Topic: Jess Clay

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 17:50 EST

The year in which I turned twenty-one, I shot my first grizzly, and buffalo, and man. I rode the wrong way down through the Bitterroots, and when I wasn't rained on, I was snowed on. It seemed like things just had to get better. If not, I would die. In the high spirits of my youth, I felt that I could equal any challenge thrown at me. Since I'm still alive, I guess I made out okay, but I have helped bury a lot of men that didn't. In the 1880's it was how we all lived. You either got tough or died.

I remember it as though it were only yesterday"that first solo trip down through the Rockies.

I was riding a strawberry roan that by all rights should have been a work horse. In the northern sections you couldn't afford to be too fussy about mounts, and there was only that roan and a mule to choose from when I was shopping. I had worked with mules before and found them unpredictable, so I bought the big horse. Where he was so big and ugly, he came a lot cheaper than a mule. He turned out to be the proper choice. With every passing day his value grew, for he was smart as well as big. For days we had traveled through the rain, and when we hit the big mountains we got into snow. I picked the easiest ways through the passes, but even at that the snow was often chest deep. Still, he never faltered. He was strong and mighty enthusiastic, always wanting to see what lay beyond the next bend.

Somewhere past the headwaters of the Salmon River we hit an ancient trail and followed it south. I didn't have any particular destination in mind; I was just rolling along with a vague idea of hunting meat for some mining camp or railroad spur. I hadn't come here to live, and all I owned was on my back or in my saddlebags. It didn't amount to much. Ammunition and an extra knife, a hatchet, the Bible that Ma insisted I take when I left home - these and a couple of Oregon newspapers were all the saddlebags contained.

What else might I need" I loved the stories of the Bible, especially David and Goliath. The newspapers had been read until they were but rags, but they would be new to the next man. A lot of people use them to roll cigarettes. That was one habit I was lacking. I dearly loved the smell of a pipe, especially around a campfire in the evening, but my mouth had burned when I tried one, and it tasted nothing like it smelled. I made up my mind to leave the pipe smoking to others.

To tell the truth there was no plan. I was just looking for new opportunities. If one came up, I would buy a pack animal and tools and go for it. Until it was known what was needed, I was not buying. The weather made an abrupt shift, and now the sun shone on the scenery to give it added splendor.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 17:51 EST

The trail we followed was old, maybe older than any of the Indian tribes living here now. It was some kind of nice country. Sometimes I would just stop and sit in the saddle, gazing in awe at the scenery. The beauty of some of those lonesome places was such that a man might live there the rest of his life and never be lonely. A lot of men did, but most of them became what is known in the northern forests as "woods queer," taking to talking to trees and rocks and hiding when another person came along. With that in mind I kept on riding. I didn't believe it could ever happen to me, but probably the others had felt the same at first.

It was March or early April, and most of the game was still at lower elevations. I was going to have to find some pretty soon, for the food sack was getting empty. Beans had been the staple for so many meals that I was not fit company, if you get my drift. I never seemed to tire of them, though, and was always glad to sit down to a meal of baked beans and frying pan bannock. I had also shot three kinds of rabbits on this trip: cottontail, snowshoe hare, and white-tailed jackrabbit. The trouble with these is that they contain no fat, which a body needs to survive on. They are a good source of meat, however, and are the tastiest critters you can get.

Something more substantial was needed now, and I checked every track in sight of the trail. Most of the tracks were elk tracks, and that was too big an animal to take right now. A lot of men were wasteful with their game in those times, but I was not. The thought of shooting an elk and leaving the bulk of the meat for the wolves did not appeal. I didn't want to camp there until it was eaten up, either, so I kept on looking for a small mule deer or a black bear rising early from his den.

It was another day before contact was made with humans, and that was in the form of a string of rifle shots. It sounded like two different guns blazing away. It took two hours to come up on the spot where the shots had come from. Actually, to sneak up, for I was not about to ride hell-bent into unknown gunfire. There were a lot of salty characters out in these parts, and an unnecessary gunfight was not high on the agenda.

Carefully circling around the spot, I found that two men had ridden up to the high end of a meadow, blazed away at something, and ridden back without checking the results of their shooting. It seemed like a mighty callous thing to do, unless the target was a rock or a stump. From the rapidity of the shots and the expense of ammunition it was doubtful that was the case.

Coming down into the meadow, the first thing seen was a yearling deer. At least this one was dead. Tracks of another one were showing blood and heading in the direction of a small copse of fir trees. I tied a rope to the deer at hand and let the roan drag it to a nearby boulder-ridden slope. I wasn't about to be caught bent over dressing out a deer in the middle of that meadow.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 17:51 EST

When that chore was finished, I hugged the cover and went down to where the wounded deer's tracks entered the trees. The two rear tracks were being laid down side by side, so the deer was paunch hit. In a hundred yards I spotted it laying on the downside of a log, and with my Colt I shot it at the base of the neck as it started to rise.

I waited at the edge of the trees for a good half hour to see if the other men had heard the shot and might return. When no sign of them was seen, I figured that the trees had muffled the sound. I didn't know for sure if these guys were trouble, but anyone who shoot game and let it lay was surely never going to be a friend of mine.

I went back and dressed out the second deer, a much more unpleasant job than the first, and hung it from a limb out of reach of predators. The first deer was loaded behind the saddle and toted to a likely camping spot. It looked like mining country, and maybe I could get hired to hunt for a big operation.

Talk about a windy area! It seemed like no matter which way the bedroll pointed the wind would shift around into the face. I took to looking for nests of boulders and fallen trees?anything to cut the wind from at least a couple of sides. It was pretty country though, and there never did come a time I was sorry that I had come. Little did I realize that eventually this very region would be called home. That would be in the future. I still thought I was just passing through.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 17:53 EST

I was entering country that looked like it was wrong side up. Those cliffs were steep! The good thing about this area was that an easier route could usually be found if you looked hard enough. There were very few signs of the passing of man. One stream drew attention. On the sharp turns the water had eaten right down to bedrock, and the bottom was eroded like a washboard. Any gold located at a higher elevation some was sure to be trapped here. I had worked for a while at the placer diggings on the Fraser River, and while there was gold it had been too fine and too scarce to make anybody rich. Plenty of other locations had paid off throughout the West, and I tried every new location found.

Placer mining is a fairly simple operation based on the fact that gold is heavier than any other metals around it. When moving in water it separates and falls to the bottom. This is how panning works, as well as the huge grizzlies and rockers. (When Jason and the Argonauts went forth in search of the Golden Fleece the fleece in question was a sheepskin used as the bottom of a crude sluice. The thick wool fibers trapped the fine gold while the other sand and grit washed over them.)

Like most western roamers I had a gold pan in the saddlebags that was also used for cooking, washing dishes, and whatever other chore that came up. When living from the back of a horse all possessions have to do as much duty as possible.

Leaning over the edge of the stream I took a sample pan. Let me tell you, that water was cold! The cold was like a shock that quickly numbed any exposed skin. I had a hunch there might even be a spring up above, for this felt too cold even for melting snow pack.

In the second pan there was a trace of color. Just a couple of tiny flakes, enough to know that the location warranted further attention. When the fourth and fifth pans also showed color I decided that this was as good a place as any to pitch camp for a few days.

Not that it was much of a camp. Just a bedroll and an oilskin tarp that was sometimes used as a roof and sometimes fashioned into a makeshift poncho for travel in the driving rain. Now I found a clump of stunted fir trees and cut the middle ones off flush at ground level. The tops of the remainder of the clump were woven together and lashed in place. The smaller branches were laid out for a mattress with the tarp over them. In the event of a really serious rain a tarp could be thrown over the top of the whole roof to make a waterproof shelter.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 17:53 EST

The sack of corn for the big horse was getting very low. He seemed to thrive on any kind of forage. It was just his size that made me feel he needed more, and corn or oats were bought when possible. He seemed perfectly content on the cured on the stem grass of the high meadows.

My own feed was just as meager. Venison was eaten at every meal to save on beans. Every couple of days a pan of bannock was stretched to the limit. Twenty-five dollars were in my pocket, but it was uncertain when that could be supplemented. With hard work at this streambed I might accumulate bigger stake.

In the morning I fashioned a couple of bark sandals to protect my feet and waded in bare legged. Cold! By working in short stretches, then climbing out and letting the strong sun of spring warm my body I managed to put in a good day's work without undue discomfort. At least as far as the cold went. When panning your hands become all wrinkled from exposure to the water and the sand jams its way under your fingernails so far that it hurts. In an hour you look like a full time dishwasher in a hotel.

If you're not used to it the lower back takes a dreadful beating. You must be bent over your pan all day long to do any good. I didn't hate it, but it was easy to see why a lot of Texas cowboys swore they wouldn't do any work that couldn't be done from a saddle.

In three days an ounce was recovered, which was pretty good wages then. Most riding jobs still offered only twenty-one dollars a month and found. The next morning I cut a trench across the inside of an S-turn in the stream in an attempt to lower the water in the deep uphill pool.

This didn't pay off, for the snow far above was melting faster. The pool again started to rise, so taking my gold pan in both hands and using it like a shovel, I created a mound of black sand about three feet tall and eight feet long. I placed a stack of rocks on the stream side so that it could be washed at leisure.

My trench brought a pleasant surprise, for where it cut across the path of the streambed the deep crevices of the bedrock gave a much stronger showing of gold. Damming up the head of the trench the next morning, I started digging in the old bed and by the end of the day had recovered at least a half a pound of the yellow ore.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 17:54 EST

That night, lying in the crude shelter, I thought about the future and what I really wanted to do with my life. I seemed to be on a good strike here, but promising diggings could pinch out. Someday I would like to have a wife and a family, although how this could be managed was unknown. A lifetime of being a lonely prospector did not appeal to me. I had seen the old desert rats leading their burros and like as not talking to them. I snorted at this. Imagine me trading in Big Horse for a burro. I didn't think so.

What had I just said? Big Horse. Well, there it was. I had named him now, so it looked like he was just about part of the family. Him and I were it.

What could I offer a woman' Meeting one in this wilderness would be hard enough. It looked like I might be lucky here, for the gold in this stream should provide a chance of making a good stake. Even if it pinched out there should be enough money to travel on to St. Louis, or wherever else I might want to go.

A man has to have some kind of a plan, and I decided as soon as five pounds of gold were taken a trip to the nearest city to buy mining gear was in order. A pick and shovel and an adze to build a rocker were pretty much necessities. Trying to do everything with just a pan is like trying to eat everything with a fork. When it comes to the soup there are better tools available.

I needed new clothes. What wasn't threadbare had holes in it Meeting anybody would be plumb embarrassing. A pair of those gum rubber boots would be a welcome change. I decided to go whole hog, with a restaurant meal and maybe a barber shave and a haircut. Wouldn't hurt to get duded up in case of a meeting with some young lady in that city.

With a goal in mind I set to work with a vengeance. Soon the five pound mark was approaching. About noon of the last day I straightened up and found myself facing three horsemen. They just sat with their hands folded across pommels, apparently watching me work from the other side of the stream. Such a silent close approach was unnerving. The noise of the rushing water had covered their footsteps and Big Horse was browsing out of sight on the meadow. I told myself to be more careful in the future.

The two riders on the outside seemed to be waiting for instructions. When I checked out the man in the middle I saw why. Even in his saddle it was easy to see he was a mountain of a man. From the stories this could only be Big John Carter.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 17:55 EST

The fellow was legendary, even in this country where monumental jobs were always being done. He had driven a herd from Texas to the Montana mining camps, then taken a swing through this area on his way back and liked what he saw. Within three months he was back on the trail, this time coming to northern Utah to stay. Rumor had it that some of his beef couldn't stand a close scrutiny of the brands, which was a common theme when he built his big herd. Generations of longhorns had left some wild offspring in the Brazos country. While big ranches tried to lay claim to these critters most men figured whoever could lay a rope on them could help themselves. John had started with a bunch of longhorns and added to them as he went up the trail. He was once heard to say that cattle were a lot like "puppydogs" in that they would follow anything moving. His hands smirked at this, but they rode for the brand and would defend him to the death.

He didn't need his two flank riders, for his very size made him formidable in a fist fight, and he was said to be surprisingly fast with a sidearm, belying his large size. Now he piped up like the bull of the woods that he was.

"What the hell are you doing on my range?" His voice was so loud that it nearly made an echo.

I had heard the saying about a good defense. "Your land! How many states do you figure to take in, anyway?"

"Well you must have crossed my range to get here, and I don't like it."

"Like hell I did," starting to get riled from his overbearing manner. I didn't plan on taking any shit from such as he. "Not that it's any of your business but I came from the north, in fact I rode from the coast of Oregon."

Interest lit up his face as I said this. I had a hunch his gruff manner was just a front. "My mistake. What's it like? I always wanted to see the Pacific, but I never got there. Not yet anyway."

I knew his men would follow his lead, so I swallowed my pride and invited them to get down and join me for some coffee. I didn't let on, but there was just enough left for one more pot.

Carter could read sign and he said, "Let Shorty make some. He ain't much good for work but you've never seen a better trail cook. Shorty, bring a couple of pounds of that new stuff we just got." He explained to me, "I ordered some fancy coffee from San Francisco and I'm not sure if I like it or not. I think my taste buds might be too old to change."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 17:56 EST

When we were all settled with steaming mugs in our hands he again asked me to tell him about the coast.

"Well, what comes to mind at first is the roar of the ocean. I camped for a while at Oceanside Park, and the rolling breakers are constantly breaking on the sandy beach. You would think a body could never sleep with a racket like that, but you know it's downright comforting once you get used to it. I was hunting sea otter. There are a lot of men in the business now and the otters are getting scarcer. Near the water are mountains covered with gigantic trees. You can actually stand a team of horses on some of the stumps. I've seen it done.

"The ocean keeps it warmer in the winter, too. Only trouble is it rains just about every day and some people can't stand that. I'm alone and thought I would take a look around before settling down."

"Good idea," said Carter. "A lot of people never leave the town where they're born. I figure it's better to go have a look-see. Kind of broadens a man's horizons. So what are you, a miner?"

"I've worked in mining camps and I've done some logging. I figured I would find a job hunting for a camp or a railroad crew. Then I found this place and decided to give it a try. I'm making better than wages," I told them honestly. I knew I was safe in confiding in men of Carter's caliber. It looked like we might be neighbors, at least for a while.

"Well, have at it," said Carter. "I'm not a mean man. I've had trouble with rustlers in the past and I'm always on the lookout. I don't believe I have to worry about you. Go ahead and cross my range anytime you want. Stop in at the ranch. The latchstring will be out for you."

As they saddled up to leave Carter turned to me as if he had just had a sudden thought. "You said you were a professional hunter. There's a big silvertip grizzly that should be coming out of his den about now. He's played hell with my cattle, and the worst thing is he doesn't even eat half the beef he kills. He killed one of my hands last fall, too. He limps on his off front foot, like he hurt it at one time or another. You bring me his scalp and I'll give you a thousand dollars plus forty acres of bottomland and water rights. You keep an eye out for him, hear?"

With that he was gone. I didn't get a chance to tell him that all I owned was my 45. My single shot rifle had been sold with the idea of getting a repeater. A forty-five would kill a bear with the right shot, but he would have to be close - too close for comfort. I'd probably never see his damn old bear anyway.

I never was much of a prophet.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 17:57 EST

I worked all the next morning to make sure of my quota, then covered the actual sites of my test digs. I could only do so much, for the signs of prospecting remain for years to the experienced eye. It would not catch the eye of some passing rider, though. At least I hoped that it wouldn't. The memory of those two deer shooters was still fresh in my mind. Anybody that would waste game wouldn't have any qualms about stealing my gold. When I was done I was not satisfied with my work, so I hung the following sign on a pole,

These doins belong to Jess Clay. Leave 'em be LEST YOU WANT TO FACE ME. ?Jess Clay

Big Horse was downright playful when I saddled him up to head for Salt Lake City. I think he had been bored and was anxious for the trail. He bunted me with his huge head and then tried to pluck the buttons off my shirt. I scratched his ears and told him what a big fool he was, and he shook his head in agreement.

I had forgotten to ask Carter for directions, and now I cursed my stupidity. Now that I was actually on the trail, I was impatient to get there. I had memorized a map back in Oregon, and now I headed in the general direction that I wanted to go. It never dawned on me that I would be traveling through what was known as the Hole in the Wall country.

The high meadows I was traversing must have belonged to John Carter. The grass was cured on the stem, and Big Horse took an occasional chomp as we walked along, much the same as I would with a handful of peanuts. I let him have his head, for he liked to travel as much as I did, and his instincts for direction were just as good as mine.

When we topped a small rise, a thunder of hooves greeted us. Buffalo! Whether Big Horse had done this before or not was not known, but he was instantly in pursuit. These big animals were getting scarce, and this was the first chance I had ever had at one. I lined the horse up to overtake a small cow and readied my revolver.

This was one of the hunting methods the Indians used. As you overtook the bison you shot into the heart. White men had adapted the method to pistols, but it was a hard way to go. You would think an animal as big as a buffalo would be hard to miss, but I had read all the stories in the newspapers. When Smith and Wesson was trying to land a contract with the Russian government for their top break pistol, they took Grand Duke Alexis and other dignitaries on a hunt. On the first try, the Grand Duke missed with all six shots. Later he did connect, and so did Smith and Wesson, for they got the contract with the Russians.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 17:58 EST

This was not as bad a performance as it sounds, for a young army officer with the group not only missed his first buffalo, he shot his horse in the head! That young officer's name was George Armstrong Custer.

I was in hopes my luck would be better. Big Horse seemed to know what he was doing, so I looped the reins around the horn and leaned over to get a better shot. This called for a reverse lead because the horse and I were going faster than the bison. Just before I came abreast of him I squeezed the trigger, and the buffalo went down with a thud that shook the ground.

Big Horse circled around and approached the animal from the rear like he had been trained for it, and who knows, maybe he had.

I got down and shucked my knife and looked the critter over, wondering where to start. Even this cow was big, bigger than anything I had ever had call to butcher. With a deer you start by opening up the stomach, so naturally that is what I tried to do. That cow must have been sleeping on a gravel bank, for the matted hide was filled with tiny grains of sand and rock that threatened to dull my knife before I had gained three inches.

The clop of hooves caused my to look up. For a minute I thought I was in for serious trouble. Indians! This was my first trip through the West, but I had heard many stories. As far as I knew, this was Ute country, but the tribes wandered a good bit, and for all I knew these might be Blackfeet, Crows or Paiutes.

The three men had me in a crossfire if it came to it, and I was wishing I had reloaded the empty chamber in my Colt. Two of them were fierce looking but not painted. The third was a handsome looking young man with odd stripes of paint down his cheeks. He loudly proclaimed something in a guttural language. As he spoke, his hand clasped the handle of his belt knife as if in threat.

Anything seemed to be worth a try, so I asked, "Any of you boys speak English?"

In reply came more gibberish and the shaking of a lance. Well, okay. With a care to keep my hands well away from my gunbelt, I tried to mime the idea of splitting the buffalo between all of us, for there was more than enough to go around. Sign language has never been my strong forte. It was again met with menacing looks.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 17:59 EST

I tried again, attempting to pantomime the act of peeling off the heavy hide and giving it to them. "For papoose and squaws," I slowly said.

"What the hell have you been reading, penny dreadfulls?"

I did a double take at this. The meanest one of the trio, the one with the paint on his face, had just spoken in English!

"How come you didn't answer me before, instead of letting me look foolish?" I asked.

"A good joke is hard to find out here. We found one."

"Damn sorry business, that's all I can say." I was just about hopping, for I didn't like being the butt of their joke.

"Squaws and papoose," the good looking brave snorted. "You can always tell a white man's talk."

"Well, what the hell do you call them?"

"Women and kids. What else?"

I shook my head in resignation. "Do you want some meat or don't you? You can have the hide, too, if you want it. My name's Jess Clay, by the way."

"I'm Peter Running Deer," the painted one replied. He didn't offer the names of the other two. "Thanks, we could use some meat. We are away from the reservation, so we don't have any women along. We're just traveling, living off the land for a while. In school I learned that America is the land of the free, but that is just for white men. The Indian is supposed to be penned up on a reservation like an animal. That is why we are out here. The time will probably come for us too to be penned up, but that time is not now."

With a chuckle Peter showed me how to make the first cut of the buffalo hide all the way down the back. As they worked they started a tiny cooking fire and broiled fresh buffalo liver. I had a small sack of salt with me, and the result was heavenly. I traded most of my share of fresh meat with them for dried jerky, for it was much more compact for traveling.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 18:01 EST

We spent the night right there. That evening, as soon as we were sated with buffalo meat the fire was extinguished, even though it could have been covered by the average bandana. It is a stupid trick to sit around and stare into a campfire, for not only are you blind when you look away but you alert your enemies for miles around. If you are not aware of having any enemies around, that's the sure sign that they'll strike.

In the morning we parted company, for our paths led in opposite directions. Just as I was mounting to depart, Peter gave me some sobering news.

"I saw you working up on Elk Creek. So did a couple of white men. They watched you though a glass from the west. You better watch your back. White men's metal makes them do crazy things."

"You never look for gold?"

"The yellow ore only brings trouble. It makes the white man steal and kill and break treaties. It is beneath the Indian to toil at this. Plus I'm too darn lazy. I'd rather hunt and fish."

"So long, Peter."

"So long, White Eyes; our paths will cross again."

————————————————————————— ———————————————

The Indian's warning had given me pause for thought. I had not expected trouble after making peace with Big John Carter. He had mentioned rustlers"anyone that would steal my gold would probably heist cattle as well. And the two deer; I was suddenly sure that the same bunch was responsible for all these maladies. I had thought that this was a friendly neighborhood. It was obvious that I was sadly mistaken.

To be on the safe side, I took a big S-turn on the next leg of my journey. Once I thought I saw a wisp of dust on my backtrail, but I saw no more sign. Big Horse gave no indication, and I had come to trust his instincts. He was like a close working bird dog. If I paid attention to his actions, I was warned of what might be approaching. Big Horse would pick up his ears at something he was anxious to see, be it game for me to shoot or something good for him to chow down on.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-13 18:01 EST

Whenever he laid his ears back I knew there was trouble in the wings. He wasn't one to whinny, and a simple wave of my hand would keep him quiet. He gave no acknowledgement of trouble now, perhaps because the range was too great.

I went through a pass between two close lying hills and then cut back along the shoulder and waited. An hour later, Big Horse's ears picked up, and I motioned him to be quiet. Sure enough, before long I heard the clop of shod hooves coming through the pass. Two riders came into view, slinking unshaven men with an aura of the unclean about them. I waited until they had passed from cover, then I cocked my Single Action Army. The wind, which usually blew a gale through these parts, had died off for a breather, and the sound of that hammer brought the two up short. I was sitting on a low rock that gave me visibility and good cover.

"You boys looking for me?"

"Wh, who are you?" inquired the squirrelly one of the two. "We're just riding over to Salt Lake for a night on the town." He seemed to get a sudden inspiration, for he added, "We work for John Carter."

"Is that right?" I acted like I was some old impressed. "He is quite a fellow, isn't he" You know, I spoke with Big John last week, and he told me he was having some rustler trouble."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:37 EST

The two thugs exchanged glances at this. I must have guessed correctly. Stories I had heard of the gangs that hung out in Brown's Hole came to mind, and if my information was correct, a man from West Virginia named Dud Heskins was the old he-bear at this time. In the next decade Butch Cassidy and the wild bunch would come to rule the roost, Robber' Roost, that is, but for now Heskins and his clan were the bunch to be reckoned with.

When Heskins was just a boy, he raided both North and South with impunity. It was said he was a fair man'regardless of race, creed or color, he would kill you and steal what you had. If you didn't have much, he would steal it anyway and then throw it away down the road. Everybody said that someone should shoot him and save the world a heap of trouble, but no one seemed to find the time. I was kind of busy today, myself.

He had a big clan that varied greatly in numbers according to how much moonshine was brewed. The only reason the Heskins weren't a force to be reckoned with throughout the West was that they did so much infighting. They were all pretty good with guns and knives, because they practiced constantly. It was said on some days that the echo of gunfire was constant from their home canyon.

So was the sound of shovels, for when the moonshine flowed like water, trivial beefs became shooting matters, and cousins, brothers, uncles and pas were all gunned down with gaiety. Lord knows what they did with the aunts and nieces.

These two looked more or less inbred, so I was quite sure I had guessed right.

"You know, you boys look a lot like a fellow I used to know name of Deacon Heskins. Of course, he's dead now."

The two exchanged more glances at this....nervous glances. I had not personally known Deacon Heskins, but I knew the story. He had been the prodigal son, but when he tried to buffalo a simple storekeep in Billings, Montana, that doltish store owner and three customers had started blasting, shooting Heskins to doll rags. He had only managed to get off one shot that went into the floor. For all these fellows knew, I was one of those customers.

"Now I wouldn't be one to say that you fellows are confused, but if you happen to work for Heskins instead of Carter, then my advice would be to run the outlaw trail east into Wyoming and then keep going. Of course, that's just my opinion, but I sure wouldn't want to have Big John after me."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:38 EST

"Ah, he's nuts," said the blond haired man, "Let's get out of here."

The other one couldn't resist throwing a threat as they started to leave. "You better watch out who you're jawing to, or you might get it shot off."

"That one bears watching," I thought, "He will remember the slight a long time, waiting for a chance at my back."

I had misjudged his patience. As I turned back up the slope, something made me look back. The dude had waited long enough, and his gun was just clearing leather. I felt the vibration of a bullet striking a tree at the same time that I heard the gun's report.

Then I had my .45 shucked and was driving a slug through his chest before he got his horse back under control. Big Horse had stood solid as a rock through all this activity.

The other man was just a clatter of pounding hooves rapidly departing, leaving his unfortunate partner lying on the ground.

I approached the man gingerly, for he went down so fast that I wasn't sure but what he was playing possum. He was dead, though, and I was wondering if a reaction would set in. I had heard how sick some fellows get upon shooting a man, but it never hit me. I suppose when you know it is him or you, it makes a difference. I felt a degree of satisfaction like when you shoot a fox that has been killing chickens.

What little identification the body had on it showed that this had been one Opie Heskins. I didn't find anything of value except the shiny new pistol that he had fired at me. It was a nickel plated Colt Lightning of 1877 chambered in .38 Long Colt. It was quite a bit smaller revolver than the Single Action Army and felt like it weighed about half as much. I wasn't sure of the lighter caliber. The 45 Colt is barely enough caliber at times, although where you hit something is usually more important than the size of the bullet.

The Lightning had an unusual feature in that it was double action. With a double action the cylinder rotates as you squeeze the trigger, and there is no need to cock it first. You could also cock it with the hammer and shoot it single action. This was considered to be more accurate. You would think double action would be faster, too, but some of the gunfighters spend countless hours perfecting their skill and could do nearly unbelievable things with a single action..

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:40 EST

I have personally seen a man named Reed that can draw and hipshoot a gallon-sized target at sixty yards. No, he can't hit it every time, but he doesn't miss by much. If the target was a man, he would be on one hundred per cent of the time. Most people would have to walk the bullets in, watching the shots hit the dirt and counteracting accordingly.

I didn't know what else to do with it, so I stuck the Lightning and the ammo that went with it into my saddlebag. I buried Heskins in a small clearing beside the trail and erected a simple cross that stated:

Here lies Opie Heskins He tried to backshoot Jess Clay.

I knew I might be setting myself up for trouble when I did this, but I didn't feel like hiding under a rock. People like the Heskins clan that lived by stealing what other people had worked hard for rubbed me the wrong way. Some people talked about "taming" the West, but I was not anxious to see this come about. I did think, however, that a man should be able to run a few cattle or work a claim without worrying about getting shot in the back and having his belongings stolen. If it took risk to accomplish this then I was ready.

I put on another ten miles before a threatening sky made me seek an early shelter. I found such in an undercut rock face, where Big Horse could keep me company and stay out of the potential storm. Once I had laid camp to my satisfaction, I broke out the Lightning for a trial.

From a conventional draw I couldn't see much advantage. I had used a single action for so long that it was second nature to thumb cock a revolver as it was drawn. I was surprised to see that the 38 made a good left hand gun. Unless a person is truly ambidextrous, it is difficult to shoot anywhere as well with the weak hand. When I shoot my Single Action Army that way, I tend to pull the shots to the right. The double action Lightning was easier to use in that respect. When I rapidly squeezed the trigger, the pistol stayed aimed in a center plane, and I hit what I tried to.

Clearly this was something to look into further. When it looked like trouble might be looming, I could have it stuck under my belt from the left side, and I would have a formidable weapon that my aggressor knew nothing about. I cleaned and oiled both guns well and then had a small supper, after which I thoroughly covered the fire so that it wouldn't flare up and shine in the night.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:40 EST

The threatening clouds only produced light showers where I was, though I could see storms in the mountains in the last rays of light. With Big Horse on guard, I slept deeply through the night.

The morning dawned like the first one in creation. A person from back east would not believe the clarity of the air. Buffalo can be seen for miles, and a deer at six hundred yards is easy to pick out. It is safe to shoot in the air because you can see that the two miles in front of you are free of people or livestock. Even today when I wake up on a morning like this, I am in awe of my surroundings.

On the morning I finally rode up to Salt Lake City, it was not what I expected. I had heard about the Mormans but did not realize what a firm grip they had upon this city. I had known of the populace, to be sure, but I had thought the cattlemen had always held full sway. Now I found out differently. I was looking for lodging and a bath, and when I stopped to ask directions of a man with a dozen women in tow, he answered in a voice so severe that it would make a New England Puritan seem soft.

"The Walker House lies on the middle of this street, and it doesn't care who it takes in."

Hindsight is always a great asset, and later I would wish I had responded with something like, "Hope I didn't put you out." At the moment I was speechless and watched with open mouth as he walked away.

At the Walker House I struck up a conversation with a small rancher and found about more about local politics.

"Even though Brigham Young is dead now, polygamy has stayed on, and there are strong feelings on both sides of this issue. The practitioners are reluctant to give up their lifestyle, and the other side thinks it is just plain wrong. Oh, Hi, Bill, want you to meet Jess Clay. He's new around these parts, and I was telling him how things are in Salt Lake."

"Hi, Bill," I welcomed him. "I think that any man that can put up with the moods and wants of a dozen women is welcome to them."

"You've got a point. A lot of the anti folk just can't bear the thought of one man bedding all those women. Their imaginations run wild, and the wilder they run the more they denounce the practice."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:41 EST

"You're right," said the rancher. "Polygamy has been legally abolished, but it is no secret that the practice lives on. Many laws are easy to pass but hard to enforce."

I had not realized the extent of the problem before hearing about it first hand. Because of the bad feelings about the multi wife business, Utah would not gain its statehood for another decade.

The rancher was anxious to talk when he saw that I was interested. "Do you know that the Wyoming Territory is the only place in the United States where women have been given the right to vote" This happened in 1870, and they are still waiting in the rest of the country. Partly this is due to polygamy, but a lot of it has to do with the very nature of the West.

"Out here, horizons are big, and the chores people cut out for themselves are just as big. Some people come out here and can't cope with the vastness. They are soon overwhelmed and have to scurry back east.

"Other people, perhaps some that didn't amount to much in the organized states, come to the front out here and accomplish deeds that they had never even dreamed of before. Women naturally become stronger in this environment. If they can run a ranch and fight off Indian attacks, why shouldn't they have the same rights as men?"

It was a telling argument, one which was slowly winning them those rights.

"As to the Mormans and the cattlemen," said Bill, "Things could be a lot smoother. "When they first came to Salt Lake, the Mormans hoped to have a vast area all to themselves. Sounds good, but the way they went about it is a different story. Bent's Fort is a good example. It was a fur trading post owned by Jeremy Bent. The government didn't have anything to do with it?Bent just called it his fort. Well they decided they ought to have it so they just up and took it.

"There was no law at all back then except what a man could enforce by himself, and the Mormans had more guns. Taking the fort didn't do them much good, for the cattlemen were too strong a force to buck, and they were going to stay. The Mormans have been forced to get along with them."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:41 EST

"One word of warning," said my rancher friend, "That clan does a lot of mining when they can. If I were you I would buy my tools and supplies in another location. The town of Vernal is to the southeast of Carter's spread, and it's a lot closer to your claim than Salt Lake City."

I agreed with him and made ready to leave the next morning, but first I had to file my claim here if I wanted to make it legal. The look of greed in the clerk's eyes when I filed was a sight to see, and I knew I had better trod carefully from here on out A greedy man that smells gold is a dangerous man, especially if he doesn't care to keep a secret. I knew it was senseless to say anything. This fellow was already day dreaming about how impressed his friends would be with this new information.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:42 EST

Dud Heskins opened the cabin door overlooking Robber's Roost, and the glare of the sun felt like a knife cutting into his head. Quickly he shut the door and sat down on the nail keg at the crude table. He had brewed that latest batch of moonshine himself, and it sure had a kick to it. The taste was terrible, but Dud was not one to worry about flavor. Maybe he should have left out the rattlesnake head.

More likely he should have thrown in a few more gallons of water. His knowledge of proof was hazy at best, but he guessed that this batch must be somewhere above one fifty.

Right now he poured a glass of 'shine and sat and looked at it for a full five minutes. Last night he had tipped a jug up over his shoulder every time he had a drink, but now it was like his pappy used to say, "If you're going to dance, you have to pay the piper."

Dud's stomach rebelled at just the sight of the liquor, and he had to force himself to quickly lift the glass and down two fingers in one gulp. He wheezed, and his vision blackened before the booze hit home, and a trace of well being started to trickle through his body. He sat another ten minutes before repeating the process. By the time he poured the second glass, twinges of hunger were waking up in his belly. He guessed he might live, at that.

He thought back to the information he had received yesterday. A wolfer named Lily had been passing through on his way to Montana, and he had told of finding a fresh grave between here and Salt Lake. According to the headboard, a man named Heskins had tried drawing against somebody named Jess Clay and lost. Jud set the man up with a good meal and treated him graciously, but then hinted strongly that it would be a good idea to get back on the trail before the snows melted any more and made the streams impassable. The wolfer was good at his work, which meant he could read sign better than most. Right now he read the makings of a bad situation that was bound to get worse, and he took the opportunity to leave with pleasure.

Heskins knew he should do something about this business, while the shock was still fresh in his gang's mind. Perhaps the worst part of this problem was that stupid Billy Smitts, who had been riding with Opie when they left camp. Billy had reported that Opie had left him behind when he headed for town because he didn't want to share his money. Dud knew better that this. Opie was such a lousy card player that he didn't have a chance of keeping his money longer than a day. No, Billy must have been there when Opie got shot, and he must have...run! Yes, that must be it. The kid was not only a moron but a coward as well.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:43 EST

After he finished about a half a pint of so-called whiskey, Dud went outside to look for Billy. He could not find anybody that remembered seeing him since yesterday morning. That figured. The little bastard had probably made himself scarce as soon as he heard about the wolfer's message. An old man that took care of the makeshift remuda recalled the boy saddling up an old dun and riding out around mid-afternoon.

The kid would be back. Dud didn't waste time sending anybody to get him. Billy was so stupid that he would probably return by the evening.

Heskins wasn't really affronted that someone had seen fit to shoot Opie; he was sure the punk had brought it about himself. It was just the principle of the whole thing. Jud couldn't let something like this go by without retaliation, or folks would think he had gone soft and was no longer able to lead this clan of thieves. By the time Billy came back that evening, Dud knew just what he was going to do.

Heskins waited until Billy was about halfway across the compound before he bellowed, "BILLY!"

The kid had just a second before had been strutting along trying to act like a dangerous man. Now he seemed to shrink in size in the eyes of the on-lookers, until he had shrunk to the stature of a small boy with a wooden pistol in his belt.

"Billy, I thought you said Opie left you to go to town." Dud wasn't asking any questions, he was making statements.

"We...we...we...," started in Billy but he was not given any chance to finish his stuttering.

"Don't try to tell me any lies; I can smell 'em a mile off, just like I can smell the fear on you. You're a pissant little bastard, and I'm going to tell you the next thing you are going to do before you get another chance to run away. You are going to take Buckwheat Smith and Pie Jones, and you are going to hunt down and kill this Jess Clay. I don't care if it takes you the next ten years. I don't want to see your faces back here until he is dead.

"Let me see, how can you prove that you killed him' Well, you could scalp him, but all scalps look pretty much the same except for he color. I know, Billy, why don't you cut off his head and bring that back?" Billy was looking very white and was swallowing hard at this point. It was easy to see he was getting sick just by thinking about it.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:43 EST

"Well, Billy, that doesn't seem to agree with you. Then how about you bring back that new pistol that Opie bought. Don't try to slip by another one, because I remember what he bought and in what caliber. You're so dumb, Billy, that I'll bet you don't even know who makes the Thunderer. Take a guess, Billy."

"Er, Smith and Western."

"It's Smith and Wesson, you MORON. And no, they don't make the Thunderer. I guess I don't have to worry about you switching pistols on me. Between the three of you there's not enough brains to make a guess.

"Now get going, right now, and don't come back until either Jess Clay or you guys is dead. Right at the moment it don't make a lot difference to me." When Billy opened his mouth in some lame protest, Dud absolutely roared, "I SAID RIGHT NOW!" This time the three left in silence.

Dud watched them ride off then went off in search of a fresh jug of moonshine. He figured the three might have a chance. If not, he would go finish Clay by himself. He was not one to brag, so only a few of the older members of the gang knew that he was by far the most dangerous man in the bunch.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:44 EST

I rode out of Salt Lake from a side street and kept going cross country to the east. If that greedy clerk had tipped off any metal robbers, I wanted some open country to spot them in. True, the clerk could inform them of the location of my claim, but robbers tend to be a lazy sort, and I doubted they would follow me into the mountains and work a placer mine. It would not be the first time my instincts would prove to be wrong.

It was smooth sailing for right now, though. I watched my back trail carefully, but never a trace of dust did I see. By the morning of the second day the obvious truth hit me"why should they follow me" If tipped off by the registrar, then they could travel at will directly to my claim. No need to have me as a guide.

I swept a little south of my natural line of travel to have a peek at the Book Cliffs. I had heard of the unusual formation from the rancher in Salt Lake, and I thought I might as well see as many sights as I could while I passed through here. Who could tell if my travels would ever pass this way again?

I found the cliffs to be just as described, looking from a distance just like shelves covered with like sized books. I was kind of like a library in the wild.

Since I had plenty of ammo for the Lightning, I used it quite a bit for small game and such. I was surprised how well it shot from a careful two hand hold. I used it one afternoon to shoot two cottontail rabbits out of four that I saw. The two I got sat tight, and the other two ran the odd run of the species. Every few jumps will feature one high leap into the air, and while they can be hit with a pistol, I would want a lot of bullets cast up before I went out for a day of such shooting. I think that the high jump is so that they can see over the tall grass and brush and check the progress of whatever is chasing them.

Roasted in a stick with just a little salt for seasoning, they were so good for my supper that I had to groan with pleasure. Eaten with pan fried bannock and some honey, the rabbits were the best meal I had eaten in some time. Whenever a bunch of hunters gather, the conversation always turns to what game is the best eating. Some of the older boys will say buffalo tongue, but most will argue between rabbit and squirrel. My money is on the rabbit. Not only the cottontails, but also their northern cousins, the snowshoe hares are delectable prepared in any manner. Even the western jackrabbits are good, but might need a slower preparation due to toughness.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:44 EST

All good things eventually wear off, and by the time I arrived in Vernal I was ready for a meal cooked by someone else. I hitched Big Horse in front of a small cafe, and when I turned I nearly collided with a red-haired girl coming out of the eatery. I did manage to knock a small package out of her hand, and in my embarrassed haste to pick it up I drove her back to the wall with my shoulder.

As you can imagine my discomfort was complete, and I could not even get out a word of apology. She looked at my with wide eyes and sweetly exclaimed, "Please, I give up. Is this the new game they call football?"

I had never heard of any game by that name, and if it involved pushing pretty young ladies around I wanted no part of it. "I'm sorry, ma'am," I finally stammered. "It was totally my fault. They shouldn't allow me to come into town."

"You might be right," was all she said as she walked away down the boardwalk. Memory of the warmth of her firm torso burned on my shoulder as I watched her walk away.

"I won't have to worry about seeing her again," I thought. There was the first woman I had ever really been taken with, making her escape before I could do her any more harm. Even after our collision, a trace of a smile had lurked at the edges of her lips, and the sound of her voice had been like a bell on a clear mountain morning. For such a fleeting encounter, my sense of loss was enormous, and I turned away from the cafe, no longer hungry.

I had even lost the urge to sleep in a bed, for why spend the money when I knew I wouldn't enjoy it' I pitched camp by a nearly dry streambed. Later that night I chewed on some cold bannock, the very last of my food. Thoughts of the redhead's pretty face kept running through my head, making sleep difficult to achieve.

In the morning I was really hungry, so I went into town to try it again, promising myself I would watch where I was going. The cafe featured steak and eggs with beans, and it was all you could eat. I did myself proud, for it had been a while since I had eaten a meal that really filled me up. After lingering over one last cup of coffee, I headed out to the street and nearly repeated last night's mistake.

Actually she was three feet away, but last night's memories make me back away, and my boot heel caught over the edge of the walk. In a split second I was lying on my back in the street. I was lucky that it had not been rainy, and even luckier that I didn't land on one of the many horse droppings that littered the street. As I got up and brushed myself off, the pretty redhead came closer, and I could see the laughter barely kept inside by her proper manners.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:45 EST

"You don't need to be afraid," she said, "I won't hurt you. I'm not even armed." Strictly speaking, this was not true, for she was armed her alluring good looks and as I was later to find out, a .41 derringer.

"Somebody is bound to get hurt if we go on meeting like this, so I'll tell you what. I'm the school teacher here, and it lets out at three. How about meeting me there and walking with me. That way we should both be safe."

"Yes, ma'am, I would be honored," I managed to blurt out.

"Never mind the ma'am, my name is Anne, Anne Doveling."

"Hi, I'm Jess, Jess Clay. I'm mining now, but I'm going to be a rancher." With a start I realized that I had just given voice to a hidden dream. Before I had met this girl I had just been day dreaming, but now it seemed like it was in the realm of possibility. Thoughts of future travels were dimming, as well.

This was foolish. I had just met the girl, and a whirlwind of plans were already swirling through my brain. We would probably have a cup of coffee together and that would be the end of it. Probably I would spill mine on her clothes. "Face it," I thought, "This is hopeless." Even as that went through my mind, I knew I was going to give it my best shot to make this dream come true.

For a start, I had the shave and haircut that I had been yearning for. The barber even had a tub in back, so I took time for the luxury of the first hot bath I had enjoyed in a long, long time.

Next came some better clothes. I didn't bother with a suit, for who knew when I might use it again, but I did buy some of the best cowboy clothes. I looked kind of like a dude, but I figured that nobody would make the mistake of telling me that twice. I also replaced my boots, for the holes in the bottoms made it senseless to try to wear socks. Even my hat came under careful scrutiny, for my old one was grease soaked and out of shape. I finally decided to replace it but to save the old one for working, for with all the grease at least it repelled water. Taking a quick furtive look in the mirror, I decided that if not a dandy, at least I was clean and presentable.

At the appointed time I went to the end on the town's one street and waited at the gate. At the bell a score of various aged children came tumbling out. They were soon to pick up on my presence and started chanting things like, "Miss Doveling's got a beau."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:46 EST

Anne just smiled from the doorway and motioned me in. "Kids will be kids," she said. "I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. I'm flattered that they might think such a thing. I wish..." and I trailed off, realizing what I had almost said.

Anne acted like she hadn't noticed. "I should be flattered. You fancied yourself up just for me, didn't you?"

"No, I, er, "

"Yes..." she said with an inquisitive look.

"Yes, you're right." I said, and we both broke into an easy laughter. Somehow that moment broke the ice, and were completely at ease from then on. "I'd like to ask you to do something, but I don't know my way around here."

"What did you have in mind?" she asked with mock severity. "Actually there isn't anything going on around here. The only place to eat is the cafe, and that gets old quickly. How about getting a buggy, and I'll put up a picnic supper? We can find a nice spot on the Judith River."

Before I knew it, all was prepared, and we were on our way. Anne explained that Clark had named the river in 1805 when he passed through with Lewis. It is always easy to imagine that you are the first visitor to an area, but we forget how long our history actually is. Before Lewis and Clark were the long hunters, many of whom had seen the Pacific before the colonies were engaged in the Revolutionary War. And of course before them were the Indians, who took over when the old ones like the cliff dwellers and the Red Paint people died off or moved on.

Anne told me that she had dreamed of seeing the West from an early age, and upon graduation she had come out to teach. She had taught for a while in a small town in Kansas, but she had known she would not be staying there. It was a year and a half of work before the mayor's daughter graduated and took over the post. The people had liked her and given a good recommendation. When this job in Vernal was advertised, she won it hands down. At least that is what she thought at the time. It turned out she was the only applicant.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:46 EST

She had a way of telling these stories that was filled with humor, even at the most mundane things. She made me feel like a confidante, rather than a new acquaintance.

When my time came to spill the goods, I told my story with complete honesty, for time always trips up a liar. I told her that I enjoyed mining, but it was filled with uncertainty. I told her that my original plan when I entered this area was to be a market hunter, for I loved the hunt. This was filled with even more uncertainty, for more and more of the West was being used to grow beef, and this satisfied the need for meat. The numbers of the wild animals were decreasing too, partly from over hunting and partly from the overgrazing of sheep. I even told her of my gunfight with Opie Heskins, and how I wouldn't be surprised if some of his kinfolk made a play for me.

"In fact, Anne, I hadn't thought about it, but I may be drawing you into danger. It might not be safe for you to be near me."

"Never mind that. If I want to see you nobody can stand in my way."

My heart soared at this statement, to be sure. "But Anne, I might have to kill another man. You wouldn't like that."

"Jess, you will just be defending yourself. You are not looking for trouble. There is a big difference. Whatever you do I'll stand by you, for I know you always try to do the right thing."

"Thanks, Anne, I hope I don't disappoint you."

I stayed in town for another week, and it seemed that we never ran out of things to talk about. She agreed that perhaps I could take out enough gold to buy some land and start a small spread. "Not only cattle, but maybe we could breed some really good horses for the Army and the rodeo shows." Somehow that "we" had crept in there without either of us noticing it.

On Saturday morning I made to leave and found that I had stayed just a little bit too long. I had eaten breakfast with Anne, and when I walked down the street to where Big Horse waited, a voice called out "Clay!"

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:47 EST

I had heard that voice somewhere before, and when I looked around I recognized the partner of Opie Heskins, whom I had shot on the way in to Salt Lake. I looked around some more, for I didn't think a coward such as this man would work alone. I spotted his ally on the other side of the street, crosseyed, unwashed, a strainer for sure.

"You got a problem?" I shouted. I figured an audience might slow the boys down. I figured wrong.

"Yeah, the problem is you. You shot poor Opie in the back, and I aim to see justice done." For this guy to speak of justice was almost laughable.

"That is a flat out lie, and you know it. You were there and ran when Opie pulled leather. You didn't want to get hurt then, and you don't now. Ride on out of here while you've got the chance."

My eyes were on the man on the other side of the street, for he had to be the more dangerous of the two. Sure enough, in another second he drew and shot. He was fast, too fast for his ability to hit, and the bullet sailed back into a shed well. I drew my .45 and shot and hit him where he lived.

The other fellow was just getting a shot off from shaking hands, but they are just as dangerous as any other kind when holding a gun, and I shot him too. I was starting to relax when Anne's voice screamed, "Jess!"

Too late I twisted and saw the riflemen on the roof in back of me. His bullet burned my neck and my answering shot merely sliced the outside of his left shoulder. He took cover behind a false front, and I was wrong when I guessed which side of it he would appear at next. His bullet grazed my skull in back of the ear and spun me around. Just as my vision dimmed, and I started to fall, I saw him silhouetted against the sky and emptied my revolver into his torso.

I awoke in a few minutes to find myself being transported on a blanket with six men carrying it. Anne walked along beside, her cool hand on my brow. "It's okay, I can walk." I said. My voice sounded a bit feeble.

"Ignore him, he's delirious." Anne was in control and wasn't going to give up the reins. "Take him into my parlor."

"But Anne, people will talk."

"Good," she replied, "This town needs something to talk about."

"Don't worry," said an elderly man that I knew ran the post office, "We all know Anne and think the world of her, and we know she wouldn't do anything wrong. And it's a fine thing for her to take care of you now that you're hurt. We all wish we could have helped you out on the street, but it happened so sudden like that it was over by the time we got our guns."

"Yeah, now that you mention it, it was sudden, at that."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:47 EST

While I was sure that I could travel by the end of the day Anne insisted I stay until she was sure that I was really able. That one day stretched into five. The nick on my head didn't bother me except for a little ache, but the burn on my neck was worrisome and Anne soothed it considerably, rubbing in a cooling salve with her soothing hands.

I knew that I would miss her nearly constant presence and told her so. I felt that there was nothing I could not tell her, and I could sense that she felt the same way towards me. We had a wonderful week, and if we shared a kiss or three, who's business was it but our own? Without putting it into words we both knew that our future loomed large and good.

Finally I could put off my departure no longer. If any claim jumpers had gone to my claim I would have my work cut out for me. Anne and I had already said our goodbyes and I was mounting up when she hollered at me to wait and ran up to give me a long lingering kiss in front of the whole main street. A lot of people were watching, and they cheered our warm farewell. I rode down the street to cries of "Hurry back, Jess," and "Don't be a stranger." It made me feel like I belonged, let me tell you.

When I approached my claim I came out on the hill overlooking it. I wanted to give it a once over before I went barging in. It was a good thing that I did. Two men lounged around a raging fire, a bottle of whiskey between them. My actual diggings had been disturbed some, but it didn't look like anybody had been seriously working them. A large sign was erected in place of my claim stake. I inched down through the trees to get close enough to read it.

SWEETWATER MINING AND TRADING COMPANY, it read. I wondered who had dreamed up this grandiose title for such a puny operation. Instead of riding right in I decided to hang around in the hills until I got the drift of what these people were up to.

I took Big Horse over into the next valley and turned him loose, knowing he would stay in the area until I returned. Then I donned my moccasins (Anne had called them slippers, and insisted that she buy me a pair) and crept back to my claim to try to overhear the conversation.

"I tell you I don't know who he was," the darkly bearded man was saying. "All I know is that he promised us the booze and he delivered it, so it stands to reason he will come through with the money he promised, as well. And don't forget about the extra hundred dollars apiece if we kill this Clay fellow." Well, now, that didn't sound very friendly.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:48 EST

The other fellow was a pasty faced whiner. "But Dick, I don't trust that fellow. I tell you I have seen him someplace before, and he was big trouble for anybody he hired. I know! He was one of them Jayhawkers back in the '70"s. Folks say he killed more of his own crew than he did Texans."

"Folks say. It's always folks say. When you can write down the dates, times and places then maybe I'll believe you. But since you can't read of write, that may be quite a while. Am I right?"

"Damn you Dick. Someday you're going to go too far," said Pasty Face in a voice that tried to be menacing. It was a quality that he would never achieve. He struck me as the picture of a poisoner; one who would do his dirty work from as far a distance as possible.

Who could this man be that they talked of? And why should there be such an interest in my little claim' True, I had taken out some good color, but not that much of it. I was in hopes of eventually mining enough to buy a little land, but who could say for sure?

I listened a while longer and some of questions were answered. "He's pretty sure that this placer mine is a front," the one called Dick was explaining. "Somewhere, probably within a mile of here Clay must have a mine in the rocks. The gold looked too fresh to have lain in the stream for years."

Now that I heard this man speak the words, I realized that this man might be right. That gold did look like it had the fresh sharp edges that told of being newly wrested from its parent rock. Perhaps my claim was richer that what I had hoped for. I hoped that my claim lines covered the source of the ore, for if not I could easily be beaten to the punch. For all I knew these men could have filed already on the ground uphill from my own claim.

I decided I had better check on that factor before ousting the two thugs that were squatting on my claim. I had just chanced upon this spot and had not studied the upstream water well at all. The top of my claim was a line between two huge boulders that were easy to see from a distance. A ways this side of that line the stream made a loop through a brush and rock choked ravine that I had previously bypassed because of its roughness. Now I painstakingly entered the area and checked the high water marks along the sides. Bingo!

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:48 EST

There was a hole eaten into the quartz rock a good two feet above the present stream level, and there I found what I was looking for. It wasn't jewelry rock, but anytime you have ore containing gold that is visible to the naked eye you have a good find.

The best part about it was that the rock was within the limits of my claim. Now all I had to do was run the two intruders off, find out who had hired them, then go back to Salt Lake and make sure my claim papers were in order. Whew! A few months ago my plans consisted of shooting some deer and elk for the mining camps and putting in a quiet year. Finding gold can sure change your schedule in a hurry. Of course, finding love in the form of a red haired girl puts you through quite a few changes as well.

I decided to get a good night's sleep and figure out what to do about my problems in the morning. I hiked back over to the valley where I had left Big Horse and rolled out my bedroll. You might think I would not be able to sleep what with the worries of the claim. That was not the case, for these were matters that could be settled with fists and legal papers and guns if necessary. No, these things did not hamper my sleep. What came to my mind was a pretty face framed with red hair, and when I slept dreams of Anne came to me in the night.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:52 EST

Morning dawned clear and bright, as if nothing had changed. I decided to go right in and send the trespassers on their way. Once again I eased in so as not to offer them an advantage, but I was surprised to find them actually working the placer mine. I crossed the stream below them and eased back up to a clump of bushes that screened me well but allowed me to clearly hear them talk.

"But Dick, it ain't right. Why should we be working?"

"Oh, shut up and for once quit your whining, will you? A little work is not going to kill you, and we can make some extra money on top of our wages."

"But what if Nason doesn't like it' I tell you, he doesn't look like it, but he is a killer. We will never be safe if he finds out." Pasty Face was obviously having a very bad morning.

"He's not going to find out if you can shut your fat mouth for a change. For the last time, he asked us to take some good samples of this black sand in case this really is the spot where Clay is getting his gold. If we stash away a few ounces, for ourselves how is he going to know" If he asks we will just say that we made sure we got some good big samples for him and panned a bunch out to double check it. How can anything go wrong with that?"

Well now, first things first. Why not let them work for a while? It was my claim, and if they wanted to work it for free it was okay with me. I had no qualms about taking possession of the panned gold when the time came for it.

Even better, now I had a name to go on. Nason! I had heard the stories about him, and Pasty Face was not wrong. Nason was said to be a cold hearted killer without a trace of decency. He had been a Jayhawker, but always in the background, ready to kill his own men for a chance of a profit. He was suspected of somehow being involved with the Commanchero traders, although that involvement was never proven. Apparently he had now decided to dabble in mining investments in his own special way.

The strange thing was that nobody seemed to know what he looked like. Positive identification was an impossibility because no two people remembered the same details. I figured the guy must use disguises to leave such a discrepancy of information. One thing was for sure; if the two men in front of me had met Nason face to face, they were among a very elite group. Probably a short lived one.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:53 EST

I backed off a hundred yards so that I could watch the progress without danger of detection. It gladdened my heart to see the shovels of gravel being thrown, the pans swirling in the stream, and the steadily filling sacks of ore. My ore.

The boys put in a good days work, I'll give them that. After a supper of cold beef and beans, they headed straight for their blankets. Dick gave the other the orders.

"We have got to keep a watch in case Clay comes back. You take the first one. Wake me up at midnight, and I sit up until morning." Pasty Face didn't like it; I could see that from where I sat in the shadows, but he moved his blanket so that he could lean against a big rock. Some people never learn. I could see that he was staring into the fire.

Dick was snoring almost immediately, and Pasty Face was soon nodding. It probably didn't matter, for he would be blind as a bat from looking at the flames. His head soon tilted all the way back, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he snored away the evening. This was easier than taking candy from a baby. When I thought of what the morning would bring, I decided it was much more fun as well.

They hadn't bothered to cache their sacks of gold, merely stuffed them in a set of saddlebags that lay at the rear of the camp. I quietly crawled up and swung the saddlebags away from the light. I didn't want any sound of scraping. Wondering if they could possibly be stupid enough to fill them again without checking, I swung the now empty saddlebags back to their original resting place. Something told me this was going to be too good a show to pass up, so I spent the night in the rocks napping once in a while, careful to rest my cheek on my hand when I did so to prevent snoring.

When shift change came, Dick was enraged, as he had every right to be. "If you were in the Army, I'd have you whipped for dereliction of duty."

"If you were in the Army you'd be a deserter." Dick took a round house swing at him when he heard this, but the swing missed. If it had connected, it would have sent the smaller man to the other side of the stream.

"Listen, you dumb jerk. Get in your blankets and be quiet. Don't say one more thing to me tonight. I don't care if you see an Indian raiding party bearing down. You don't say anything. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" Pasty Face wisely nodded his assent.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:53 EST

The morning would bring three possibilities as near as I could see. The first, which I thought unlikely, was that they wouldn't notice the missing gold and continue working.

The second was that they would know they had been robbed(") and would panic at the uncertainty of who might have done it.

I deemed the third option seemed the most likely. They would each blame the other for stealing it, and who knew where things might go from there"

When morning came the first thing they did was check the saddlebags. I was not surprised. There is something about gold that makes men want to hold it and savor its intricate value. I am not immune to this either. Many is the time I have pulled out my poke and fingered through it, even though I knew exactly how much was there. It just gives such a feeling of well being to do this that the urge is irresistible.

"So, you little twirp," roared Dick, "you just couldn't stand it, could you? You had to steal my share of the gold too."

"No, I swear, Dick. If I had stole your gold, would I have hung around and fallen asleep last night' You know I wouldn't have. Wait a second. What about you? Did you steal my share?"

"No, I didn't. Because if I did I'd tell you to your face. I don't care what I say to you, do you understand" I would just take it and be damned to you."

"Well, well..." Pasty Face got lost in his sentence because a thought had apparently entered his mind. This is not a good thing in dweebs.

"Well if we didn't, who did" Ohmygod. We're near the Outlaw Trail, and I've heard that it is haunted. You don't suppose we had a visit from..."

Dick didn't let him finish. "How did I ever get stuck working with a horse's hind end like you? Spooks and thieves. Next you'll be seeing headless horsemen."

"Oh, no, are there really such things, Dick?"

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:54 EST

"WILL YOU SHUT YOUR STUPID TRAP YOU DIMWIT MORON?" Dick had heard all the foolishness he could take this morning, and it was barely after sun-up. "Now let's look around. If neither of us took it, then it was someone else. And it was not some stupid spook."

"Aha, look at this. Somebody stepped in this little patch of sand."

"Looks like a bear track," ventured the inane Pasty Face. Once again he was treated to a raging salvo.

"What would a bear want with gold" I ought to slap you clear into the next county just for the exercise. Where are the claw marks of this bear" No, this is a moccasin track. It was either made by an Indian or someone that wanted us to think that he is an Indian."

Hmmmm. I hadn't even thought of that. It was too bad my friend Peter wasn't here. It would have been more fun than going to a three ring circus. They tried to find more sign, but I had left none on the rocks, and when they had their backs to me at twenty feet away I figured the time had come to rid the camp of some vermin.

"Okay, boys, let's shuck the hardware." Dick was an old hand, and stoic. His gun and belt came down to earth with a thud. Pasty Face looked like a rat caught in a trap, which come to think of it, he was. "Try it if you want to, you whining little creep. I'm surprised Dick hasn't shot you by now anyway."

"Amen to that," said the black bearded man. Pasty Face dropped his rig as well.

"Now, as you two have probably guessed, my name is Jess Clay. I own the gold you mined for me yesterday, so I'm keeping it. I don't trust you behind my back with guns, so I'm keeping them. Tell me what you know about Nason and his bogus claim to my mine, and you can both ride off free and clear."

"We don't know any Nason," started in the whiner, and Dick cuffed him beside the head with his left hand.

"Can I have my gun back just long enough to shoot him, Clay?"

When I didn't answer, Pasty Face looked fearfully over his shoulder to see if I was really considering it. Actually, for a couple of seconds, I was.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:55 EST

"How did you know it was Nason?" I started with.

Dick was the one that responded. "I did a couple of jobs for him down in Virginia City. I was still there when he sent a telegram for me to meet him."

"How did he know about my mine?"

"That I couldn't tell you. If he hadn't of said to be on the lookout for you, I would have thought he owned it all along."

"Where did you meet him, in Salt Lake City?"

"Nope, he said to meet him in Ooray. He had changed his appearance, and I had trouble recognizing him until he spoke of the job."

"How did you ever pick up Pasty Face as a partner?"

"That is a good question. I wish I knew. My horse broke his leg in the desert one time, and this fellow came along and shared his ride with me. I figured he saved my life. Now I kind of think it would have better to have died out there rather than put up with his whining day and night."

"All right, you boys can take your horses and ride out. If I see you around here again, I'll shoot first and ask questions later."

As they started to ride out, Dick turned back to me. "Clay, you've been square with us so I'll tell you this. I think Nason is posing as a banker or a clerk. When he met us he was wearing a little cotton suit and eyeglasses, and I know he doesn't need them. When I looked past him, I could tell that the glasses are nothing but window glass. But don't forget, next week he could look completely different."

Well, well. That explained a lot. Dick had just described the man that registered my claim.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:55 EST

Amos Heskins was once more presented with bad news. As of yet it hadn't really sunk in, and he paced the floor, now and again shaking his head in disbelief. Three of them! How could three men lose in a shoot out against one?

The thought that this might happen had briefly crossed his mind when he sent them on their mission, but he had dismissed it. Three men should have been able to carry out this job, even if they were blindfolded. He supposed in a way they were. Not blindfolded, but hampered. Not with lack of vision but lack of brains. Amos Heskins was not proud of a lot of the members of his clan.

Now he supposed he had to get this job finished. He felt no blinding hate or even a sense of loss, but it wouldn't do for people to think they could knock over a Heskins at will. This Jess Clay was going to have to die.

He could do the deed himself, no question about that, but he felt that as the head of this band of thieves and the grandfather of many of them, he should be sitting back giving the orders. He had paid his dues long ago in the hot dusty streets and the chaffing seat of a saddle. He had watched the blood flow and had many close calls of his own. The screams of the innocent women and children would have haunted many a man, but such memories just made old Amos yawn.

He had never known a cowardly moment in his life. That was what bothered him about some of his extended family. How some of them turned out to have such lousy backbones was beyond him. It was like a rat had somehow mated into the family. Considering some of his relatives, he decided that might be an apt description.

Well, there was no sense wasting any more of the deadwood. If this went on too much longer, he would be in danger of losing his title of king of the roost. He would send his boy Elijah.

His son was a killer, pure and simple. It was hard to tell if he took pleasure in anything, but if results were any indication, Elijah liked to kill. He wasn't a hot-blooded gunfighter, giving a fair chance in the street, but a hunter of men. His method was to find the habits of the man he was hunting, then shoot his quarry with the 45-70 trapdoor Springfield that was his favorite. He was a fast hand with his pistol as well, for a man in his line needs a quick line of defense in an emergency. He didn't bother with the weight of a Peacemaker in a gunbelt. Instead he carried a .44 Bulldog of unknown Belgium make stuffed into his hip pocket. He put in enough practice to be deadly, seeing it as part of his career rather than recreation.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:56 EST

For the past half a dozen years he had done a lot of jobs for strangers that heard of him through word of mouth. Ranchers needing a particular rustler out of the way, or a gang of thieves that wanted to be rid of a tough marshal; it was all the same to him. He neglected to tell his father about shooting rustlers in case the old man should take offense.

At first these requests for a killer had come through Amos, but gradually the pleas went directly to Elijah and nobody else. If this had occurred with anybody else, there would have been a ruckus, but Amos had given his boy pretty much free rein while keeping everybody else in check. Someday Elijah would be taking over his legacy, such as it was.

If his son wasn't on a job, Amos knew he would find him in one of two places"the corner table at the bar playing solitaire or at his cabin working on his guns and loading ammunition. The old man was glad to find him at home. When the boy was sitting alone drinking in the bar, it even gave his father the willies to see him. There had never been any trouble at such times, but Amos figured that was because anyone seeing him sitting there morosely staring into his glass left him alone. He was like a coiled snake that people instinctively knew to stay clear of.

"I've got a job for you, Eli," the old man said in lieu of a greeting.

"What's it pay, Amos?" Elijah had always called his father by his given name from the time he was a baby, never "Pa" or anything of that nature. The old man had encouraged it, for he felt it would make the kid grow up faster.

"This one is for the family. I want you to find and kill Jess Clay. You're better at such things than I am so I won't give any advice.

"Good." That was the only reply.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:57 EST

Now that my claim was back in my own possession, I had to make some quick decisions. I needed to get my claim's registration back in the proper name, and that could be a tall order, if Nason was indeed the man that had cheated me in the first place. I also had to dig into the pocket of high grade and see how rich it might be. Perhaps I should dig out enough to see me through a lengthy court proceeding if Nason persisted in his phony scam. Could I take out enough to turn my back on this holding and buy the land that I wanted to start a future on' Probably, but it went against my grain. Even if I had enough gold to retire on I would not stand back and be so blatantly cheated.

I decided that the best option was to dig into the pocket and try to make enough for possible legal fees.

First I scanned that turn in the stream looking for an easy entrance. There wasn't any. That meant I would just have to cut a trail to the pocket if I was to do any meaningful work. I didn't like it, for it would loom like an arrow to anybody passing by.

You might think it was too remote a spot to have any passers-by, but I swear a man could be crawling through Death Valley dying of thirst and if his hand should happen to fall on a gold nugget, a dozen people would immediately show up and try to cheat him out of it.

There was no way around it, so I started clearing brush and rolling rocks out of the way to offer a direct route to the pocket. It was slow work, for all I had for cutting was a Bowie knife that I carried in my saddlebag for odd jobs. For everyday use I had a jackknife folded up in my pocket.

I kept my forty-five loose in its holster, for I expected to meet up with a rattler at any time. It looked like a prime habitat for such creatures. To my surprise I never did see one on that trail. "Maybe they left when they got a look at Dick and his buddy," I thought wryly.

It took two days before I was satisfied with my trail, but it was one that was safe to walk in the dark without fear of twisting an ankle. Alone in this big country, that could present quite a problem.

Luckily I had purchased a short pick on my stop in Vernal. The rest of the gear had all been placer equipment?a couple of shovels and nails and a hammer to build a sluice box. Along with these I had bought a rough blanket to line the sluice with rather than plane out boards and build riffles.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:57 EST

The quartz broke up quite readily into five and ten pound chunks, and I wished that I had a wheelbarrow to wheel them back to camp. Well, I didn't, so I searched out a large flat topped rock about halfway down my new trail and started piling my rock on the side of this. When the pile got so big that there was room for no more, I broke out my single jack and started pounding the chunks into smaller pieces. Most of the gold was in seams with mica and basalt, and I was able to beat it out once I broke the parent rock in half. This ore was left on the flat rock as mixed sand that I could pan out at my leisure. A test pan showed it to be consistently three times richer that the sand in the stream because it had not been dispersed.

I finally settled on a routine of one day breaking chunks out of the pocket and the next one refining the ore as best I could. I knew I was losing a lot of the fine gold, but without the use of mercury I could not gather the rest.

By the end of the first week I figured I had accumulated about twenty five hundred dollars worth, which was a lot of money at that time. I figured that if I could keep up the same schedule for one more week, I would have enough ahead to go down to town and try to get my affairs in order. Thinking of Anne I thought, "In more ways that one."

As soon as you have a definite plan you can expect things to go wrong. My case was certainly no exception. First of all when I dug too low into the pocket, water started filling the hole, so I was forced to continue in and up. I was already in over twenty feet, and I didn't like working under all that unsupported rock. I'm not claustrophobic, but my mother didn't raise a daredevil idiot, either.

I had heard of the square four timber supports, but I wasn't familiar enough with the formation to feel safe in making such. Plus I didn't even have a saw for cutting and squaring the timbers. So I decided to go upwards, another one of my great choices.

A rich sub-pocket extended upwards from about ten feet in, and I actually did take some small nuggets out of this. But after a couple of feet the quartz ran out and the silt of eons past started seeping down into my tunnel. There was no imminent danger of collapse, but that was definitely the end of the quartz layer in that direction. I carefully collected these small pieces of rich rock by themselves to be later worked over very carefully.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:58 EST

Around the entrance to the pocket was a lot of the average quartz rock, so I worked in the sun widening the hole and hopefully weighing down my bankroll. The bright sun reflecting off the face was partially blinding me, and the tedium of the work was lulling me into a false security. This was brought to light in a hurry.

My pick slipped from my sweaty grasp, and when I bent over to pick it up, the sound of an angry hornet whipped over my head. Over the sound of the stream I heard nothing else. When I stood back up I saw the lead smear on the rock and leaped backwards into the stream. As I did so another bullet hit the rock, and I heard the faint report of the rifle, only because I was listening for it this time.

Whoever was shooting was a long ways away, and it looked like he was an excellent shot. If I hadn't chanced to move when I did I would have been lying there on the bank dead as a doornail. Keeping my head under the level of the back I began inching upstream, the opposite direction of what my assailant would probably be expecting. Or at least that is what I hoped.

That water was cold, let me tell you. If it had been a warmer water of a more Southern clime, I might have spent the night in the stream, but I knew I had to move up and out while my fingers could still function.

I only had a general idea where the shots had come from. Because of the sound of the report, I knew he was very far away. If he was really good, he might be as far as a thousand yards. That sounds like a long ways, and it is, but the national matches are shot at that yardage with 45-70's. The bullets drop about twenty eight feet, but since that is a known factor the sights are set accordingly and hits are made. Billy Dixon is said to have shot an Indian at one mile while defending Adobe Wells. Because of the people that were present with him, I believe it.

It was a temptation to leave the stream on the far side to move away from danger. The trouble was, I figured that was what the unknown marksman expected, so I crawled up a disused beaver slide and into the woods. Once there I felt much more at home. I moved to the Northern fringe of this copse, and once the sun hit me my clothes quickly began drying.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-14 18:58 EST

I could only guess where the man had come from, so I started a large circle that crossed the connecting trails. On the run that met up with the area where I had heard the two men shooting at deer, I found his incoming track. I couldn't be sure yet that it was his, but what were the odds of two different riders coming through here on this particular day' The tracks seemed to be those of a good heavy Northern pony. The off rear shoe showed a gouge where it must have glanced off a hard sharp rock.

I followed the track long enough to be sure of the direction of travel, then walked through the mixed growth above it, trying to look down into likely spots of ambush.

A half a dozen spots looked likely but turned up empty, and then I hit pay dirt. In a tiny quarter acre of rich high meadow grass I found the pony. He had been left with the reins thrown over his head onto the ground in front of him. That way he couldn't travel too far because he would be stepping on the reins. It showed that my assailant was thinking, for if things were sour he didn't have anything to untie. He could just scoop up the reins and be on his way.

Hmmm....If things went sour. Somehow I liked the sound of that. So I loosed up the girth by two notches. Not enough to notice when in a hurry, but enough that he should slide down the side of the horse, possibly with his head touching the ground. Yes, indeed. Sometimes I like to amuse myself.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:04 EST

George Nason was a man that nobody knew. Some business associates would think they did for a while, but they would be wrong. Even his appearance might change by the next week, let alone his word. He was agnostic, immoral, and thoroughly lacking in any redeeming qualities. He had none of what most people know as character.

Born in Bolton, Massachusetts, his mother had died of tetanus when he was three, and he was raised by a holier-than-thou father who in truth cared only about money. He even fretted about what it cost to outfit George with the most basic clothing and the blandest food. The boy was quick to feel the whip if he asked for anything else at all.

When he started school and met other children his own age, his eyes were opened to the unfairness of his treatment. The first time he asked his father for the money for new pencils, he was treated to a strap across his bare back, and he was given a stub his father was ready to throw away. After that he asked for nothing; instead he found ways to cheat and steal.

When the other kids would stop at the general merchandise store after school to buy candy, he would tag along. He couldn't buy anything, but he could steal, quite deftly, in fact. He became a very fast shoplifter, taking only what he wanted to satisfy his minor cravings. He would try to wait until a disturbance was created by some other kid dropping his candy or spilling his drink before making his move.

He came to be suspected, but he was never caught. He overheard conversations like, "Poor kid: being the son of Old Man Nason, I can see why he has to steal."

"But, Silas, that don't make it right."

"Never you mind, Emily, if I catch him I catch him, but I kind of hope I don't."

Young George never made the mistake of bragging of his conquests. If he got a couple of pieces of candy, he went off and ate them by himself without sharing the information with another soul.

When he was twelve, two things happened to shape his life. The first was his job. When a new store opened on the town line, he was first in line and got a job. The owner had no way of knowing of the basic dishonesty of the boy; he just saw a lad of obvious intelligence in need of some newer clothes.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:05 EST

The second change was Sarah. Deep blue eyes coupled with rich blond hair brought about a change in George that he hadn't known was possible. He dreamed of her day and night and frugally saved all his wages so that he could someday run off with her and live happily ever after. He never dared confide his dreams with her. If he had, she, also being twelve, probably would have loved the idea.

George never stole from the till, for it would be too obvious where the money had gone. Instead, he watched the farmers and their wives when they brought in produce to sell or barter. Many of them were illiterate, and the ones that had no clue of mathematics he started to cheat. Just a penny or two here and there, small enough that he could claim to have made a mistake if questioned.

His father had him bring goods home from the store to save himself an extra trip. The money for such purchases was carefully counted out, and the goods received had to match to the penny. One day his father's coins slipped through a hole in his pocket, and he was unable to make the expected purchase. George gave no thought to using his own money to buy the goods, for he reasoned that it was his father's fault that he was wearing such old clothes that were full of holes.

Sarah had been on the porch of the store when he got off work, and she walked home with him. He had finally got up the nerve to tell her he liked her and how pretty she was. When they crossed the covered bridge she held his hand, and he thought his heart would burst with delight.

His father was reading a day old paper on the perch when they approached, and when the old man saw that he didn't have a sack of groceries he flew into a rage. When George explained the reason, the rage deepened and he pulled down George's pants and whipped him with a belt. This was in full view of Sarah, and the old man really gave the boy a beating.

When he was done George just laid there in the walk, way beyond crying or talking or any other relief. Sarah knelt beside him, and George saw the concern in her eyes, which for some reason angered instead of comforted him.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:06 EST

"Get out of here. I never want to see you or any other girl ever again," George screamed, and he apparently stuck to his word. While Sarah tried to make advances of conversation to him for a long time, George continually shunned her until she finally took up with someone else. It was not just her. He was never known to make any advances to any woman for the rest of his life. If he felt any hidden desires, it was a well-kept secret.

As his strength and stature grew, he left the store and worked part- time for a short line stage outfit. He stayed in school, though, for he knew his future lay in his brains and not his brawn.

On the day he graduated at age sixteen he already had his plans made. These included a ticket on the train to New York City. This he had purchased the previous week.

When he came home that evening, his father offered him a job in his small woolen mill, adding that now George could start paying his board as well as a little extra for the money his father had spent in raising him. In reply George took down the Brown Bess that had been in the family for over a hundred years.

He had checked it for spark and put in a new flint and powder, so he knew it would go off. The Bess is a smoothbore of .69 caliber, and when loaded with shot it makes a fair shotgun. George had loaded it with a hefty charge of buckshot, and when he pulled the trigger half the old man's guts were blown across the floor.

That chore over with, George went to bed and actually got a pretty good night's sleep. In the morning he packed his bag and caught his train; right on time.

To be on the safe side George switched trains in Hartford and went to Albany. From there he went west into Pennsylvania to get lost amongst the many Westward bound travelers.

He tried his hand at Mississippi gambling but found that was not the life for him. He did not like to gamble?he tried to make all his shady dealings a sure thing. He would have liked to cheat, but he lacked the skill, and he could tell that he could easily become a dead man if caught.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:07 EST

Moving on into Texas, he was chagrined to find that the carpetbaggers had about everything sewn up. Lord, he thought, if he could have been there a few years earlier, what a time he could have had. As it was he managed to buy and sell a couple of small stolen herds.

When he tried this trick a third time, it turned out to be a herd already claimed by a carpetbagger, one who had the local law in the palm if his hand. He happened to hear the conversation between the two from his open hotel window, and heard himself described as "that man in the Eastern tweed suit." Quickly he ran out back to a wash line and stole the clothes of a similar sized cowboy.

Nason cut in back of the line of stores to the corner, then walked back up the street in the direction of the hotel. To his amazement, neither the marshal or the herd owner even glanced in his direction. He quickly removed his few belongings from his room and went back to the street to watch proceedings. Even the inn keeper couldn't remember his leaving, and his whereabouts stayed a complete mystery.

It was a lesson he learned well. Clothes may not make the man, but they certainly do identify him. He never forgot that lesson, and sometimes completely changed his appearance several times a year, often without any concrete reason.

He then went North, interested in the stories about the Jayhawkers. These men were levying a tax of a dollar head on cattle herds coming up out of Texas, but it was completely unofficial, just a large scale mugging that sometimes worked and sometimes didn't. Nason thought he saw an opportunity, so he changed his appearance again and called some of the Jayhawker bands together.

For his new garb, he picked a Western style suit and an honest to god top hat. He had seen some people dressed like this, and the cowboys seemed to look up to them. George didn't know that the cowboys actually looked on some of these guys with quiet amusement, considering them to be dudes but polite to them just the same. At any rate they were ready to listen to him, and he promised them more and better if he was at their head.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:08 EST

He had contacts back in Texas notify him when each and every herd left and on what trail. He organized the greeting parties so that they were in full battle formation and outnumbered the drovers by many times. He always changed into dusty work clothes before confrontations, and if he was never at the front in cases of battle, nobody seemed to notice. He was known as bloodthirsty only because he had no qualms about giving wounded Texans a bullet in the head. In the heat of battle he took no chances, only shooting when he was sure of his safety.

As the unofficial leader he claimed an extra share of the take, and this was not questioned. It was when he started trying a fast count that trouble developed in paradise. Some of these run-down looking cowpokes were a lot sharper that those New England framers that he used to cheat, and he was almost lynched before lying his way free. He didn't waste any time moving on, he only stopped long enough to kill and rob a couple of the more successful Jayhawkers, and then he was heading further west.

He hit every booming mining town that he heard of, selling some sucker a bogus claim and then moving quickly on. His only major expense was clothes, for he changed appearance with every sale and threw away all his used wardrobe. Because of this, his accumulation of wealth was quite large, and he really had no dreams of what to do with it. He would have been surprised that in a way he had become just like his father?amassing money just for the sheer love of it.

Going to the west coast, he entered the fur business in the form of sea otter pelts, but there was no good way to cheat the hunters except by paying them unfairly low prices. He was able to make no inroads into the profits of the established traders, and it angered him considerably. He did not understand that the established men had a steady clientele that trusted them. It was a concept that he could not fathom.

Before leaving the area, he shot and killed the largest buyer of pelts that he knew of. When he found that the last shipment had been traded for dry goods instead of money, he was even more furious. The waste of his time! The waste of human life would have been a foreign concept. For the first time in many years, he was actually angry, and he burned the merchant's place of business before moving back into Colorado. He managed to sell a couple more salted claims, but the booms were getting scarcer, and he went north to Salt Lake City to look for opportunity.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:09 EST

Nason was glad to get a job clerking for the territory. He would be privy to information on any new mining strikes, and if all else failed he could probably steal a lot of money out of collected tax revenues.

When Jess Clay came into the office, Nason could smell possibilities. Clay was hard working, intelligent and open. Nason knew that good luck seemed to follow such people around. He didn't realize that such people tend to make their own luck rather than wait for it to come to them.

George acted more brashly than was usual, ripping up Clay's papers and replacing them with his own. The company name was bogus, of course, with him as president and a man who had abetted him in the past named Amos Heskins listed as vice-president. Heskins had no idea of his part in the proceedings. Nason made a mental note to keep it that way, or the unruly old man was apt to demand some money.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:15 EST

It would be dark in another three hours, and I wondered how long the marksman would wait for another shot. Did he think he had got me and I had tumbled into the stream' I didn't believe this was the case, for why would he have sent in that second shot' Also, a good long range man would be apt to have powerful field glasses which would show him evidence of a hit.

As of now, I believed the odds had been reversed and I settled down to wait for the marksman's return. If I had gauged the man correctly he would ride away tonight and return when least expected.

The shadows were growing long when he showed up. God, the man could move like a cat! There was no warning sound. One minute he was not there and the next he was.

He kept his rifle in his hand as his foot hit the stirrup. When it slipped down over the horses side he simply leaped clear and dove into a patch of rocks. No panic or head scratching, just instant evasive action. The man was good. So good he must be a professional at his trade.

I sat still, making no sound, so as not to draw a shot. The first one of us to move could easily be the first to die. His horse was side stepping around, uneasy with the dangling saddle but not scared enough to start bucking. Some horses would be so skittish in such a situation that they would hurt themselves.

Darkness was falling but a nearly full moon would be out tonight and I stayed right where I was, waiting for my opponent to make a move. He did the same. For the time being it was a stalemate.

About midnight his horse came by the rocks where I had last seen my attacker and I heard the thud of the saddle hitting the ground. I expected him to try to put the saddle on correctly. That must be because he didn't know where I was and he wasn't taking any chances. If he stood on the wrong side of his mount he would be open to a shot. This was a mighty careful assassin.

An hour after daybreak I heard just a hint of noise and his horse went to the rocks. In one fluid movement the man mounted and was speeding off, riding bareback! I didn't fire for fear of hitting his splendid mount.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:16 EST

Why me? That was my question. Here I was, a small time operator, and since I got here you would think I held the key to Fort Knox. Mine was just a small claim, but gold does do strange things to people. In someone's mind it might have escalated into a trove of riches.

Perhaps this latest shooter was connected to my newly found Heskins feud. It hardly seemed likely, considering the blundering attacks of the previous encounters.

The man's rifle lay in the rocks along with his saddle. Picking it up I found it to be the standard Army issue Trapdoor Springfield. Well, they were known to be accurate shooting guns. Sometimes in rapid fire they got too hot and the extractors ripped the rims off from the empty cartridges, leaving the weapon inoperable. That was said to be a problem that Custer's Seventh Calvary had; that and way too many Indians.

I backtracked the man and found where he had set up a perfect spot for an ambush, complete with a fallen tree for cover and a rifle rest. There were no empty shell cases, but I would have been surprised if there had been. The empties would be carefully pocketed, to be boiled later in vinegar and water to stop the primer and black powder corrosion, then carefully dried and even more carefully reloaded. A lot of the accuracy a rifleman could produce was related to the preparation of his ammunition.

My navel was starting to gnaw at my backbone, so I made a quick stop in camp to grab some canned beans and cold biscuits. I was in no condition for more surprises right now, so I kept walking to where Big Horse had been left. I ate my cold breakfast sitting in the warm sun with my friend at my shoulder. By the time I had finished my head was nodding and I knew I had to get some sleep. I told Big Horse to keep watch and covered my face with my hat. If the horse understood I couldn't really say, but it was a comfort to hear his nearby breathing as I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up in three hours feeling completely refreshed and full of well being. My one thought was, "What a great day to be alive." The temperature was in the eighties and the humidity low. The air was as clear as only western air can be. Four hundred yards away a mule deer and her two fawns browsed on some low growing brush and they stood out clear as could be.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:17 EST

I saddled up and cut across the trail of the bareback rider in several places, trying to see if he might have cut back, although I deemed this unlikely since he didn't have possession of his rifle. After a few miles of this I could see that he was riding toward Brown's Hole. Well, well, I had not really expected this. He must be somehow in the Heskins feud after all. His assault had been so unlike the others that I hadn't thought this could be the case.

I went back to camp and started loading up my ore. I knew I had enough. It must have been a touch of gold fever that made me enlarge the pocket mouth instead of packing up three days ago. I kept the purest dust apart from the rest; in a separate sack I carried this, so that I could leave it with Anne. I had mined it with thoughts of our future in mind, but if anything happened to me I wanted to leave her all the security that I could. Before meeting her I had never given any thought to such matters. It is peculiar how fast things change when one meets the woman he loves.

I knew that the girl could fend well enough on her own. Heck, she had up until now, hadn't she" It was just that I felt the need to comfort and protect, to take care of her every want. It was impossible, of course, to shelter her from life, but I wanted to make her life as easy as I could. If I should happen to be killed I wanted her to have something to fall back on. It would be nice if she didn't have to teach school if she didn't want to, or could leave this little town on a whim and travel wherever she wanted. That was the good thing that money gave - freedom to move around without worrying about the consequences.

Anne came running into my arms be the time I was half way up her walk. The little house that went with her job had never looked so good. Could she have spruced it up just for me"

"Oh, Jess, I missed you so!" she murmured into my neck.

"I missed you, too, baby; you don't know how much."

"I was worried that you might be attacked again. How long can you stay' Come on in and tell me all about it."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:18 EST

So the next few hours were spent on filling each other in on our news, and a lot of small talk only meaning anything to the lovers sharing it. I hated to tell her of the latest attack by the rifleman. I did, though, for I wanted to keep nothing from her. I knew she was the same way towards me.

I told her of the rich pocket of ore that I had found, and that while I believed it to be just a pocket, it might be enough to buy some land and start a small ranch. We had not talked of what this obviously meant; marriage, children and all the rest. It was an unspoken agreement, communicated with our eyes and hearts.

I left the sack of high grade with her, and she did not try to put on silly airs or refuse it. She simply accepted it with dignity, for we both knew what it signified.

I kept on towards Salt Lake City that very evening, for now that I was started I wanted to put an end to my problems as quickly as possible. When Anne walked me to my horse she said softly, "I love you, Jessie," and I responded in kind. We had never put it into words before and my heart soared in the clouds as I rode off. I was in rhapsody, so much so that I didn't see the pair of expressionless eyes that watched our final passionate embrace.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:18 EST

I found a heavy set man with his jacket off and his sleeves rolled up when I visited the land claims office for the second time. When I stated my name and my business, he picked up some papers from the top of his desk, for apparently this was one of the cases he was studying when I walked in.

"Mr. Nason departed hastily," he confided in me. "There is reason to suspect that he may not have been totally honest." This was such an understatement that I looked at this Mr. Phelps (for this is what his desk plaque said) closely. As I suspected, laugh lines at the corners of his eyes told of a subtle humor that probably went over most people's heads. In other words, this guy was as dry as a dead toad after a month in the Arizona sun.

"No, you don't say," I told him. "You know, I had a couple of doubts myself when I showed up at my claim and found somebody else's marker on it, and two ruffians using my tools to dig my gold. But I thought it must be just one of those pesky mistakes."

"Yes, yes, apparently that is just what it was, for it was re-filed by a dummy company that named Nason as president and a certain Amos Heskins as vice-president."

"WHO DID YOU SAY?"

"Nason and Heskins. I know you met Nason. Do you know something about this Heskins that I don't?"

"Only that he is the head honcho in Brown's Hole nowadays, and he has a band of cut throat in-laws that make the Sidney Ducks look like saints."

"I see, and look at this." He held the phony file claim in his hand. "It looks like Nason signed Heskins name himself. I wonder is the vice-president even aware of his prestigious position?"

"You know, it doesn't look like he is, at that. What put you onto this in the first place?"

"Just this," he said, producing an envelope filled with small squares of paper. He pieced a few together so that I could see that it was my original claim.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:19 EST

"I should think he would have burned it."

Phelps apparently didn't hear me for he said, holding up the bogus NasonHeskins claim, "He must have been holding it like this when something distracted him and then," the paper was torn briskly in half, "perhaps he was daydreaming and his fingers worked away by themselves." As he said this, he proceeded to rip the paper into even smaller pieces than what my own was in. "And then, oh, my, look what I've done. Now we don't have any record of a claim on that creek. If you would be kind enough, sit up here, and we will fill in a new one. One that I will lock in the safe so that I can guarantee its validity from this day forward."

He seemed to be looking for more grandiose words, but not finding them he just said, "Here, fill in the blanks."

"A pleasure to do business with you," I told him.

"One does what one can."

————————————————————————— ———————————————

Well, that was a load off my mind. Of course, that load had been replaced with one big mystery. What was the connection between Nason and Amos Heskins" Why did Nason believe my claim was richer than it was" Was there any reason for this, or was it all in his greedy little mind" Perhaps it was just because of the irregularity of the grains of ore, like the black-bearded one had said. It still seemed like a lot of effort for such a small scale operation.

As for the connection, who could say but the two men themselves" All over the West men kept traveling, searching for something; perhaps; more likely, just seeing what lay beyond the next rise. I had always been apt to do this myself, at least until I met Anne. At any rate, because a lot of men were traveling, they were apt to meet at any odd corner of the West.

When Opie Heskins had tried to shoot me, I had thought it was out of pure arrogance. I still did, but it sure did leave the door open for a lot of circumstance.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:20 EST

I could hardly wait to tell Anne my good news, but before I did, I knew I should go see Big John Carter and ask him about buying some of his land. There was other land in the rougher regions north of him, but some of the meadows near my claim had caught my eye. I did not have a specific parcel in mind right now, but I should stop and feel him out before I got my hopes up too high. Besides, when I picked out the actual land for my ranch, I wanted Anne at my side.

Big John acted like he was plumb glad to see me. Probably he was, for company must be might scarce out here.

"Coffee's on Jess, and I'll have the cook roast up a dozen head of beef for supper. Come on in and sit down. Did you kill that grizzly yet?"

Truth was, I had forgotten all about that dumb old bear. I explained that my claim was paying off better than I expected, and that I would like to buy a few sections of land from him if possible. For some reason, maybe because he was lonely and seemed in need of a friend, I told him about Anne as well. About how much I thought of her and how my dreams had changed in so short a time.

"I'm glad to hear it, Jess. There is nothing like being in love. I know that must sound funny coming from an old bachelor like me, but, truth is, I had a woman I loved once." He was looking out the window, remembering a time I would never know. "She...died, a long time ago. I never got the chance to marry her, and I've been sorry about it ever since. We had a son, and somehow because of the circumstances and everything, he never learned the truth about who his father was. I wanted to tell him, and to give him my name, but it went on so long that I was afraid he would reject me, and I would be left with nothing, which I am now anyway."

"You knew him; knew who he was?" I asked.

"Oh yes, indeed, he worked for me. He was the hand that silvertip grizzly killed. You can see why I want that bear's scalp so badly. In vengeance for my dead son."

I stayed that night, and while the cook did not prepare six head of cattle, he did make up a spread that might have fed fifty people. I figured I made up for about five of those myself, for my usual vittles had been plain and sparse. When I got a chance, I feasted.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:20 EST

In the morning, I again asked John about selling me some land. "Sure, sure, Jess, I'll be glad to help you and your Anne, but don't forget that bear. You kill him, and I'll give you all the land you could ever want."

"Thanks, John, I will keep an eye out. But you know what bears are like. To set about hunting one particular bear is a long shot at best."

————————————————————————— ———————————————

I was excited by anticipation when I rode back into Vernal, but I could soon see that something was amiss. The town's people were gathered around the jail, and looking through the crowd I saw no trace of Anne.

"Clay, have you taken Anne Doveling away?" This was the town's constable asking.

"Of course not. I just rode in to see her. How long has she been missing?"

"We're not sure. When the kids went to school this morning, it had not been opened. Mrs. Crosby went through her house but didn't see any signs of foul play."

"Why don't you go over and look around, Clay. You're the only one who might notice something different or missing."

"Okay," I agreed, "and the rest of you stand outside the fence. If she should come home and find a dirty house, she wouldn't be happy." Really what I thought was that such a mob might mess up any clues that might be left.

Everything seemed to be normal at first, but a pencil had been left askew on her small writing table as if she had dropped it to answer a knock at the door. I tilted the table back from the wall, and out fell a piece of writing paper. When I looked at it, I saw why she had stuffed it in there. She had been in a hurry.

"Dear Jessie," the letter started, "I am uneasy tonight, and I can't really explain why. I have felt like I have been watched today. I did see a stranger in a brightly striped suit and a bowler hat, and he seemed to be looking at me. When he moved down the street, he looked at everything however, so I am probably being..."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:21 EST

The note stopped just like that, so she must have heard a noise and slid the paper out of sight. She had told me where she kept her derringer, and when I checked the hiding place it was gone. That was good. At least she had some means of protection.

Try as I might, I couldn't find anything else until I was ready to exit by the front door. A tiny shard of glass caught my eye. Anne wasn't a fanatic housekeeper, but she would certainly never leave any broken glass around, either. Her mother sometimes sent her trinkets from back in New England, "knick-knacks" she called them, and a few sat on a stand near the door. It was too far away from the door to brush one off by accident, but lying mostly under the stand were the broken pieces of a tiny glass sea gull. Could she have done this deliberately as a signal to me" I believed so, for nobody else would attach any significance to it.

I went out and told the people of the note I had found. When I asked if anyone had seen the stranger in the bowler hat, a raft of voices answered, so many that it was a howling mob. I held up my hands for silence.

"One at a time, please. Now, what about the stages" Did anybody see a man in a striped suit get on or off today?"

The constable piped up with an answer. "There is only one stage a day through here, and I make sure that I am on hand when it is in town," he pompously stated.

"Why?" came a hidden voice from the rear of the crowd.

The lawman looked around with glaring eyes, trying to find the hidden wag.

"Okay, okay," I interjected, "How about the livery stable, Jake" Any riders come in or out?"

"Nope. I did see the man you're asking about walking down the street, and I wondered how he got here. I even double-checked the stalls and corral, in case he was trying to get something for nothing. He wasn't in my place."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:22 EST

The cafe owner said the man had come in to eat, but aside from ordering, he had not even said please nor thank you. She was not able to give any further description past the suit and hat. An alarm rang in my head at her words.

Just about everyone in town had seen the stranger around two or three pm, everyone except the constable, that is. The unknown joker from the back of the pack piped up again, "That's just about the time for your nap, ain't it?"

"Who said that' There's laws about scalawags like you, you know." I looked closely to see if smoke was rolling out of his ears. "I'll have you know I was checking the back doors behind the alley. Mattie, yours was side open again."

"Just like it has been for the past twelve years. The only time I close it is when you get snoring too loud in your afternoon nap."

"Never mind that you, you, never mind, who wants to join me in a posse?" A score of eager hands were raised into the air. This whole thing was getting out of hand.

"Hold up here," I shouted to get their attention. "First of all, where are you going to look" There is a lot of country out there, and you don't even know what direction to head off in. And second, if there are any tracks this crowd will have them wiped out in no time. No, you people watch and wait around town, and let me go out by my own. I'll get word back to you as soon as I find anything."

The constable had to make one more stab at pomposity. "I think it is my duty to accompany you, for I am the law. You aren't even a deputy."

"How far does your jurisdiction go, sir" Are you the law of the county or the town?"

"Well, actually, I'm the law of this town. Yes perhaps I should stay here and keep the peace."

"An excellent idea, officer. If I need help, I'll get word back to you." He smiled and nodded at this appeasement.

I found where one extra man had waited with three horses on the north side of town. The one that waited smoked cigarettes and field stripped the butts. I had seen this habit before, but I couldn't place where. The first two horses were large northern ones. The third appeared to be a small pony, judging by the light indent made by the tracks. They must have brought this to be Anne's mount.

After a couple of miles cross-country, they joined a small seldom used trail and traveled in a northeast direction. After a while they were joined by a half dozen other riders. They left a confusion of tracks, but one thing was plain to see"Anne's horse had continued to the east, along with only one other rider. My skin crawled as I took in this fact. For the first time in my life, I wanted to kill.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:23 EST

George Nason and Elijah Heskins were riding side by side into Jess Clay's camp. It was a highly unlikely pair to be traveling together.

"I tell you Nason, it was a damn fool thing to do to wound that bear. There will be hell to pay, either to us or to someone else."

"What the hell do you care about anyone else? According to your old man you are a natural born killer, and here you are griping about me shooting a bear. He's probably gone off into the brush and died anyway."

"He's probably going to chew you up if he ever gets hold of you. I'll tell you one thing. I am a killer, but I don't wound anything if I can help it. I'll bet you'd gut shoot a man and leave him too, wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"You want to gut shoot me, right now?"

George Nason knew he wasn't any match for this man. "No, no, Elijah, let's not beef amongst ourselves. Why don't you go see if you can find your rifle and your saddle?"

Before Heskins could move Nason asked, "Do you think Clay will be showing up here in camp?"

"Yeah, of course he will. I made sure that he'll think his woman is riding the pony, and the trail sure looks like she came up here with one other man. He'll not only show up, he'll be raging when he does. You up to meeting him?"

"You bet I am. I'm no fast draw, and you know it, but I've killed a lot of men. He will die just as well as the others."

"You had better hope so, Nason. Okay, I'm going up to where I left my gear and see if he left my rifle stashed away. I saw him from a distance later, and he wasn't carrying it. That gun is my favorite, and I want it back. I'll be back as soon as I find it."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:23 EST

The trail was plain as day. That should have worried me, but I was too overcome with concerns about Anne to think of anything else. It was obvious that they were riding toward my camp. The rest of the crowd must have gone towards Brown's Hole. Of one thing I was certain; if they had harmed Anne, they would have to start a new cemetery.

A half a mile this side of camp, the horses had shied. The smaller one had slewed around and backed up before moving on. Why on Earth would she do that' Off to the side about thirty feet was the answer. In fact, a couple of answers. What had startled them was a bear, a big one. I whistled when I looked closer at the track. This bear's front paw was tracking sideways! This was the very grizzly that Carter had asked me about. This thing was huge.

Unfortunately it was also bleeding. That pony must have backed up as its rider shot at this beast. Well, that let out Anne being the rider. She would have a lot more sense than to shoot at a creature this gigantic with her derringer. In the big mix-up of tracks, they must have transferred mounts, with the pony coming this way to lead me into an ambush at my camp. Well, I was forewarned, and at least I would not be riding in blindly.

That bear was going to be a problem. What kind of a damned fool would do such a thing" One face came to mind, that of a man in a striped suit. I was willing to bet he was the culprit. I doubted the animal would die from his wounds. He would be mean, though, mean enough to hunt down and kill any man he got wind of. After I got Anne back, I should get a rifle and hunt that bear down before there was hell to pay. I had no doubt that my forty-five could kill him, but circumstances would have to be just right. It made a lot more sense to get a rifle and take the worry out of it.

For now, I ground-tied Big Horse and snuck up to my camp on foot. The pony was there, and it was no surprise to see George Nason trying to hide behind an inadequate clump of brush as he waited for me to show up. I looked in all the dark corners of the camp but could find no trace of the other horse and rider. I walked up the other side of the stream and found the other tracks heading up to the high meadow. Could that mean the other was the rifleman that rode away bareback" He could be up there looking for his saddle and his Springfield.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:24 EST

For now I eased up more or less in the front of Nason. It is easier to see from the sides of the eyes than in front when the light gets dim. I counted on this as I stalked up to about twenty yards.

"Waiting for me, Nason?"

"What the...Yeah, I've been waiting for you, Clay." He didn't try to lie his way out of it; I'll give him that. "What did you do with Anne Doveling, Nason?"

"I didn't do anything to her. Those boys up at Brown's Hole, though; it's hard telling what they're up to."

"Draw, you scum."

"No, and you can't make me. I am not a gunfighter."

"It's the code of the West, isn't it' That's what makes it easy for guys like me. You fellows all have to play by your rules and that is why you end up losers. I love it."

"You're going to lose tonight, Nason." It wasn't just talk. I saw an enormous shadow creeping up in back of him. If he was any kind of a woodsman he would have heard it over the gurgling of the water on the rocks, but he wasn't. Now I just had to keep him talking a little while longer.

"What made you think that I had anything worth stealing" This is just a little claim that might get worked out at any time. Why bother?"

"I'll tell you why," said Nason bitterly. "Guys like you work hard, and luck seems to follow you. Maybe that's because of your sacred code of the West. Well that's okay, because I am always right there to take your winnings away. You work hard, but you're a loser. You're a...What was that?"

Too late, Nason heard the bear, and by the time he had turned halfway around, he had seen his finish. From thirty feet the grizzly made his rush, and the flat of his right paw hit Nason on the side of his neck and send him rolling. From where I stood, it sounded like the bone had snapped. The bruin then went straight in the direction of the pony. I must have shifted posture, for when the bear was abreast of me he did a doubletake, like he had just found fresh meat.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:25 EST

There was no margin for error. I carefully but quickly aimed my forty-five midway back on his temple and squeezed off a shot. The 255 grain slug made a visible hole in his head. He was immobile for a split second, and I used that time to drive another shot to the same spot. I saw the hole slightly enlarge, and the grizzly dropped to the ground. He never even made another twitch.

There was still one man unaccounted for, and I wanted to overtake him before he could go to Brown's Hole and warn them that I was still alive and coming for my woman. Inspiration hit me when I looked back at Nason. There was no blood on him, just a badly tilted neck, so I stripped off the suit and donned it myself. It wasn't a great fit, but at least I could button the pants. If this disguise had worked so well for him, what might it do for me"

I crossed the stream and climbed up to the meadow. I remembered that I had left the extra gear behind a trio of rocks. When I saw the bareback rider, he was close to them but hadn't found the cache yet. Using boulders for cover, I got fairly close to him before he turned and said, "Is that you, George" I heard shots."

"Yeah," I answered. "It's me, Georgie. Happy to see me?"

In a flash he had whipped a bulldog 44 from his hip pocket and was shooting at me. I sidestepped, not getting hit except for a graze on the arm. Then I drew and was shooting, too fast, for he had caught me off guard with his speed. The first thing I knew I was snapping the hammer on empty cartridges, and so was my opponent. In my haste I had not reloaded after shooting the bear, so I had only three shots left when I started this match. His bulldog was a five shooter in which the firing pin actually sat on a primer if loaded all the way. Therefore it was only loaded with four rounds.

"Hold it!" I snapped. "I'm warning you, I have another gun and you'll never get another shot off. Drop the iron."

"Yeah, sure" he sneered, all the while trying to use the bulldog's awkward extractor so that he could load up again. As I watched he slipped the extractor back to its resting place and reached into his pocket for more shells.

"That's enough! I'll shoot if you load that thing."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:26 EST

Well, he had received fair warning. When he had stuffed his little gun and started swinging it up into line, I whipped the 38 Lightning from the small of my back with my left hand and shot him through the lung. A dazed look came over his eyes, but he was still trying, so I shot him again. Still he refused to drop! So I let drive with the last three shots, hitting him twice more in the chest and once right between the eyes. At that he slumped to the ground, finally dead.

I sat down on a rock for a much needed rest and to reload both revolvers. Before I left, I cut off the bear's scalp for John Carter. Heck, I could afford to buy my land, but I wanted him to know that his son's death had been avenged.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:48 EST

I was exhausted, but sleep had to wait for the life of my woman might depend on it. My woman! Before meeting Anne the idea of meeting my perfect match had been like idle dreams of becoming rich or suddenly famous. These make for nice daydreams but a person doesn't really expect them to come true. It was the same way with Anne; I had dreamed of meeting a girl but the odds had just seemed to be too much against it. Now that I had met her I sometimes felt like pinching myself to make sure that I wasn't dreaming. I was surely going to free her from the ruffians in Brown's Hole or die trying.

What would happen if I should get killed in my attempt. Had Anne come to need me as much as I needed her"

Yes, I decided, she had. Her pain and suffering would be great if I should die. I hoped that she was strong and would get over me soon, but deep inside of me my heart said, "Not too soon, I hope." I hoped she wouldn't pine her whole life away. Someday she would meet someone else that could help her complete her life. This was what I hoped, but I didn't even want to think about what this unknown man might look like.

Enough of this. I was worrying for no reason as of yet. If I kept my wits about me I would get the job done and still be in one piece.

I was still wearing Nason's suit. It had fooled one man so maybe the same trick would work on others. At least long enough to get me into the hole.

I was still a mile from the entrance when a shotgun toting men stepped out from the trees to check out who I was. He talked way too much for his own good.

"Nason, ain't it," the shotgunner said, and I realized that he had probably never even talked to the man. Instead he had seen him from a distance wearing this suit and assumed I was the same person. "The boss is waiting for you up in his cabin. Head on up. You ain't seen that Clay fellow, have you?"

"Uh,uh," was all I grunted and then I was riding up the trail, sent on by a man who was supposed to be on the lookout for me! I was willing to bet this clan didn't have many brain surgeons on the roster.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:49 EST

The next guard was a might more suspicious. I thought I might have to shoot him and announce my arrival, but I was too close to him when he discovered his mistake and I sidestepped the horse until I had him pinned against a rock with the business end of my forty five staring him in the face. I didn't even have to rap him over the head. I simply bound and gagged him, and I assured him that I would stop and untie him on my way out of the hole. This I would do, for I would leave no man to die of thirst or starvation.

I climbed the wall of rock near the entrance and saw that the cabins were fairly close together. One side of the wall offered a bluff that overlooked the whole settlement. Why, it looked like one man could keep the little village under his thumb, especially if he was a good shot. I smiled as I made this observation.

I had to leave my horse back in the woods. I didn't like it, for I would be on foot when the trouble started. He couldn't climb into the area where I was heading, though. There was a lot of horse flesh in the corrals in the hole. Probably I could lay my hands on one of these if it came to that. Or when it came to that.

I crept up to the bluff sight unseen. Part of the time I was on my hands and knees, but it was worth it to be able to appear up on that bluff without warning. For I was still wearing that stupid striped suit I had taken off Nason, and the result down below was just what I had hoped for - total confusion.

Those people that thought they knew Nason would wonder mightily why I was just sitting up on the rock with a gun in my hand. Those that didn't know him were probably a bit scared of him anyway, and this would be the icing on the cake.

Whenever anyone looked like they might be approaching the bluff I raised my gun as if to take a steady aim. There weren't many of these. My first guess was probably the correct one. A lot of these clowns had undoubtedly heard the stories of Nason's killings and were afraid of him. They didn't realize that most of his shooting had been on unaware and sometimes defenseless people. Of course, from what I had seen of this clan they fell into this category even when armed and awake.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:50 EST

Once a big man came out onto his porch and just gazed in my direction. Even from here I could tell that he had no expression on his face. He just looked, as if he could care one way or the other. I understood his position. Basically, whatever should occur, he was man enough to handle it. I knew from the way that he handled himself this must be the king of the roost, Amos Heskins.

The scene down below was pristine, but a lot of vexing problems were being worked out as I sat there.

Willa Smith looked out through the hole in her wall with loathing. She knew George Nason, all right. He had killed her man; shot him right in the back while he was holding her in his arms. How the bullet angled off and didn't hit her she would never know. As it was, she had just laid there and played dead. That was easy because she was too scared to move anyway. Nason had looked at her briefly and then shot poor Otis again in the back of the head.

Otis had not been much, and he probably never would have married her, but he had taken her out of the mountains and that was all that mattered. The people who had land, mountaintop land, were usually a lot wealthier that the family she had come from. The town of Houndsville had been so uninspiring that the streets were already lined with abandoned buildings and encroaching greenbrier. A girl's life was a pretty poor prospect in such a town. Most of the people were related and a lot of her friends had ended up marrying cousins. Ida-May's brother had laid her down in a pigpen, and knocked her up! That one occurrence had resulted in a little boy. The kid was really good looking, but at four years old he still couldn't talk and it was easy to see that there was something wrong with him.

At least Ida-May had claimed she only did it with her brother once, and that time because she was forced. Willa suspected that her brother didn't have to force her at all, because Ida had always been a wild thing with a fascination with anything sexual. The last anybody heard she was working in a whorehouse in Tuscon, and it was said her steady working routine was just barely enough to satisfy her.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:51 EST

Willa wanted more out of life, for she had devoured what few books she could find and had discovered that there was a whole other world out there. She yearned for a man in her life, but one that wasn't related or smell like pig manure. A man who's future ran farther that the off chance that he might run into a good patch of goldenseal. A man that could take her out of this poverty patch and show her the world.

When Otis passed through Willa knew that this was her chance, possibly the only chance she might get. Otis was good looking but not really handsome. He had a small string of horses and was heading west. He had no clear plans after that, but he seemed to have a better prospect than any of the local boys. He was dashing to her young eyes, and by the time he left town she was riding with him.

He spoke vaguely of marriage and a spread out West. Willa could sense that it was all talk, but he did know a lot about horses and he might make out well trading them. She found him exciting and enjoyed their time together. This was her first taste of love. It would be the best she ever had.

He had traded a breed mare, his poorest one he bragged later, for a small wagon pulled by a brace of second rate mules. After living in the same room with the rest of the seven children in her family this seemed as luxurious as a resort hotel. Of course, that was what it was to her.

They traveled slowly through the foothills and on westward across the Mississippi River toward Oklahoma. Otis traded steadily as they traveled, even getting paid for stud service from his best stallion. The profits were carefully placed in his money belt, for he was not a man to burn money. When Willa saw this she was even more convince that she had made the right choice in a man.

Up on the edge of the Nations they got lucky and ran into a horse trading meet that lasted two days. Otis did well, trading off the mules for a couple of harness broke ponies and a hundred dollars besides. There were people around when he stashed the money in his belt, and Willa didn't like the looks of some, especially the man wearing parts of a Yankee uniform like many of the ex-soldiers did. Something about him did not run true. Willa didn't believe he had ever been a soldier. His bearing was not a military one. To her he looked more like one of the cutthroat carpetbaggers that had been the curse of the South since the end of the war. She didn't confide her fears with Otis for she was afraid that he might laugh at her.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:51 EST

She saw the fellow's sharp and greedy eyes watch her man's movements. She felt a pang, but figured with this big crowd (roughly twenty people) around they would not be in danger. Otis had more than enough to drink on this evening and she did not even care that they didn't observe their normal nightly routine. That phony Yankee had left her ill at ease. It was with relief that they rolled away from the trading area in the morning. Willa looked around, but the man that had frightened her had apparently long gone.

That afternoon they went into camp early by the bank of a beautiful little stream. Just before dark they bathed in the cool water of a deep pool. A small fire other side lit the scene slightly, and things were so peaceful that Willa only had a moment's inclination that something was wrong before the bullet crashed into Otis and came near to going right on through into her chest.

She instinctively knew that her best chance was to play dead. She was so afraid that she didn't even twitch when the man shot Otis again in the head; then took the whole money belt. As he started to leave she roused enough to take a peek at him. It was the man in the fake Yankee uniform.

Much later she would learn that his name was

George Nason.

I was exhausted, but sleep had to wait for the life of my woman might depend on it. My woman! Before meeting Anne the idea of meeting my perfect match had been like idle dreams of becoming rich or suddenly famous. These make for nice daydreams but a person doesn't really expect them to come true. It was the same way with Anne; I had dreamed of meeting a girl but the odds had just seemed to be too much against it. Now that I had met her I sometimes felt like pinching myself to make sure that I wasn't dreaming. I was surely going to free her from the ruffians in Brown's Hole or die trying.

What would happen if I should get killed in my attempt. Had Anne come to need me as much as I needed her?

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:52 EST

Yes, I decided, she had. Her pain and suffering would be great if I should die. I hoped that she was strong and would get over me soon, but deep inside of me my heart said, "Not too soon, I hope." I hoped she wouldn't pine her whole life away. Someday she would meet someone else that could help her complete her life. This was what I hoped, but I didn't even want to think about what this unknown man might look like.

Enough of this. I was worrying for no reason as of yet. If I kept my wits about me I would get the job done and still be in one piece.

I was still wearing Nason's suit. It had fooled one man so maybe the same trick would work on others. At least long enough to get me into the hole.

I was still a mile from the entrance when a shotgun toting men stepped out from the trees to check out who I was. He talked way too much for his own good.

"Nason, ain't it," the shotgunner said, and I realized that he had probably never even talked to the man. Instead he had seen him from a distance wearing this suit and assumed I was the same person. "The boss is waiting for you up in his cabin. Head on up. You ain't seen that Clay fellow, have you?"

"Uh,uh," was all I grunted and then I was riding up the trail, sent on by a man who was supposed to be on the lookout for me! I was willing to bet this clan didn't have many brain surgeons on the roster.

The next guard was a might more suspicious. I thought I might have to shoot him and announce my arrival, but I was too close to him when he discovered his mistake and I sidestepped the horse until I had him pinned against a rock with the business end of my forty five staring him in the face. I didn't even have to rap him over the head. I simply bound and gagged him, and I assured him that I would stop and untie him on my way out of the hole. This I would do, for I would leave no man to die of thirst or starvation.

I climbed the wall of rock near the entrance and saw that the cabins were fairly close together. One side of the wall offered a bluff that overlooked the whole settlement. Why, it looked like one man could keep the little village under his thumb, especially if he was a good shot. I smiled as I made this observation.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:53 EST

I had to leave my horse back in the woods. I didn't like it, for I would be on foot when the trouble started. He couldn't climb into the area where I was heading, though. There was a lot of horseflesh in the corrals in the hole. Probably I could lay my hands on one of these if it came to that. Or when it came to that.

I crept up to the bluff sight unseen. Part of the time I was on my hands and knees, but it was worth it to be able to appear up on that bluff without warning. For I was still wearing that stupid striped suit I had taken off Nason, and the result down below was just what I had hoped for - total confusion.

Those people that thought they knew Nason would wonder mightily why I was just sitting up on the rock with a gun in my hand. Those that didn't know him were probably a bit scared of him anyway, and this would be the icing on the cake.

Whenever anyone looked like they might be approaching the bluff I raised my gun as if to take a steady aim. There weren't many of these. My first guess was probably the correct one. A lot of these clowns had undoubtedly heard the stories of Nason's killings and were afraid of him. They didn't realize that most of his shooting had been on unaware and sometimes defenseless people. Of course, from what I had seen of this clan they fell into this category even when armed and awake.

Once a big man came out onto his porch and just gazed in my direction. Even from here I could tell that he had no expression on his face. He just looked, as if he could care one way or the other. I understood his position. Basically, whatever should occur, he was man enough to handle it. I knew from the way that he handled himself this must be the king of the roost, Amos Heskins.

The scene down below was pristine, but a lot of vexing problems were being worked out as I sat there.

Willa Smith looked out through the hole in her wall with loathing. She knew George Nason, all right. He had killed her man; shot him right in the back while he was holding her in his arms. How the bullet angled off and didn't hit her she would never know. As it was, she had just laid there and played dead. That was easy because she was too scared to move anyway. Nason had looked at her briefly and then shot poor Otis again in the back of the head.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:53 EST

Otis had not been much, and he probably never would have married her, but he had taken her out of the mountains and that was all that mattered. The people who had land, mountaintop land, were usually a lot wealthier that the family she had come from. The town of Houndsville had been so uninspiring that the streets were already lined with abandoned buildings and encroaching greenbrier. A girl's life was a pretty poor prospect in such a town. Most of the people were related and a lot of her friends had ended up marrying cousins. Ida-May's brother had laid her down in a pigpen, and knocked her up! That one occurrence had resulted in a little boy. The kid was really good looking, but at four years old he still couldn't talk and it was easy to see that there was something wrong with him.

At least Ida-May had claimed she only did it with her brother once, and that time because she was forced. Willa suspected that her brother didn't have to force her at all, because Ida had always been a wild thing with a fascination with anything sexual. The last anybody heard she was working in a whorehouse in Tuscon, and it was said her steady working routine was just barely enough to satisfy her.

Willa wanted more out of life, for she had devoured what few books she could find and had discovered that there was a whole other world out there. She yearned for a man in her life, but one that wasn't related or smell like pig manure. A man who's future ran farther that the off chance that he might run into a good patch of goldenseal. A man that could take her out of this poverty patch and show her the world.

When Otis passed through Willa knew that this was her chance, possibly the only chance she might get. Otis was good-looking but not really handsome. He had a small string of horses and was heading west. He had no clear plans after that, but he seemed to have a better prospect than any of the local boys. He was dashing to her young eyes, and by the time he left town she was riding with him.

He spoke vaguely of marriage and a spread out West. Willa could sense that it was all talk, but he did know a lot about horses and he might make out well trading them. She found him exciting and enjoyed their time together. This was her first taste of love. It would be the best she ever had.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:54 EST

He had traded a breed mare, his poorest one he bragged later, for a small wagon pulled by a brace of second rate mules. After living in the same room with the rest of the seven children in her family this seemed as luxurious as a resort hotel. Of course, that was what it was to her.

They traveled slowly through the foothills and on westward across the Mississippi River toward Oklahoma. Otis traded steadily as they traveled, even getting paid for stud service from his best stallion. The profits were carefully placed in his money belt, for he was not a man to burn money. When Willa saw this she was even more convince that she had made the right choice in a man.

Up on the edge of the Nations they got lucky and ran into a horse trading meet that lasted two days. Otis did well, trading off the mules for a couple of harness broke ponies and a hundred dollars besides. There were people around when he stashed the money in his belt, and Willa didn't like the looks of some, especially the man wearing parts of a Yankee uniform like many of the ex-soldiers did. Something about him did not run true. Willa didn't believe he had ever been a soldier. His bearing was not a military one. To her he looked more like one of the cutthroat carpetbaggers that had been the curse of the South since the end of the war. She didn't confide her fears with Otis for she was afraid that he might laugh at her.

She saw the fellow's sharp and greedy eyes watch her man's movements. She felt a pang, but figured with this big crowd (roughly twenty people) around they would not be in danger. Otis had more than enough to drink on this evening and she did not even care that they didn't observe their normal nightly routine. That phony Yankee had left her ill at ease. It was with relief that they rolled away from the trading area in the morning. Willa looked around, but the man that had frightened her had apparently long gone.

That afternoon they went into camp early by the bank of a beautiful little stream. Just before dark they bathed in the cool water of a deep pool. A small fire other side lit the scene slightly, and things were so peaceful that Willa only had a moment's inclination that something was wrong before the bullet crashed into Otis and came near to going right on through into her chest.

She instinctively knew that her best chance was to play dead. She was so afraid that she didn't even twitch when the man shot Otis again in the head; then took the whole money belt. As he started to leave she roused enough to take a peek at him. It was the man in the fake Yankee uniform.

Much later she would learn that his name was

George Nason.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:55 EST

George Nason and Elijah Heskins were riding side by side into Jess Clay's camp. It was a highly unlikely pair to be traveling together.

"I tell you Nason, it was a damn fool thing to do to wound that bear. There will be hell to pay, either to us or to someone else."

"What the hell do you care about anyone else? According to your old man you are a natural born killer, and here you are griping about me shooting a bear. He's probably gone off into the brush and died anyway."

"He's probably going to chew you up if he ever gets hold of you. I'll tell you one thing. I am a killer, but I don't wound anything if I can help it. I'll bet you'd gut shoot a man and leave him, too wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"You want to gut shoot me, right now?"

George Nason knew he wasn't any match for this man. "No, no, Elijah, let's not beef amongst ourselves. Why don't you go see if you can find your rifle and your saddle?"

Before Heskins could move Nason asked, "Do you think Clay will be showing up here in camp?"

"Yeah, of course he will. I made sure that he'll think his woman is riding the pony, and the trail sure looks like she came up here with one other man. He'll not only show up, he'll be raging when he does. You up to meeting him?"

"You bet I am. I'm no fast draw, and you know it, but I've killed a lot of men. He will die just as well as the others."

"You had better hope so, Nason. Okay, I'm going up to where I left my gear and see if he left my rifle stashed away. I saw him from a distance later, and he wasn't carrying it. That gun is my favorite, and I want it back. I'll be back as soon as I find it."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:55 EST

The trail was plain as day. That should have worried me, but I was too overcome with concerns about Anne to think of anything else. It was obvious that they were riding toward my camp. The rest of the crowd must have gone towards Brown's Hole. Of one thing I was certain; if they had harmed Anne, they would have to start a new cemetery.

A half a mile this side of camp the horses had shied. The smaller one had slewed around and backed up before moving on. Why on Earth would she do that' Off to the side about thirty feet was the answer. In fact, a couple of answers. What had startled them was a bear, a big one. I whistled when I looked closer at the track. This bear's front paw was tracking sideways! This was the very grizzly that Carter had asked me about. This thing was huge.

Unfortunately it was also bleeding. That pony must have backed up as its rider shot at this beast. Well, that let out Anne being the rider. She would have a lot more sense than to shoot at a creature this gigantic with her derringer. In the big mix-up of tracks they must have transferred mounts, with the pony coming this way to lead me into an ambush at my camp. Well, I was forewarned and at least I would not be riding in blindly.

That bear was going to be a problem. What kind of a damned fool would do such a thing" One face came to mind, that of a man in a striped suit. I was willing to bet he was the culprit. I doubted the animal would die from his wounds. He would be mean, though, mean enough to hunt down and kill any man he got wind of. After I got Anne back I should get a rifle and hunt that bear down before there was hell to pay. I had no doubt that my forty five could kill him, but circumstances would have to be just right. It made a lot more sense to get a rifle and take the worry out of it.

For now, I ground tied Big Horse and snuck up to my camp on foot. The pony was there, and it was no surprise to see George Nason trying to hide behind an inadequate clump of brush as he waited for me to show up. I looked in all the dark corners of the camp but could find no trace of the other horse and rider. I walked up the other side of the stream and found the other tracks heading up to the high meadow. Could that mean the other was the rifleman that rode away bareback" He could be up there looking for his saddle and his Springfield.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:56 EST

For now I eased up more or less in the front of Nason. It is easier to see from the sides of the eyes than in front when the light gets dim. I counted on this as I stalked up to about twenty yards.

"Waiting for me, Nason?"

"What the...Yeah, I've been waiting for you, Clay." He didn't try to lie his way out of it, I'll give him that. "What did you do with Anne Doveling, Nason?"

"I didn't do anything to her. Those bys up at Brown's Hole, though; it's hard telling what they're up to."

"Draw, you scum."

"No, and you can't make me. I am not a gunfighter."

"It's the code of the West, isn't it' That's what makes it easy for guys like me. You fellows all have to play by your rules and that is why you end up losers. I love it."

"You're going to lose tonight, Nason." It wasn't just talk. I saw an enormous shadow creeping up in back of him. If he was any kind of a woodsman, he would have heard it over the gurgling of the water on the rocks, but he wasn't. Now I just had to keep him talking a little while longer.

"What made you think that I had anything worth stealing" This is just a little claim that might get worked out at any time. Why bother?"

"I'll tell you why," said Nason bitterly. "Guys like you work hard and luck seems to follow you. Maybe that's because of your sacred code of the West. Well that's okay, because I am always right there to take your winnings away. You work hard, but you're a loser. You're a...What was that?"

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:57 EST

Too late, Nason heard the bear, and by the time he had turned half way around he had seen his finish. From thirty feet the grizzly made his rush, and the flat of his right paw hit Nason on the side of his neck and send him rolling. From where I stood It sounded like the bone had snapped. The bruin then went straight in the direction of the pony. I must have shifted posture, for when the bear was abreast of me, he did a double-take like he had just found fresh meat.

There was no margin for error. I carefully but quickly aimed my forty five midway back on his temple and squeezed off a shot. The 255 grain slug made a visible hole in his head. He was immobile for a split second, and I used that time to drive another shot to the same spot. I saw the hole slightly enlarge, and the grizzly dropped to the ground. He never even made another twitch.

There was still one man unaccounted for, and I wanted to overtake him before he could go to Brown's Hole and warn them that I was still alive and coming for my woman. Inspiration hit me when I looked back at Nason. There was no blood on him, just a badly tilted neck, so I stripped off the suit and donned it myself. It wasn't a great fit, but at least I could button the pants. If this disguise had worked so well for him, what might it do for me"

I crossed the stream and climbed up to the meadow. I remembered that I had left the extra gear behind a trio of rocks. When I saw the bareback rider he was close to them but hadn't found the cache yet. Using boulders for cover, I got fairly close to him before he turned and said, "Is that you, George" I heard shots."

"Yeah," I answered. "It's me, Georgie. Happy to see me?"

In a flash he had whipped a bulldog 44 from his hip pocket and was shooting at me. I sidestepped, not getting hit except for a graze on the arm. Then I drew and was shooting, too fast, for he had caught me off guard with his speed. The first thing I knew I was snapping the hammer on empty cartridges, and so was my opponent. In my haste I had not reloaded after shooting the bear, so I had only three shots left when I started this match. His bulldog was a five shooter in which the firing pin actually sat on a primer if loaded all the way. Therefore it was only loaded with four rounds.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:57 EST

"Hold it!" I snapped. "I'm warning you, I have another gun and you'll never get another shot off. Drop the iron."

"Yeah, sure" he sneered, all the while trying to use the bulldog's awkward extractor so that he could load up again. As I watched he slipped the extractor back to its resting place and reached into his pocket for more shells.

"That's enough! I'll shoot if you load that thing."

Well, he had received fair warning. When he had stuffed his little gun and started swinging it up into line I whipped the 38 Lightning from the small of my back with my left hand and shot him through the lung. A dazed look came over his eyes, but he was still trying so I shot him again. Still he refused to drop! So I let drive with the last three shots, hitting him twice more in the chest and once right between the eyes. At that he slumped to the ground, finally dead.

I sat down on a rock for a much needed rest and to reload both revolvers. Before I left I cut off the bear's scalp for John Carter. Heck, I could afford to buy my land, but I wanted him to know that his son's death had been avenged.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:58 EST

When Willa stepped out of the door bent on vengeance she left her charge without so much as a backward look. Her prisoner, Anne Doveling, took this opportunity to start working on an escape. Why these people had abducted her she wasn't really sure. She could only speculate. Of all the adventures that had befallen her along her way west this was by far the oddest.

She had been looking at the children's written reports, for she had paid for a ream of paper out of her own pocket in the belief that the kids would take more pride in their work if working on individual papers rather than the broken slates that resided in the school. The actual results were hard to see, but Anne was an optimist and decided the experiment had succeeded. She had been ill at ease that evening but could not really explain why. Perhaps she was getting to need Jessie so much that she hated to be alone.

She knew her feeling had something to do with the stranger she had seen hanging around today. Normally the sight of a strange face would not send her into a panic but there was something wrong with this one. She could sense that something was not quite right with this man. You could nearly see an ulterior motive written on his face. She thought she was being foolish but she went to her dresser and retrieved the 41 caliber derringer that her mother had given her when she came west. The very weight of the weapon and the size of the hole in the bore gave her security.

She was not sure why, but she had sat back down at her desk and started to jot down a note to Jess even though she knew she would see him before any mail could possibly reach him. When the knock came at the door she had hoped it was Jess and she whisked the note off the back of the desk to be recovered later. So excited was she about her man's return that she had the door opened before she realized she was making a mistake.

The stranger and another man had quickly barged in and grabbed her, holding her mouth closed so that she couldn't scream. The one called Nason simply said, "Don't scream and don't make a fuss. You are going with us and if we have to tie you up we will. Understand?"

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:59 EST

She had nodded her agreement. She thought of the derringer strapped to her leg but decided to wait before producing it. What would she do if they tried to take advantage of her later" She would haul it out then, that was for sure. She had heard of women taking their own lives in such situations but the idea was not appealing. She did not share the disdain of being damaged goods that the more Victorian women did. Perhaps it was the very West that made her this way, for realism was part of everyday life here. Back East women might sit around parlors and talk of idealism but out here black and white lost their distinction and became shades of gray.

Anne decided that she would shoot if it came to it, but it would be one of them that got it, not her. Deep down inside she knew, or hoped she knew, that Jess would understand and continue to love her. If she could forgive him anything, the reverse must be true. It had to be.

When she remained calm the men stopped treating her roughly and let her get her coat and bag. She knocked over the knick-knack in the hopes that Jessie would recognize her message. She apologized for her clumsy behavior to the men and they let it go. Outside they walked her to a pony and helped her mount, but the quiet one held the halter rope in his hand. He was taking no chances of her escape.

After what seemed like a long time they had met a larger group of riders and she was bodily lifted off from the pony and placed on a larger horse. This she could not fathom. Why would they switch her without letting her feet touch the ground" The answer was obvious They did not want tracks to be seen when Jess came looking for her. Somehow she knew it would be him. She wanted to find a way to warn him but no opportunity came to light. Then she had been taken to this shack, prisoner of the hard faced woman with the shotgun.

When Anne had seen the woman start and look up the hill she had begun to slowly shift her position so as to look out the window. When she finally got into position to see the man in the striped suit she instantly knew it was Jess. Just the manner of the way he held his head, the very sureness of his body, told her this.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-15 17:59 EST

Shortly after this the woman named Willa slipped out the door with her shotgun with nary a backward glance. Maybe Anne could make use of this chance. There was a tin stove, unused at this time of year, about five feet from her. She started to inch in that direction. Progress was maddeningly slow. Past the stove were pieces of broken lampshade left over from some long ago fight. Anne knew she would be lucky to reach the stove, let alone the glass.

She could hear loud voices from the cabin next door. Evidently they were arguing about what it meant to have Nason above them, in effect pinning them down. Anne was tired and nervous and she almost laughed at this discussion. That was Jess Clay up there, and they would soon know what that meant!

There! She had reached the stove leg. Now, if she could get turned around so as to chafe away the cord that bound her hands behind her....The door was thrown open with a crash. "I should have know you'd be up to no good," hissed Willa as she returned to the cabin. "You little witch; I ought to..."

With that thought unfinished she gave Anne a backhander with all her strength. It drove the girl rolling past the stove and onto the broken glass. At first Anne was worried about being cut but then realized her escape plan had just been handed to her.

As Willa left for the second time she hissed, "You stay right where you are or I'll use this shotgun on you. I mean it. I will." Then she slipped out again and Anne saw the woman's shadow drift past the window.

"No time like the present," thought Anne, and she vigorously began to saw through the cord. She felt a couple of cuts open up on the side of her arm but these slowed her not one whit. Time was too precious for any other concern except freedom.

Within five minutes she had her arms free and began to work on the rope around her ankles. This was slower going, for the rope was heavier and her hands were still numb from being tied for so long. At long last she broke free and tried to stand. She sat back down with a grimace for her legs were asleep and she had to rub them vigorously before she regained the use of them. As she stood up she retrieved the 41 from her stocking, for confrontation could not be far away. Slowly she slipped out the door.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 11:54 EST

Herb Crumb was perplexed. That Nason fellow sitting on top of the bluff was supposed to be an ally, and yet everybody was acting half afraid of him. Why this should be Crumb had no idea. But if Nason needed to be taken out, then he guessed he was the man for the job.

Herb Crumb was a want-to-be gunfighter. He was convinced that a tougher and faster man than himself did not exist. In truth he was just a mixed up kid of 17, one with no guidance in growing up. All kids dream of being gunfighters, but most realize that there are more important goals to shoot for. Young Herb did not. His daydreams were all of standing in the street and being renowned for the speed of his draw. He had no way of knowing that the respect he imagined receiving did not come with the job. Any young man heading down his path would be lucky to make the age of 21.

Maybe this was his chance. He had visions of victoriously standing at the head of the makeshift town while the people congratulated him in awe. Herb had never even seen a gunfight. Perhaps if he had his enthusiasm would not have been so bright.

Crumb had been lucky in the matter of armament. He had been riding two summers ago towards Montana, for he had heard there were more gold fields there just waiting to be found. By the time he had left the Utah Territory he was growing tired of the whole idea. This was especially true when a large grizzly bear reared up fifty yards from the trail. He was armed only with an old Dance revolver that had its roots in the losing side of the Civil War.

He had earned the sidearm by taking care of the horses of two men who had stopped by the Hole for two days while they rested up before riding on to Robber's Roost. He never caught their names, and nobody in camp bothered to inquire, but the meanest looking of the two gave him the gun in exchange for his help. The man said he had taken it off the body of a man he had killed down in the Nations. Young Herb had no trouble believing this when he looked at the man's wild eyes and gunfighter mustache. Yet instead of being afraid, the boy was fascinated. The things the man must have seen! The courage he had shown when stepping out into a street where another armed man was waiting to attempt to kill him. Where else was there excitement such as this?

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 11:55 EST

The boy had practiced with that Dance, practiced hard. What little money he could come by he spent on caps, powder, and lead, for he cast the balls himself just like everybody else did. Only in the largest of cities could you find pre-cast balls (bullets) for sale. He had become fairly quick on the draw and quite accurate. It was his only gun, and with it he shot cottontail rabbits, the larger jack rabbits, gray squirrels and blue and ruffed grouse. These birds were possible to take because in the wilder areas they sit so long on the ground before flying that they are called fool hens. Still, the head of even a sitting bird is not an easy target.

Keeping the pistol in operation was the hard part, for cap and ball revolvers are notorious for failing to fire at crucial moments due to moisture in the cap or powder or a piece of dirt in the nipple. If the balls didn't fit good and tight these guns were subject to setting off more than one charge at once. This was usually more hazardous to bystanders than to the shooter. If he was using two hands to shoot he might get shot through the off hand. The ball should have a ring of lead shaved off its side as it is levered into the cylinder. This makes for a pretty good seal. Herb's outfit didn't leave much lead, so he went the extra distance and smeared the end of the cylinder with tallow. He had tried bacon fat but had switched because of the annoying smell and the fact that bacon grease melted off too easily. It was not that Crumb was all that safety conscious, just that powder and lead were quite dear to a boy as poor as he was.

The boy liked the Dance and was glad to have it, but he yearned for the day when he could afford a Colt Single Action Army, the old peacemaker that was the right arm of the West. Sure there were other brands like the Smith and Wesson American and Russian models, as well as Merwin and Herbert, Remington, and many imports from Belgium. The old Colt Model 1873 was the favorite hands down. For a working cowboy a heavy pistol made a lot more sense than a rifle, for if his foot got caught in a stirrup or a roped beef critter got him pinned down then he needed a gun on his person, not in a scabbard on his horse. That's why a lot cowboys didn't own any gun except their Peacemaker.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 11:56 EST

The gunfighter favored this model as a rule. Sure, there were exceptions. Billy the Kid had a Lightning and Pat Garrett used a Thunderer, both of which were the new fangled double actions. Hickcock carried a pair of cap and ball Navy Colts long after most others were at least using old models bored through for centerfire cartridges. Some men known as gunfighters were actually hired killers, and this type often favored rifles and shotguns.

Crumb had kept his horse at a canter for two miles after he saw that grizzly. When he figured he was in the clear he ambled off to the more open land to the east. Still unnerved by his sighting of the bear, he looked for an open rise on which to make camp. The very place he had in mind came into view and nearing it he spotted the white shine of old bones in the rocks. Herb was pretty good at reading sign considering his age, and what he found was the story of one man's last stand.

The skeletons of three ponies littered the landscape in front. That meant three Indians must have been shot by their cornered foe. Maybe more, for Indians took their dead away for burial. On top of the knoll Herb found the bones of one lone rifleman. This skeleton showed no signs of mutilation, which meant the man had put up a good fight and earned the Indians' respect. If he had not he would have been scalped and possibly dismembered. If Indians took a live prisoner they were apt to torture him just to see what he would do. If he took it stoically and didn't scream and beg they knew he was a brave man and they could count more coup. Similarly, it he put up a good fight like this one his body was left undisturbed.

Crumb could find no sign of a handgun, but laying at the unknown fighter's side was a Winchester 1873 rifle. This showed a little surface rust that cleaned right off. A good oiling was all that was needed to make the rifle function as new. In a town called Blue Rock in Montana he found a gunsmith that was willing to trade the Winchester for a Colt Peacemaker even up. Herb couldn't believe his good luck, especially when the smith threw in one hundred rounds of ammo and a set of tong tools for reloading. The boy could hardly read, which is why he didn't understand the gunsmith's haste to clinch the deal. Marked on the top of the barrel were the magic words, "One of One Thousand."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 11:57 EST

Young Crumb came close to strutting when he walked down the street towards the bar with his new single action strapped on his side. Talk from a group of townsman stopped him in his tracks.

"Yeah, the Vigillantes are at it again. They hung three gold thieves at Benscross last week."

"Yeah, and one might have been guilty," said another. "The trouble with lynching parties is that they take everybody that gets in the way. Lord knows how many innocent people have been hung."

"Well, I'll bet they deserved it," replied the first man. "Anybody that hangs around with thieves should hang with thieves."

"Roy, how would you like to traveling with some strangers and then all of a sudden find yourself on the end of a rope? I don't think so. It ain't right for people to set themselves up as judge and jury."

That was enough for Herb Crumb. Wyoming had not been a friendly place to him so far, and he decided not to press his luck. He returned to Utah a bit more cautious young man, at least for a while. Back in Brown's Hole, though, he was soon strutting around the camp with his new big iron predominately displayed on his hip. A chance to put the gun into action had not presented itself, until today. He would go see old man Heskins. Maybe he would pay him to shoot Nason.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 11:57 EST

At first Amos Heskins thought George Nason was watching the Hole because Jess Clay had somehow escaped the trap and was inside the camp. Based on this he took a careful sneak around the back sides of the cabins. He saw nothing of interest and returned to his shack.

The more Heskins looked the more convinced he became that Nason was not the man sitting on that rock. George Nason was patient, but not that patient. His patience was more with legal papers that exposing himself on an open hillside. He was a man who operated from the background instead of on an open hillside.

Who else, then" The slender body could belong to Elijah or that thorn in the side Jess Clay. If something had happed to Elijah then it must be that miserable Clay. He picked up a Model 73 Winchester from the corner. A half a dozen times he sighted in at the man on the hill, then lowered the rifle. He was not a man quick on the shoot when he wasn't sure of his target. He hadn't lived this long without a large dose of patience. He would wait a while longer.

He saw Herb Crumb coming before he heard the rap on the door. This kid was just trouble looking for a place to happen. Heskins figured the world would be a better place if Crumb would just up and shoot himself. It would save someone else the trouble. Aloud he said, "What's up, Herbie" You look like a one man gunfight."

"There's another fighter up on top of that hill. I aim to have at him."

"George Nason' The man who works with us" Why do you want to shoot him?"

"Why, why, he's acting crazy. Must be something wrong with him>"

"Maybe he's got a toothache, Herbie. Do you think you should shoot him because he has a toothache?"

"Why, no, I just thought he was acting kind of funny, is all."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 11:58 EST

"So naturally you want to shoot him. Now let me tell you something, Crumb. Until you hear differently George Nason is our friend and ally. If I hear of you starting any gunplay with him I'll take it as a personal insult and I'll come gunning for you. For your information I'm faster from the draw that you will ever be and I could pin you to the wall before you knew what hit you. Now I want you to go back to your den and stay there until somebody else stirs up some trouble. Only then can you join it. And try not to shoot anybody that is on our side. Do you savvy?"

"I just..."

"BEAT IT."

Heskins was glad when the kid left. He doubted the boy knew enough to come in out of the rain. Or to run out of a fire. That was a more apt description, for when he finally found his gunfight he was likely to find himself neck deep in it. He would be halfway to perdition before he knew it.

The boy was probably right"it was unlikely if that was Nason on that hill. One thing was for sure?time would tell the story. He himself was ready for anything. If it came to it he was better primed for a fight that any other two men in the Hole. If things went the other way he had no qualms about leaving on the hidden trail running straight from the back of his cabin to the boulder strewn hillside

to the north. Trail wasn't exactly the right word. He had painstakingly fitted a three foot section of wall so that it was jammed in the building in back of the stove. From there trees and brush had been trimmed, rocks rolled and branches tied off until he had a good running start in case of unmanageable trouble. He had never used it and doubted he ever would. It was just a fancy he had picked up from the eastern groundhogs back in the hills.

He wished he knew what had become of Elijah. The lad was deadly and only a real died in the wool gunman could take him down. Was Clay such a man' Heskins had often sworn lately that he would kill Clay. If the man had killed Clay then Heskins knew he would make good on that threat. He would hunt Jess Clay until his hide was drying in the sun. He was doing no good here. He left the shack and started around the back line of the cabins to see if he could gain any insight.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 11:59 EST

I didn't really have anything concrete in mind when I took my stand overlooking Brown's Hole. I just thought my presence should make them nervous, and nervous people make mistakes.

I made myself comfortable and in the warm sun I was soon starting to nod off. After fighting it for a while I decided that I really could use some sleep, so I made sure I was propped up well enough to stay put. My hat was down over my forehead anyway and all I had to do was close my eyes and off I drifted.

It may seem strange that I was able to sleep with Anne in my enemies' hands, but I could do her no good if I was too tired to move. I knew also that as long as they were confused about my presence up here they would make no move to harm her. It was doubtful she would be harmed anyway, for women in the West were treated as precious and rare. When men were streaming west in search of ores and cattle ranches women were very scarce. At dances many of the men had to be heifer branded to dance the part of the ladies. I had heard of cowboys riding fifty miles just to see a lady. The wave of dirt farmers that were beginning to wrestle out a place for themselves brought their women with them, but this did the average cowboy no good. It would not be until their daughters and their daughters in turn grew up that the shortage would begin to be alleviated.

A lot of men sent for mail order brides, but the idea never set well with me. I would hate to have to take up with a stranger that I might or might not like just because I happened to have the money for a train ticket. It was a moot point anyway, for deep inside I knew that Anne was the love of my life.

At any rate, I slept, and as the shadows shifted and still I didn't move more and more residents below came out into the street to gaze in my direction. I didn't stir upon waking, just looked down and analyzed on the situation.

It was obvious the people didn't know who I was. It would seem unlikely for Nason to be here, but who else would be wearing his suit' The shadows on the far side gave me the start of an idea. Come nightfall I would go down amongst them. I would show them what trouble was all about.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:00 EST

I eased my way around a boulder and looked back. I had shucked out of that stupid salesman's suit and stuffed it with some brush. Now in the rising moonlight it still looked like a man still sitting on the rock watching the Hole.

I figured that they must have Anne sequestered in one of a line of cabins along about the middle of the street. To the west was one larger house where I had seen a big man come out on the porch and look around. That must have been the old man Heskins, head honcho of this sorry corner of humanity.

On the other end of the little town were the corrals and pole barns that announced a small stable. My direction of travel would lead me past this stable. I was hoping nobody would be around so that I could pick out a couple of mounts for a quick escape.

Movement on the hillside below me drew my attention. Like a deflating balloon I quickly drew back and down into the shadows. None too soon either, for a woman clutching a shotgun and muttering to herself was heading up towards the point! I stayed dead still until she was out of sight.

Before I had traveled another fifty feet I heard a shotgun blast. It was closely followed by another. Then a caterwauling the likes of which you never heard came echoing down the Hole. I didn't have the foggiest idea what this was about so I didn't even speculate. I just kept venturing toward the pole barns. Rounding a point of rock I was greeted by the muzzle blast of a pistol! Partially blinded by the flash I drew my 45 and thumbed two shots back in answer. One must have connected for the next shot came up from the ground, so close I felt the wind of it on my cheek. I could see the dark form now, raising his arm for another shot. Quickly I drove a big slug into that prone torso and heard his boot toe tap on the ground as his life left him.

I scurried a hundred yards into the thick growth toward the mouth of the Hole, for with the gunfire the whole place would know the game had opened. In a short time that caterwauling came back down the hillside. There was a definite sound of insanity in that voice.

"I killed him. I killed him but he wasn't real. George Nason is dead, DEAD, DEAD, he's dead but he is not real. I killed him I tell you I killed him..." On and on she babbled, screaming about waiting for Nason for all these years and now that she had found him he wasn't real.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:01 EST

Was this reality or was I dreaming I was in a story by Edgar Allan Poe" People blasting at me from out of the night; screaming women with incomprehensible messages - these things were not what I expected when I set out to rescue Anne.

I was near the stable now, and I heard the hysterical woman try to tell someone her crazy story. This was followed by a loud slap and the screaming tapered off. Apparently somebody had grown tired of her story rather quickly.

I was worried about the horses in the corrals. Were they used to the comings and goings of people or were they half wild stallions that thought they were watchdogs" When I got to the rails I relaxed, for what I saw wasn't too impressive. There were a few good mounts, but most of them were in the old nag category. A moment's reflection told me why this should be so. The bunch that lived here was more or less just a bunch of no account horse thieves that took what they could get. They didn't have the money to buy good stock, so probably half of this bunch was stolen. Only the really good mounts are guarded well.

I picked a pair of roans and put them in a chute. If Anne and I left in a hurry I wanted to know where our transportation was.

There were a lot of people moving about now, looking for the reason for the shooting and the screams. A small mob was coming closer to me and I ducked into a cabin to let them pass by. I was alert lest I walk into the muzzle of a gun but the shack was deserted.

There were signs that said it had been occupied until recently. A tipped over chair drew my attention and when I looked further I was startled to see cut rope on the floor.

This must have been where Anne had been kept! I found the broken glass and the story was easy to read. She had escaped and somewhere she was out there on her own.

For a second panic ran through my veins. Every person in Brown's Hole was an enemy and here she was trying to get free. Or was she" Could she instead be trying to find me in this dump" Had she known who I was when I sat watching the camp? I decided that she probably had. That meant she would wait until finding me before she tried to leave the Hole. For the first time I wished I did have a posse of men with me for I felt very much alone.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:01 EST

The door swung open at my back and I spun quickly with leveled pistol. I found myself staring into the vacant eyes of a woman gone totally mad. This must be the one I had heard screaming on the hillside. She didn't even seem to know I was there. She just mumbled in a dull monotone as she crossed the room and threw herself down on her bed.

"I finally killed him," she droned, "Killed him right off my back, but he's a ghost. I finally killed him..."

She was no threat to anybody as of now. I withdrew and left her to her rantings. Outside, I tried to understand where Anne might have gone, but there was no sign to read. She must still be in the Hole. Of this much I was quite certain. I glanced up and the moonlight made it look like a man still filled out that suit up on the bluff. I headed in that direction to see if I could find a trace of her.

Gunfire erupted on my right and was quickly answered by shots from the left. I dropped to the ground and smiled wryly. It looked like these fools were going to have a shoot out amongst themselves.

Sure enough, another withering blast of gunshots whistled over my head and an angry yowl came from both sides. A man howled, "I'll get you for that, Clay. You just shot Jamie."

I wasn't about to respond. A man from the other side yelled, "This isn't Clay, this is Arnie," but his proclamation was met by another three shots. Another withering blast started up, and while the moron army got in its licks I crawled away from the melee to further my search.

Finally one cooler head piped up in a loud bellow, "Will you guys stop shooting" We're shooting at each other, you idiots." After that the street was quiet and a count was made.

"We've got three dead. How about you guys?"

"We've got two over here."

"You idiots, we are supposed to be together in this. There is no you and we. Now lets get patched up and see if Clay really is in the Hole."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:02 EST

Apparently they didn't dare to split up again so they traveled down the street in one large group. I seemed to be alone. Anne and I had sometimes sang on our evening walks, and one of her favorites was "Buffalo Girls." Now I whistled the tune softly in case she was in earshot. It is amazing how difficult it is to whistle when your mouth is dry from danger.

The crowd had gone up the street, so I worked my way back down the other side toward the livery, hoping that Anne could be found in that area. As I approached a pole barn I heard the answering notes to my tune! I had found her! I rushed headlong to the door in my haste to see her and was greeted by a crash that made bright flashing light fill my eyes, accompanied by deep searing pain that instantly took away my consciousness.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:03 EST

Amos Heskins was fed up. Ever since this Jess Clay fellow had shown up there had been trouble. The man had been one step ahead at every turn and had been quickly diminishing the size of his clan. Not that most of these morons were any great loss. But in the matter of saving face Heskins was not doing well.

It was time to be done with Clay before the control of Brown's Hole became shaky. It didn't matter if Heskins had no hand in the matter - if people thought his strength was weakening then there would an effort to replace the current leader. Therefore Amos had better do something right now before such a move could get started.

Few of the fellows that followed him knew much about his past. If they had they would have stepped much wider from him, for he was by far the most dangerous man in the camp. Not only with all manner of weapons but in the matter of guts. Back in the hills they used to say that he didn't know the meaning of the word fear. In truth they were not far wrong. Amos would not have been able to give an accurate definition to the word. He just knew how sniveling cowards acted and used it to his advantage when possible.

It was his skill as a gunfighter that would have been the biggest surprise to most of these people. Older than any of the others, twice as old as some, he was faster than any of the lot. Faster and more accurate. Years back when he dallied in Kansas he was known to be a man to leave alone. Even Hickcock had taken his measure and let a trifling breach of the law pass rather than enter into a gunfight with Heskins that would leave the both of them dead.

It was a rare thing for two really talented gunmen to have a gunfight for the simple reason both were apt to come out losers. Especially when they were tough men that would keep fighting until their dying breath. Men like that didn't die without taking somebody with them.

He never practiced where anyone could see him, and mostly nowadays he drew and dry fired for the sake of his anonymity. While the uninitiated might not see the good in this, the best shooters can keep their skills honed to perfection just by dry firing.

Now he was through directing the efforts to take Clay. It had been Nason's idea to kidnap Clay's girl. It was okay with Heskins for he suffered no moral qualms about such crimes. Results were his only concern. That Clay was coming to rescue his girl Amos had no doubt.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:03 EST

Nason must be dead. Elijah too. His son had always been an odd duck. The boy had spent most of his time alone with his dark and gloomy thoughts, and Amos had to admit he hadn't known the lad at all. Or even liked him much. Still, he had been his son and he must be avenged.

Heskins went down to the cabin where Anne was kept only to find that crazy Willa moaning some unintelligible message. "She's really gone this time," he said to himself.

It was easy to see how the girl must have rolled over and cut her bounds on the broken glass. The question was - where was she now? Well, she wanted to leave, so the obvious answer was the stable. You couldn't travel far in this vast area without a horse.

Heskins eased up to the side door of the livery and slipped inside. He stood absolutely still even after his eyes had adjusted to the dim light. Sure enough, after a couple of minutes he saw the girl just inside a stall, waiting for what might happen. He didn't believe she had seen him, so he stood rock still and waited. Gunfire sounded out on the street but still he waited. If he had figured out where the girl was he knew that Clay would as well.

In another half an hour his patience was rewarded, for the door quietly opened and Clay stepped inside. He only had time to whisper an excited "Anne" before Heskins nailed him on the back of the head with the butt of his pistol. Clay went out like a light and Heskins hurriedly grabbed Anne and pulled her out the door, telling her that she would get the same as her boyfriend if she raised a fuss.

The street was now swarming with people so Heskins dragged his hostage along the back of the cabins to his own place. There he put together a stampeding pack and led Anne up the hidden trail in the back of his cabin to where he had horses waiting. It had been a long time since he had needed them, but old habits die hard and he always had a horse waiting for a fast get-a-way.

Heskins shied away from the old Outlaw Trail that ran north to Rustler's Roost because that would be the obvious route of travel. Instead he struck for a route less path into Wyoming. Perhaps if he traveled east he would throw his pursuer off the trail.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:07 EST

At first he had Anne's hands tied to the saddle horn, but this country was so rough that he knew she needed more freedom of movement. "If I untie your hands will you give me your word you won't try to run away?" Amos was a good judge of character in animals and in women and he knew if she gave her word she would not break it.

"I'll stay with you. Where would I go in this wilderness?" She was honest in that response. Where could she go' She had learned a lot of facts about the countryside on her walks with Jess, but nowhere near enough to survive and find her way to civilization. No, she would stay with Heskins. For the time being anyway.

For the rest of that night and all the next day they traveled. It was rough country and Anne was not sure that Heskins always knew where he was going. How could anybody remember all the trails that ran through western Wyoming" He never seemed to get caught in a cull-de-sac though, so maybe he did know. She didn't realize that an outdoorsman often recognizes similar land formations and travels accordingly. A ridge that looks like one seen two hundred miles ago is apt to have a game trail in roughly the same location.

When Heskins finally stopped for camp Anne nearly dropped from the saddle. She was exhausted but didn't want to give her abductor to see it. Amos saw her stumble as he watched from the corner of his eye, though, and this helped him make up his mind.

"You gave me your word when we started riding and you held to it. Now, by rights I should at least tie you to a tree while I get some sleep. But I'll take a chance. If you swear you'll be here when morning comes I'll leave you free to move around a little. I say a little 'cause I'm a light sleeper and I wake up shooting when I hear a strange noise. Now, what about it' You going to give me your word on it?"

Anne looked him in the eye and nodded her assent. "I'll be here in the morning. I won't try to escape. After that I make no guarantees."

"Fair enough, I believe you. Now you'll bed down here, and there is a clump of brush over there for privacy. Just don't forget it is bare hillside above that brush."

"I won't," she said, and made ready for sleep. She was surprised when it did not come right off, for she was as tired as she had ever been in her life. There was too much uncertainty about Jess and the reasons for her abduction.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:08 EST

"I don't even know your name," she said to Amos Heskins.

The man started. Evidently he had already started to nod off. Men who had lived in the outdoors for years knew that you must sleep when the chance presents itself. That meant falling asleep as soon as possible. Heskins was a past master.

"Oh, it's Amos Heskins. Why?"

"Well, here I am riding across the country with you and I don't even know you. Or why we're out here, for that matter. What do you want with me" Am I the bait to bring in Jess?"

`He looked at her for what seemed like a long time. For the first time that he could remember a twinge of conscience was bothering him. He quickly squelched it before it could grow into something contrary to his nature.

"That's right. You're the bait. It can't be helped. Clay has become a thorn in my side and he has got to be taken out. It's gone on for too long"

"You mean to kill him, don't you? Why' What has he ever done to you?"

"He's killed off half my family is what he's done. He' just one man but he fights like an army. It will end up being either him or me in control of northeast Utah, so I'm going to get rid of him."

"Why should that be? I'm sure Jess could care less about being in control of anything."

"Maybe so, but that's how it would be. It's like back in the Comstock days when Virginia City always had a chief. A lot of men died trying to be chief. Might not make a lot of sense, but there it is. It's still the same way today."

"Mr. Heskins, I just can't believe that you are so bloodthirsty. You are a perfect gentleman to me and yet you say you want to kill the man I love. It just does not make sense."

"Let me tell you how I am, lady. I'm polite to you because it's less trouble that way. But if you try to run away I'll put a bullet in your back and never think twice about it. Now get some sleep."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:08 EST

Amos was soon to follow his own advice, but Anne lay for a long time in her blanket with a cold chill running through her. What manner of man had she fallen in with, anyway"

She awoke in the early morning to Heskins' whispered, "Hsst. Wake up. Don't jump up, just crawl to the shadow of that rock."

Anne's heart leaped at the information. She didn't jump up, but she did ask, "Who's out there?"

"It's not Clay, if that's what you think. It's Indians. There hasn't been any trouble for a while, but you never know with an Indian. Especially if he finds a white man out alone. There are at least two of them, and that probably means there are a lot more that I didn't see. Now move over there and keep quiet."

Heskins was obviously dead serious and she obeyed his order promptly. She eyed the landscape inch by inch but as yet she hadn't seen anything. Wait! There, in those rocks, was movement!

Apparently Heskins saw it too, for his gun was leveled as he waited events. A lot of men would have shot at that movement, but Amos did not waste ammunition. He might need it later.

An arrow plowed into the sand in front of them but Heskins did not move. "They're trying to get us to react. If we stay quiet our chances are better for getting out of here."

Shortly thereafter a burst of Indian language broke the silence. At Anne's inquiring look Amos shrugged his shoulders. He had never learned the tongue; in fact he was not too secure with English. Heskins grimly loaded the sixth chamber of his revolver. Seeing this, Anne pulled out her 41 derringer and held it ready.

Heskins did a double take on seeing the girl's pistol. To think she had rode behind him with her hands untied! It was a wonder he wasn't pushing up the daisies now instead of preparing for an Indian attack. There was obviously a lot to this girl. It was too bad he was going to kill her boy friend and maybe her also. Oh well, some things can't be helped.

For the first time he thought that maybe they wouldn't get out of this after all. He would take a couple of them with him, that was for sure.

The tops of feathers showed, first on the left, then the right and finally directly in front of their position. Amos Heskins braced themselves for the oncoming onslaught.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:10 EST

I woke up with a hang-over that was out of this world. Since I don't drink this came as quite a surprise. It took a minute to remember what happened. I had been clobbered but good. I promised my self that whoever did this would pay with interest. Darn! I had a knot on my head that felt like an embedded rock. Lucky thing I had my hat on or I might never have woken up.

A glance outside showed it was just breaking day. Wow, I must have been out cold. I staggered out the door and was stopped by a familiar snort. Big Horse was never one to whinny, but he had a peculiar snort that was his alone. In sounded like a cross between a moose and a deer. There was no mistaking it.

Sure enough, up came Big Horse to nuzzle me. How had he found me here" They say instinct runs big in dogs, and in my mind it runs deep in horses too. My guns hadn't been touched, and with my friend under me I set out to find what had become of Anne.

The old, rough looking hostler was just emerging from the shack that he must call home. If there was anybody in town that knew what was going on it would be him. I was in the open, so I just stood my ground. No sense in scaring him off.

He approached and grunted his good morning. "Did you see a pretty girl leaving here last night, a couple of hours after dark?" I queried.

"Uh, uh," was the laconic reply.

"She was probably with someone else. She was taken against her will." If this bothered him he sure as heck didn't show it. "Surely you must have seen something."

"Nope. I went to bed at dark and just got up. Heard some shooting a couple of times but didn't get up to check on it. None of my business."

"Have you seen her around here in the past couple of days?"

"Uh,uh."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:11 EST

You're about as helpful as talking to a tree. What's your name, anyway?"

"Folks call me Gabby." That figured.

I gave up trying to interview people, for this was an enemy camp and I wouldn't learn anything here. I circled around the hills surrounding the Hole and in back of Heskins' cabin I got lucky. Two horses, and if I wasn't mistaken one was carrying light. They were heading toward wilderness which would make my tracking job a might faster. I wouldn't have to stop and sort out tracks the way I would on a trail.

I stopped to slosh water on my head whenever I got the chance. It might not have done any good, but it felt like it did and that was all that mattered for now. I was tired as I had ever been but I didn't dare to stop and sleep. Not until I had my Anne safely back in my arms once again.

As darkness loomed I knew I couldn't be too far behind, and I lined up a formation of rocks in what seemed to be their direction of travel. I would go on as long as I could. In the morning I should be very near. Tomorrow would be a big day - of that I was sure.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:11 EST

Amos Heskins sat dead still, watching the rocks that protected the Indians. He had the patience of a cat at a rat hole, and he put that asset to good use now. Only his eyes moved as he looked for the heads that were under those feathers.

Nothing moved, nothing at all. It was too still, and after a while Heskins began to realize that he had been duped. He cautiously put his hat on the end of his gun barrel and extended it out. Nothing happened. He stuck out his leg. Still no response. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," he said, and he stood up. The landscape remained as quiet as a morgue. So, there was some other reason for this feather ploy.

The horses! Of course. While the Indians had them pinned down with a bunch of feathers they were stealing their horses. Sure enough, when he and Anne walked back to where they had picketed their mounts they found nothing but cold droppings. The horses must have been gone for over an hour.

There was nothing to do but go after them. It seems foolish to be trailing up a band of Indians but in this country it was a better idea than trying to walk out. For one thing Heskins did not want to meet Clay out here in the wilds. Not yet. He wanted their show down to come when he had picked the time and place.

The two of them had walked for hours when they heard the whinny of a horse ahead of them. Heskins immediately led them off the trail and they paralleled it from a hundred yards. When they rounded a knob they saw the missing pair, stripped of their tack and baggage.

Once again Heskins suspected a trap. It made no sense to leave the horses for them otherwise. He bade the girl stay hidden while he circled to look for outgoing tracks. They were there, and he reclaimed the horses before he went back to get Anne. If it came to a choice the horses were much more important.

Once back in the saddle Heskins changed the route of travel. He abandoned his previous route because that was where the Indians had gone. He had no desire to catch up with them again. They had stolen some gear but Amos knew that was a light duty to pay. He couldn't understand why they had given back the mounts but he remembered the expression his mother had always used, "Never look a gift horse in the mouth."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:12 EST

Heskins decided to cut back to the Outlaw Trail well above where he had left Brown's Hole. If he wasn't mistaken Clay was on his track by now. Maybe the fellow could be led into a good ambush somewhere down the line. In fact Heskins could even circle around and reach Brown's Hole before him. No, that was no good, They had just been through that and his relatives there were worthless. Hole in the Wall then, that was the place for it. The men there were a cut above those of the Hole, and plenty of them owed him favors. He didn't actually need any help but he believed in having a little extra security if at all possible. Once decided, he upped their speed to a lope that quickly ate ground.

Anne was stiff and sore, but she would no more tell him that then she would confide in him about her diary. She suffered in silence, her thoughts totally on Jessie. Was he okay' He had been hit terribly hard over the head back there in the stable. If he were just okay, she thought, she would no longer care what happened to her. Perhaps she could persuade Mr. Heskins....no, there was no way. The only thing she could think of to do was to shoot Heskins if it looked like he was going to get Jess. She hated to for she didn't really believe he was as bad as he tried to make out. She didn't want to shoot anybody. But to protect her beloved Jessie she would, of that she was sure.

I felt a little better in the morning. I was still a little groggy but I didn't feel like an axe was embedded in my head. I chewed on some cold (and stale) biscuit and sipped some water as I took off at daybreak. An urgency was gnawing at my gut that only action would cure.

I came to their camp a little before noon and had trouble figuring out what events had transpired. Evidently Anne's hands were not tied, for I could see the prints of them beside the spot where she must have spread her blanket. It looked like the night had been quiet but some peril was spotted in the morning and they had gone to shelter. A circle around camp quickly told at least part of that story.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:12 EST

There had been three Indians, but for some reason they had not attacked the white man and woman. Of course they had stolen their horses, so maybe that kept them satisfied. I was sure there was more to it than that. For one thing, why had they left their head feathers propped in back of the rocks with only the tips showing" Obviously to scare their prey. Why not just attack and get it over with' Surely they were not that worried about one armed man and a woman that they must think defenseless. They had to know that one of them was a woman by this point.

Oh, well, nothing to do but keep tracking. Anne and her abductor (I was sure it was Amos Heskins by now) had apparently finally realized they had been tricked and had taken off on foot, following the Indians. This made sense, for a horse is necessary for existence in this country. That's the reason they hang horse thieves. If you leave a man on foot out here you have probably dealt him a death sentence.

When I came to the draw where they had found their horses I found a tiny cairn of rocks. Anne! On our walks I had shown her the old way of showing the direction of travel and she had remembered. At the place where she had waited for Heskins to circle I found a tiny bit of cloth. She must have torn it from her dress and left it here as a message to me.

It was easy to read that they had retrieved their horse, but the question was still why. They must have left something of value on the steeds that the Indians had thirsted for. I was possible but not probable that the culprits were white men acting like Indians to cover their tracks. That was doubtful, for any renegades like that were apt to be more bloodthirsty that the Indian ever thought of being.

I started to walk out into the clearing when a burst of Indian language stopped me in my tracks. I took a quick scan but there was no cover; nothing to even partially hide behind. Whatever transpired now would be done with me in the wide open.

More guttural language ensued, then a familiar voice said, "You stepped in it, white eyes."

It was my friend Peter. At least I hoped he was my friend. "And why is that, my friend?" I asked cautiously.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:13 EST

"I figure that is your woman running around with Amos Heskins, and anybody that goes chasing after a woman has bought himself some big trouble. She is your woman, isn't she?"

"That's right, she is. Did you see her" Did she look alright?"

"You have got it bad, boy. I should just shoot you and save a lot of trouble."

"You're probably right, Peter. Hey, how come you stole the horses and then gave them back. Was this just a practice run or what?"

"You might say it's a form of counting coup. Plus my friends here get a kick out of scaring the devil out of white folks." His friends didn't look like they got a kick out of much. Their flat expressionless eyes were devoid of laugh lines, if you get my drift.

One of them muttered what sounded like a complaint. "He still thinks we should have kept the horses," explained Peter. "I told him that people get hung for that, Indians included. That is one area where they do count Indians."

"Peter, I think you are caught between two worlds. I don't envy you." I knew I had enough trouble living in one world without worrying about two. "Did you see where they went' She is with him against her will, and I've got to catch up to her."

"Oh, I see. Now it starts to make more sense. At first I thought she had run off with another lover, but I couldn't imagine Heskins being the man. Well, they went in the direction of the Outlaw Trail. From there I have no idea. My guess is that they circled back down to the Hole to get in back of you. Tell you what - if you like we will head north and you can head south. If we see them I'll send up an old fashioned smoke. Three puffs repeated means we have spotted them. If we don't see any tracks in five miles we'll turn back and see if you need a hand."

"Thank you, Peter, I appreciate it."

"Think nothing of it. Dog here wants to wave his scalping knife. I don't really think he knows what to do with it."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:14 EST

This was answered by a deep grunt and a look that could probably have killed if it hit home.

Going as fast as I could without making undue noise I rode to the Trail. Traffic must have been heavy, for I had gone over a mile before I found a spot where I could make out individual tracks. They had come this way! That was good. They had to be heading back for Brown's Hole, and I could make some time without watching tracks. Naturally I kept my eye peeled to the sides of the trail in case they had turned off.

When I neared the Hole I cut around it so that I could approach the livery from the rear. Two tired horses were in the front corral waiting for the hostler to take care of them. As I entered I met the hostler named Gabby coming out to do just that.

"Well, Gabby, did you see these two people this time?"

"Yep." Wound right up, he was.

"Did you see where they went?"

"Yep." I could see we were really making progress today.

Curbing my impatience, I asked calmly, "Would you care to let me in on your little secret' Where did they go?"

"Out." I swear, this was like pulling teeth.

My voice must have loudened a bit, for his eyes widened as I said, "What do you mean out' Out of the stable" I kind of guessed that, since they're not here."

"No, no, I mean out of town. They walked down the street and in a couple of minutes they came back by riding different horses. Weren't none of mine. They must belong to one of the Heskins clan." From him, this was quite a speech. I figured he wouldn't say more than two words for the next six months.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:15 EST

"Did you see what direction they took?"

"Nope."

I circled the south end of town but found nothing. On a hunch I rode back up the other way and was pleased to find Peter and his little savage band coming. Apparently they were curious as to how I would make out in my search for my woman. Lord knows what they thought the real story was.

"Peter, do you think we could split up again to cover more ground" We'll make my camp a meeting point for tomorrow. If the trail leads in another direction, send up a smoke. I'll try to do the same, but don't forget I've never done it so the message won't make any sense. It will just tell you my location."

"Maybe someday I'll show you how," said Peter. "Then again, my tribe might not like it and scalp me for it. Maybe we'll just write letters after this is all over, White Eyes."

Once again there was only one thing to say. "Thank you Peter." I knew it was an honor to me to be offered to learn the smoke. "I owe you."

"Darn tootin'," came the very un-Indian like reply.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:15 EST

I followed the Outlaw Trail east for the next few hours but found nothing to show that they had been here. Giving up I swung south in the direction of Vernal just in case Heskins was banking on doing the unusual. No dice. When I slept it was on the edge of a ravine that would echo the sounds of any riders in the night. In the morning light I climbed to the top of a nameless (to me, anyway) hill and looked across the countryside. Far to the north I could see rings of smoke.

They had found her. And me so many miles away. Nothing to do for it but to ride, and ride hard. Big Horse was ready. He seemed to feel the urgency, and there was no need to use the spurs to get up speed. He was set to go fast and keep it up all day.

Occasionally I would go over the top of another hill to see if the smoke was still visible and it was. The Indians must have Heskins pinned in a corner, I told myself, or he would have moved on by now.

At long last I came within earshot and an occasional round of gunfire came from ahead. I had been right. They had him holed up and were waiting for me to show.

I left Big Horse in a copse of trees and eased my way ahead on foot. I snuck up behind Peter and nearly got shot for my trouble. He hadn't heard my approach and swung around with gun leveled.

"You're pretty quiet for a white eyes," was his comment. "We have been thowing a shot near the old boy often enough to keep him from stirring. We stole his horses again." He said this with a grin like that of a boy that is playing with a puppy.

"Where is the girl?" I asked, for I was already formulating a plan.

"Do you see that big rock that looks like the rear end of a horse" He's got her in back of that, out of danger from any flying bullets."

"Good, now here's what I'm going to do. If I can work my way around to the other side I'm going to slide down that dried mud on this side of the rock. If I'm quiet enough he won't even know I'm there until I've got the drop on him."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:16 EST

"Better you than me," was the comment from my red skinned amigo.

Within an hour I was in place. From the attention of the Indians I could tell that Heskins was somewhere below me to my right. That was good for it kept me between him and Anne. When one of the Indians shot again to distract him I went down the slide, gun at ready.

Heskins swung around and shot quickly. Man, he was good! That shot grazed my arm, even though we were moving in opposite directions when he triggered it. I replied with one that missed, then snapped another that hit him low and hard.

I thought the fight must have gone out of him at that one but I was wrong. He up and shot just as I slid the last few feet. I felt the tug as the bullet went through the crown of my hat. I snapped another that connected somewhere, and then he was gone.

I mean vanished. The Indians came and joined me, and while there was plenty of blood Heskins was nowhere to be seen. I quickly went to Anne lest he should circle and grab her. Talk about being glad to see someone. We clung together like a tree and bark. I told her we would never allow anything like this to happen again.

One of Peter's braves finally found where Heskins had crawled through a tunnel of rocks and entered the stream. They were game to follow along to find if he came out, but Peter and I were sure the man was finished and told them not to bother. In a day or two the buzzards would tell us where to look. That turned out to be nearly a fatal error.

On the way back to Vernal Anne and I stopped by Big John Carter's, for it was right on the way and I new Anne needed the rest. I also wanted to present Carter with the scalp of the bear that had killed his son. In his stentorian voice he announced his intention to set me up just as he had said he would, but I stopped him before he got too carried away.

"I just brought this to you so that you would know your son had been avenged. You owe me nothing."

"But I said I would set you up, and I will."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:17 EST

"No, John, don't you see? For one thing, I never agreed to your offer in the first place. I just happened to be in the right place to shoot that bear, is all. I might like to buy some land from you, though."

"Well, let me think about it," he said. "We can probably work something out."

We ended up spending three days. The hospitality shown by the average Western ranch is something to behold, and John Carter really put on the dog during our stay. One meal featured a whole roast pig, dripping with succulent juices. Others were Mexican meals prepared by Carter's Senoran chef. These repasts were unbelievably good. Tostada Grande was one of my favorites, a huge pastry shell filled with refried beans, cheese and fresh vegetables. And all this smothered with a sauce that sparked the appetite.

We spent the evenings being regaled with his tales of opening up the country. The everyday dangers faced were hard to picture now, even though Anne and I had just made a very narrow escape. A lot of men had taken off for the West and were never heard from again, and this held true to this very day.

"You know," said Big John, "I kind of hate to see the day when this changes. I didn't come out here to tame a land but to live with it. A lot of the people that talk about organizing and statehood are looking for the chance to be top dog. Seems to me we might be trading one danger for another."

"You might just be right at that, John," I told him. "Most of the people that talk about Utopia and such are well meaning, but I don't believe they think it through enough. As soon as you get a bunch of sheep in one bunch a lobo wolf is bound to show up.

"Another thing is, look at the law out here. Sure, we all carry it in our holsters and as a rule it works out pretty good. We stop a lot of trouble before it even gets started. Look at some of those cattle towns that have marshals, though. A lot of those fellows are riding the Outlaw Trail one week and riding for the law the next. And the power gets to a lot of them until they are dangerous to even speak to. Now which is the better system' I would have to say that ours is."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:18 EST

"Amen to that," said Carter.

"I think you are both very full of yourselves," said my lady Anne. She had a way of bringing us back down to earth when we got too carried away. John came to think of us as family, but that was in the future. The seeds were being sewn right now, though.

Just before dark Anne and I would usually take a walk around the back pasture and plan out what our own place would be like. "I would like to have a house in a place like this someday," she said. " A place where we can watch the sun go down over the mountains and see the deer come out to feed in the meadows."

"We will, I promised her. There is still a lot of gold left in my claim. At least I hope there is. And we shall build a good business with the breeding of horses. That is one commodity that the West has got to have. The trains may have picked up some of the work but there will always be a demand for horses in this half of the country."

"I would like to have a garden, too."

I had forgotten the pleasure a garden gave to a woman, and to a man too if he cared to admit it. "Yes, of course. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. We will have all kinds of vegetables and some flowers too. You'll have to pick out the flowers, for I know nothing about them."

"You will," she promised.

"Yes, indeed, flowers and a whole bunch of other things."

On the morning of our departure Big John said to me, "Jess, have you got a double eagle on you? I'm a little short on spending money."

I was surprised that a big rancher like Carter would need the loan of twenty dollars but naturally I handed it over.

"Now, he said, I don't want to give this back. If we could make a trade I'd rather hand you the deed to the four sections that border your little mining claim. Then I'd have some neighbors of my own choosing and I would feel a might better."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:19 EST

I started to protest, but Anne cut me short. "Jess, he wants us to be his neighbors. How can we deny him that' You know we would like it too."

And so, just like that, I became the owner of land. It is a different feeling, when you have never owned any before. You can almost feel the roots growing from your feet. Anne could see the wonder in my eyes and gave me a big hug.

"I don't know what?s supposed to come first but my crew is all at the ranch, so why don't we pick out a spot and start building a house." Just like that. And he was so matter-of-fact that you knew that house would be done when he said it would be.

Half the ranch rode along with us, and we ended up picking a spot on top of a low hill that offered good visibility from all sides. Safety was one consideration, but that evening view was the deciding factor. When you can sit back after a hard days work and feel the tension subside as you watch the sun go down you are in the right place. A place with a view.

A copse of small pine lived on the northwest shoulder of the hill and we decided to leave it. It would cut that sometimes bitter wind and lessen some of the snow drifts that might form.

Half of the crew pitched in to dig a cellar hole, while others rode to a timber heavy ridge on John's land to cut logs, split them and twitch them back to the building site. I couldn't believe how fast the work progressed, but John's men were all good workers and skilled in whatever they did. He wouldn't have kept them on his payroll otherwise.

A lot of houses of the day didn't have cellars. Sills were set on flat rocks and if done carefully the buildings stood erect for a very long time. The smaller soddies of the dirt farmers were usually dirt floored. John was of the opinion that if you are going to do something you should do it right, and a dug cellar made for the greatest longevity. "And don't forget that your woman, here, wants a big garden. Vegetables will keep most of the winter in a good cellar."

Now it was up to a big garden! I was willing to bet that I would get sick of the feel of a hoe.

By the end of the second day the walls, floors and roof were on. Now a couple of cowboys that admitted to being from Vermont went to work with hatchets and split shakes for the roof and sides. It made for a very pleasant appearance that made a water tight abode. The interior of the house was left all natural boards, for Anne would want to decorate as we finished it.

Finally came the morning when Big John announced, "Well, kids, I guess we've done all we can for right now. The only thing left is, you two need to get married."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:20 EST

The big day dawned bright and clear. I always believed I was immune to common nervous maladies, but I surprised myself by getting wedding day jitters. I wasn't so nervous that I dropped my guard though. The memory of Amos Heskins was all too fresh in my mind. Hid body was never found, and the Indians kept checking back to the area of the final fight. There were no buzzards.

I didn't wear my gun belt because of the solemnity of the occasion, but I did have the 38 Lightning tucked behind my belt on the left hand side. I wasn't really expecting trouble, but just in case...

The wedding was held in Vernal. Big John had wanted us to get married at his place but Anne had always wanted a church ceremony. I think this was partially to please her mother and father. She had sent them a tintype picture of me, and I'm afraid I looked like a desperado in it. In her letters to Anne her mother referred to me as "your cowboy." I met the people later and fund them to be fine people - open minded and totally accepting of having me for a son-in-law.

I kept looking over my shoulder for I had the feeling that Heskins was going to show up when least expected. I knew that I was not alone in that feeling, for a lot of Carter's crew loitered in various spots around town, seemingly doing nothing but on the alert just the same.

The vows came off without a hitch, and later a barn dance ensued in lieu of a reception. As always there were not enough women to go around. Poor Anne's feet got stepped on many times during that evening as she tried to have one dance with everyone there. A lot of the men were heifer branded, with bandanas tied around their arms and dancing in place of women. A lot of ribbing always went with this practice, and tonight was no exception.

Corn squeezings were available but not openly flaunted. Carter bade a lot of his men to stay away from the liquor, for he didn't want anything to go wrong on this evening.

The party didn't last as long as many do, for there was a lot of work left to do to get our new house in order. John's boys kept it up until the wee hours, but Anne and I retired so as to get an early start in the morning.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:21 EST

John wanted to send some of his crew along, but I told him we were going to be alone for a long time, so just my new wife and I hit the trail on the morning after. From what some of his boys had looked like last night I was sure they could use a rest. Probably that was why John had wanted to send them. If I remembered correctly one of his expressions was, "If you're going to dance you have to pay the piper." An appropriate adage on this fine morning.

Anne couldn't wait to start using some of the paint we had bought in town. She surprised me by having me gather up some rounded rocks and laying out a walk. Then she went down the line and painted them in varying colors. "It brings a touch of New England to the place," she told me. I had to admit that the effect was striking and pleasing.

Her stands and knickknacks were soon unloaded and put in their places and the place was looking like home. John had furnished a stove in our absence and Anne went to work baking a chicken pie. Her meat pies were fabulous, and were normally made from rabbit. But I had not had the time to hunt so she bought a chicken in town, along with what vegetables she could get. I knew that next year by this time our larder would be full of vegetables from our own garden.

These first days passed all too swiftly, with so much to do that was new to us. There was no hurry, so we took our time with every little thing that we did around the house and grounds. While never especially accomplished in carpentry, I did manage to acquire enough skill that the things I built blended in. We accepted the loan of Carter's Mason and he put up a fine fireplace in our main living room. What a delight it would be to watch the flames of our fire on a cold winter's evening.

Over the doorway I put a couple of pegs for a gun rack and bought a light 16 gauge double barreled shotgun. I told Anne it was for the birds I would shoot as they flew south in the fall, but she was aware it was for her sake more than anything. If trouble came around I wanted her to be armed with something heavier than her 41 rimfire. Many is the day I would return home to find her plucking a goose she had shot from the doorstep. For some reason they often flew low over our spread, probably because of friendly air currents. Their rich flesh is excellent if prepared correctly.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:21 EST

John advised me to break the sod of the garden and plant some winter rye to plow back in the spring. I borrowed his plow and proceeded to do this. Big Horse got a peculiar look of disgust on his face at pulling it. He knew the difference between a plow horse and a saddle horse and obviously considered himself among the second class. The next year I would have a pulling team for this work and for pulling a wagon, but for now it was his to do. With his size and power he had no problems with the work. I always had to wonder what he was thinking when I put him to some new task. It was probably better that I didn't know.

I worked my claim a little bit every day, but I hated to be away from home to do it. I told myself that Anne was safe enough with her shotgun at hand but still I was concerned.

One day I approached the house from the rear and was alarmed to hear voices coming from the front. Easing around the corner I saw Anne, her right hand out of sight in the doorway, confronting two apparently very wild Indians. They looked strangely familiar to me. They were gesturing wildly at the corral and then to their stomachs, but Anne just stood her ground and shook her head. There was no way she was giving them a horse to eat and that was that.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:22 EST

When they spoke in an Indian tongue, I was almost sure they were the two friends of Peter. It's just that I wasn't positive. This was no time to make a mistake. I stepped around the corner with my forty-five in my hand but pointing down at the ground.

"Ah JessClay, we friend." It was the Dog, and I remembered that he could speak impeccable English if called on to do so.

"How come you're scaring my wife, Dog?"

"Just having a little fun. Peter won't let us scalp anyone anymore, so we have to take what we can get. We didn't mean any harm."

Strange to say, I believed him. Peter and his band had never been here to visit; in fact I didn't think they knew I had settled down in these parts.

"And where is my friend Peter" Out scaring little children and puppies?"

"No, Peter likes children and puppies. Plays with the children, eats the puppies."

I heard Anne's intake of breath at this information. Before she could ask I told her, "Yeah, it's a very old Indian dish. That's why their camps always are full of dogs."

"That's right." threw in Dog. He rubbed his belly as he said, "Nothing finer."

"Not even horse?" Anne had that dry New England humor.

"Nah, mule is the best for big meat. Buffalo hump and tongue is good, but mule is better than that, even."

My ever gracious wife felt she had to make an offer. "I'm sure it's not as good as mule, but I have made a pea soup that is ready to eat."

"Oh, boy," I said, for that is one of my favorites. Dog, however, showed a concerned look.

"You don't mean....I mean it is not..."

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:23 EST

I laughed so hard that I couldn't stand up straight. Here was the would-be savage telling us tales of his culinary habits, and he was worried about an innocent white eyes dish.

When I was able to get my breath, I explained it was a soup made from stewed peas, but this was a term he was unfamiliar with. Finally I said, "Like beans," and he was appeased. Anne went and got a few dried split peas to show him, and he nodded, putting them in his mouth and crunching on them. When we sat down to bowls of soup with corn bread on the side, he was mightily pleased.

In an hour Peter showed up. He explained that he had thought he recognized the tracks of my Big Horse and was following them to see what I was up to. He had no idea we had built our house here.

When the Indians were leaving, Peter took me aside. "We never did find out what happened to Amos Heskins," he told me. "We never found any sign of his body up in the valley. But I have seen some strange sign over in those mountains lately. At first the tracks were of a lame man on foot, but he killed a prospector and is now riding his mule. I have not seen him and don't know who he is, but I think it might be Heskins. Be careful.

I thanked him profusely and tried to think of ways to be more secure at our house. I had pretty much thought of everything. When Anne was home alone, she had the shotgun for security. And as it was, she had been coming to the claim to help me on days that I worked there. I had not forgotten my previous entrapment there, so I always stationed her where there was a good view of the surroundings. I had told her the reason why I was nervous here, and she was completely understanding. A lot of women would cry and tell me it was too dangerous, but not Anne. She was ready to do her share and more, asking only that she be a part of the solution.

Perhaps that is how the final shoot out evolved, but here, I am getting ahead of myself in my rush to share my story.

That rock vein did not peter out, and I learned the rudiments of shoring to expand my operation. With the money, we expanded our pole barn, built more corrals and brought in a prize stallion from Billings as a stud horse. Needless to say Big Horse looked on this with disgust, for he thought the job should be his own. Deep down I agreed with him, but to sell for top prices you have to have a bloodline. I picked out good looking mares whenever I found a bargain.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:23 EST

I spent a little time capturing some wild horses and breaking them to saddle. Some of these were good animals, but a lot were scruffy blockheads that I wouldn't waste my time on. A lot of what you hear about these wild herds is somebody's pipedream. I doubt that a lot of them would even be suitable for making glue. I did put a few new mares in my stable, but that was it.

Well, I should mention the colt. There was one scrubby band of horses that seemed to be based in the Book Cliff area. I had watched them from a distance and decided to try to capture a roan mare that seemed to stand out from the rest.

By the entrance to a box canyon, I readied a rope fence, and one day I caught the herd of horses where I wanted them and drove them into the canyon. There was a lot of scrambling when the animals found they were trapped, let me tell you. I finally got the mare singled out and found she was nowhere near the horse she had looked like from a distance. Deciding I did not need any second rate stock, I was about to set the whole bunch free when I spotted the colt.

He looked to be barely weaned. The odd thing was that he did not seem attached to any of the mares that were here, and I did not know of any others in the immediate area. Yet here he was, with the crowd for company yet all on his own. It was not just his plight that made me throw a rope around his neck and lead him off, though. It was the regal look that showed a rich heritage from some unknown source. While most young colts are gangly and tripping over their own feet, he was stately and sure- footed. His head was held high, and the lines of his legs showed the potential of being a show horse; a stallion that would lead a parade or a band of wild horses.

He showed no alarm at the rope, though it must have been the first time he had worn one. I could sense that he would be easy to gentle break when the time came. As I pulled into my ranch yard, Anne came rushing out and exclaimed, "Oh, he's a prince," giving him a name that stuck.

Prince quickly became a favorite around the ranch with us and our few visitors. As a rule Big Horse looked at other animals with disdain, but little Prince even won him over and could usually be found as a shadow of the big fellow. When I watched them closely, I saw that Big Horse was actually teaching the little fellow how to act. It paid off later, for that was the easiest horse I ever broke and trained.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:24 EST

When Peter and his little band came to visit his, two wild-looking Indian brothers grunted and acted like they would like to eat little Prince, but by now Anne was well-acquainted with their sense of humor, and they could not get a rise out of her. Eventually they even lapsed out of their dialect vocabulary and used plain-to-understand English.

As usual, Peter took me aside. "I haven't seen those tracks, and that makes me worry even more." I was surprised, for I had never pictured Peter to be the worrying type.

I, on the other hand, was so filled with myself by the success summer had brought me that I took his warning lightly. "If it was the old man, he is long gone," I told him. "He'll be looking ahead to winter, and if he's out of Brown's Hole then he will head south for a warmer climate. Phoenix would probably be a good guess."

If Prince was the shadow of Big Horse, he was the pet of Anne. She was always out teaching him little tricks, and he followed her around like a puppy. On days when she stayed home, Prince was often let out of the corral in the morning to spend the day following Anne about whenever she came outside. She often said who needed a dog when you had a colt that thinks he is a human. She had a good point.

I wanted to divert my stream above my mine to uncover some new bedrock when the spring run offs occurred, so one sunny September morning I went to start the work on this, leaving Anne at home to whitewash her fence. She had insisted we have a fenced yard in front of the house, and I had learned her tastes were usually good, so with the help of Big John's carpenter I had put in a good one. Along with the painted rocks it really gave a taste of New England. Now Anne wanted it white, and she had insisted she do it by herself. She was a much more patient painter than I have ever been.

My chore progressed much faster than expected. I was able to split up a nest of boulders with a half a stick of Giant. The normal flow of the water remained the same, but when it overflowed it would cut a fresh path, leaving a lot of new gravel. I was well pleased with myself on the afternoon ride home.

I was alarmed when I arrived there. With only a few pickets left to go Anne had knocked off her work. When I checked the house she was not to be found. On a hunch I checked about for Prince, and he was also missing.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:25 EST

Going back to the fence I checked for any clues. There were a couple of places where the colt's nose print showed in the whitewash. These places were not far from where she had started. Apparently she had taught him not to do it anymore for the marks were not repeated. Like I said, the little horse learned very quickly.

I found the fresh tracks I was looking for on the soft edge of the garden spot. For some reason the Colt had taken a bee line from the fence toward the nearby hills. Anne in turn had walked after him.

I could not fathom why they should do this. Finally in a clump of weeds I found my answer. It was just a white piece of cloth but I knew what had happened. Someone had attracted Prince's curiosity by flashing this cloth. It was a trick often used by antelope hunters. The flash of the rag makes them think another animal is jumping around. I wouldn't have expected a horse to fall for such a ruse. Price was just a colt, though, and still mighty curious.

When just out of sight of the house, they had been taken. It looked like the abductors, for there were three of them, had headed pretty much straight north toward Wyoming.

Who could be responsible now for this I had no idea. Amos Heskins had been the only enemy I had made in the West, and he had been mortally wounded on another field of battle. True, we had never found his body, but there was no way he could have lived through that barrage of shots I had put into him. Whose tracks Peter had seen in that area I could not tell, but there was no way they belonged to Heskins. No, I had another enemy here that I knew nothing about.

I knew it might be a spell before I caught up with them, so I went back to the house and quickly loaded all the gear that I might need. I filled my gun belt with 45 shells and tucked the Lightning in the small of my back. I even put Anne's 41 derringer in my pocket. When I made the rescue lead would be flying, and I wanted to be ready.

I followed their tracks until dark. There was no moon, so I was forced to camp on their trail. At first light in the morning I was on the move. Big Horse had a way of covering more ground then other mounts, and we should gain on them, for they would be hampered by the slower movements of the colt. That thought put chills flowing down my spine. What if they tired of little Prince and decided to be rid of him permanently' Anne would be devastated. No, I told myself, that just can't happen.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:27 EST

I pushed as hard as I could and came upon the colt at midday. He was happy to see me and in fine shape. I gave him a few oats and tried to point him in the direction of home. He followed us for a little ways, then stood and watched us go.

It was a couple of hours until dark when the trail turned into a canyon. I was sure this was where they meant to spend the night. I left Big Horse outside and proceeded on foot.

I was inside the circle of campers before I knew it. They had obviously circled back and laid out their rolls behind convenient rock. The first clue I had was when a dark figure rose up from the ground and started shooting. I quickly shot back, and the figure dropped. Another sprung up right in front of me, and we exchanged shots as well. Both of us were moving and shooting, and both of us missed.

I heard a muffled voice coming from behind a rock, and I rolled over to it. It was Anne, bound and gagged so as to give no warning. I rapidly undid her gag.

"It's Heskins!," she exclaimed upon being freed. "Heskins and Nason and somebody else they called Phinney."

That must have been the first man I shot. I explained about the two others. "We were sure Heskins was dead. Peter and his boys went back and looked several times. And I saw Nason get killed by the bear. I stripped the clothes off his body."

"He was just unconscious. I heard them talking. Nason woke up in his long johns and had nothing else to put on. He sounded awfully angry; perhaps he might even be a little bit crazy."

"I wouldn't be surprised, with all the evil things he has done. It could be that his conscience is starting to hound him."

I gave Anne her derringer and the Lightning as well. When the shooting started every bullet might count. I halfway expected them to wait and wage a dawn attack, but these men were not Indians. They didn't have the patience.

They came in a rush in the last few minutes of light. Wisely they had come in from two sides to get the crossfire. I took my time, and ignoring Heskins' fire I shot him where it counted. This time he would not be back to fight another day.

Sortas · Date: 2007-02-17 12:27 EST

I spun around to meet Nason's charge and my heel slipped on a rock, tumbling me to the ground. Bullets were digging a trench in my face when I got turned and threw a bullet into him, too low. Quickly he jumped back to stand by Anne. I could not return his shots for fear of hitting her!

He was carefully lining up his sights for a killing shot when a deep bang went off beside him. A blue hole appeared on his temple, and he fell slowly to the ground. With one shot from her Southerner derringer Anne had put an end to this nightmare.

She shuddered when she leaned against me and said, "Jess, can we travel tonight' I don't want to stay here. I want to go home."

And so we did.

The End

Topic: Jess Clay

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