammer at the town bell and give the alarm of an Indian attack,
and to hop to it, and to send anyone in town toward our home and to yell the
name Chirac.
As Winchester ran towards the town alarm bell, just then, I could hear
the sound of the Mrs. lettin’ loose with both barrels and immediately with both
revolvers. She had also had the good
sense to also wake the next two oldest boys and sharp-shootin’ Hallie (as long as she could rest her rifle on a post or sill or somethin' because of her age), who
herself from the kitchen window opposite the door from her mother, cleaned two
quick almost 100 yard shots of Chirac’s crew before they ever knew there was a second
and third and fourth gun and gun port now shootin’ back from the house. I ran like I was 17 again, sprintin’ like I
was a man racin’ a horse. As I rounded
the corner and up our street, I could hear the Indian Alarm bein’ sounded. As I approached within a about 100 feet of where Chirac was, it was a
hail of gunfire. I dodged behind a shade tree just outside our corner fence, and let loose, reloaded, and let
loose again. After which, I could hear
voices of folk rallyin’ already, and calls out by Lars and Findon, as they rode
up a ways. Findon’s horse was shot out
from under him, and he broke his leg.
Lars got off, returned fire for 4 shots and pulled Findon to
safety. Chirac and his men then let out a final
volley at me and then at my house as I fired at where I saw the pistol flashes
comin’ from.
About 7 of the townsfolk came up the street and opened fire on Chirac's gang, and I counted 14 or 15 flashes, which was more than what I was expectin'. Chirac had picked up a group of 5 out of work cattle rustlers from somewheres who joined him for the chance at seein' the killin' Marshal Jackson, who they blamed for killin' someone of their outfit who tried to shoot me from behind by Saloon bushwhack, who Marshal Jackson promptly shot dead through the back and through the heart. The Mrs. and the children, and me and 7 of the townsfolk laid in hot lead hard and fast, and suddenly there was so much smoke that we couldn't tell for a moment what was what.
Then, we heard Chirac and some of his boys move East into the dark, and then heard the neighing of horses. As the hoof-beats began ridin', I ran across the road toward Chirac as he and 3 of his boy on horseback let loose at me and at my house, as they made their way to the road emptyin' their 6 guns, and then rode north. By this time another 8 or 9 townsfolk came runnin' with their guns, and a hail of fire was laid at the riders, droppin' the 3 riders and also shootin' the horses of those 3 who followed Chirac. But Chirac was gettin' away.
Suddenly, I heard a cry from the wife comin’
from the house, and couldn’t quite make out what was said. As I ran up on where Chirac’s men was, one of
them fired, grazin’ my left rib flesh below the heart, and I finished him with
all left 6 cold before reactin’ in a pain that should have sent my bullets off
target, and used my right revolver to make sure of the others.
As the smoke began to clear, another 20 more of the town folks
armed, ran up being led up the street by Winchester. Suddenly, the heavy kitchen door slowly swung out as my second eldest boy yelled to me that Hallie was dead. I ran up just far enough to see the lamp shinin' down on her lifeless lookin' body, and what looked like her brains comin' out of her forehead where they shot her. I was almost beside myself. I ran and saddled up Good Ole Boy in a
rustler’s minute, and called out to Lars who also came a runnin' that he and Old man Jenkins (an ex-marshal himself) were to take charge, and that the Marshal, the
Sheriff, and his Mrs., and both the Sheriff's deputies were all dead at and by Sheriff Bond's home. They were all murdered by Chirac or at the behest of Chirac.
Notify my troop that I was trailin’ them north to Batlersville, and I
need the telegraph to send word out to everyone what had happened and to take
the necessary precautions and that I was trailin’ those murderers, so not to
shoot at me. By the time I barked these order out speakin' very fast, I was saddled and mountin' my horse, who was anxious and rarin' to go in his nervous excitement.
Then I rode off as the Mrs.
tried to call out to me from the kitchen door, but I was ridin’ too hard and
too reckless fast into the night tryin' to guide Good Ole Boy by memory on a road I couldn't see to quite hear her.
What I didn’t know, and wouldn’t know until after I got back,
was that Chirac or his men had shot the Winchester rifle that Hallie was shootin' with, and the
bullet ricocheted above her head and exploded a can of tomatoes. She
had been standin’ on a stool, and the gun reared back and smacked her on the
face and forehead, and she fell back and hit the back of her head on the floor
and knocked herself out. In just a
little over 4 days she would be just about back again to normal. But I didn’t know this at the time. About a mile south of Batlersville I was
within 50 yards makin’ curves this way and that in the road, with all these
wagons from who knows where or what on the side of the road, some with people
in them, so as to keep me from getting’
a clear shot.
Then, Chirac's horse loosed a front left shoe, lost his footing and stumbled, and he and Chirac went head over heels and down hard into the road by a small ranch house with a chicken coop about 25 feet back from the road and 60 feet away from the house, havin' a sign that I later read that said, "Chickens and Eggs For Sale." I saw Chirac just well enough to see him make his way over to that chicken coop, but as I got off Good Ole Boy with my .44-.40 in hand, and circled around, I saw no sign of him. I then measured off my through shots would go harmlessly into an open field and an empty road, and then I laid 14 rifle shots into the chicken coop and then emptied both revolvers, and reloaded. The owner came out of the Ranch House with a single shot 10 gauge, and I identified myself and told him that I was chasing a fugitive who just killed 4 officers of the Law, one of their wives and my daughter, and to get his sorry backside in the house and take cover; after which I laid into the chicken coop yet again. I reloaded my .44-.40 and my revolvers and emptied the rifle and my left revolver, which was now driftin' all over that chicken coup, and reloaded my left revolver and holstered it. I approached the chicken coop with my right revolver out, and found I had killed more than 50 chickens, not to mention a prize rooster, and only hit Chirac once through the top of his head where I later found out that the bullet lodged in his teeth. As he lay a dyin', in his own way, Chirac bit the bullet. I think now, if I hadn't have had witnesses, I would have burned Chirac's slimy carcass by settin' the chicken coop on fire...but it was only a passin' thought. When daylight came, it eventually cost me over $280 in a promissory note that I paid off later that same day, $280 in order to make good on that rancher's chicken coup, givin' him perhaps more than 7 times what it was worth.
I cannot tell you how so overjoyed I was when I came back home later that mornin', well nigh to 10 in the mornin', and found Hallie was alive! I was so happy that I bought a steer, and all the fixins, includin' beer for the adults, and cases and cases of Sarsaparilla for all the children that would come, and the next day threw an open pit barbeque celebration for Hallie. But the celebration of livin' lasted for a day. The State Capitol sent down a replacement U.S. Marshall, half a dozen deputy marshal, a Federal Judge, and a team of three prosecutin' attorneys to find cause as to why I was derelict in my duties, and failed to keep Jacque Chirac and his gang in custody. They interviewed more than 200 witnesses in the next several days, and then, after 5 days more, I found myself stripped of my badge, in my own jail, facing 20 years to life. Word got back to Washington, D.C. to the right people by telegraph, explainin' my predicament, and about 3 days later, the whole charade of prosecutin' me was shut down and packed out of town. No explanations were at anytime, even to this day, ever given me. Not a one. I was given by United States reward money for Chirac in paper money, given my deputy marshal's badge back, and offered no apology or anything. I accepted the deputy marshal badge on the condition that I was allowed to be a RESERVE Deputy until I didn't want it or wasn't needed anymore, and would be left alone until or unless something serious came up. It was a kind of retirement, but not completely. I worked an average of 3 to 5 days a month for the next 13 years, and except for puttin' up more with my mother-in-law (until she passed in 1891), enjoyed just about every extra minute of my new free time to be with my Mrs. and family without havin' to get hurt serious to do it as much as I like to spend time with them all (except you know who..."old battle axe").
On November 17, 1897, I retired for good from bein' a Deputy United States Marshal. To my knowledge and best recollection, I killed no man in line of duty or in war that wasn't tryin' to kill me first. All my children are full growed and happily havin' their own families, and the list of grandchildren grows every year. Me and the Mrs. are very grateful for havin' survived those tumultuous years that didn't quiet down for us until after 1884, and are content to spend the rest of our days in peace, and lookin' forward to the rest of eternity in Heaven, knowin' the children and the grandchildren will be reassemblin' the family in Heaven as fellow believers in the hereafter. Oh what a joyous time Heaven will be, if the Heaven and joy on earth is only but a foretaste of what the LORD provides for what is to come to those who believe into and trust on Jesus as their LORD and Savior to the glory of GOD the Father in Heaven. Amen.
-- Deputy B. June 26, 1898.
