Riding For The Brand: Sage Country Book Three (2 page)

The next morning, we were all having breakfast in the Bon Ton Café, Tom, Becky, Jacob, Sarah, Lora and I.

I was thinking about what a short time ago I’d come into this city feeling all alone in the world. Now, I had a new wife, sort of a readymade family, and good friends. I was glad to be alive, and all too aware of how close I’d recently come to being dead.

“Are you OK, John?” Becky asked me.

“Oh, yes. I’m fine, just day dreaming, I expect.”

“That’s not surprising; I reckon you’re entitled to be a little pre-occupied, John. It’s been less than a month since you were shot.” Tom said.

Tom is the Chief of Police in Bear Creek. Becky is his wife. They’re expecting their first child.

Lora was watching me, looking a little worried.

“He hasn’t been able to sleep very well. He has terrible nightmares, but he insists on getting back to work. He can’t wait to get back in harness.” She said.

“Crime rests for no man,” I observed.

“John Everett Sage, you have more than enough deputies to manage the duties of the Sheriff’s Department for at least another couple of weeks.” Lora scolded.

I shook my head. “No, we’re a little short staffed, what with Ed being up at North fork, and Bob having quit to find greener pastures.”

“Lora is right. You should take another couple of weeks to recuperate, Tom said, and then he lowered his voice. “Besides, it might not be a bad idea for you to be out of the limelight for a little while longer. Certain people are pretty upset about the shootout up in North Fork. There’s talk you’re just too uncivilized and dangerous to be the Sheriff of the county. All this attention in the press is not good for the city of Bear Creek.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Of course not, but that’s not the point. John, there are people already looking to find a candidate to run against you. Some pretty influential people are saying it’s time for a new Sheriff, right now. The sooner all this dies down the better…”

“Excuse me, Sheriff…?”

I nearly jumped. I hadn’t even noticed the well-dressed man’s approach.

It worried me some. People don’t usually walk up on me without me seeing them coming.

“…My name is William Bartholomew Masterson. You may have heard of me. My friends call me ‘Bat’. I’ve been a lawman myself. These days I’m a writer and sports promoter in Denver, and I was wondering if you would do an interview with me. You know, for the newspapers? I can get you the cover of the Police Gazette, and with my connections in New York City, I can get your story published all over the world.” The man was rather energetic in his manner, and he had a big, toothy grin on his face.

Since the shooting, Bear Creek was full of newspaper people, tourists, people attracted to celebrity, and those intending to make a buck from all the excitement.

I’d even heard some low life types were selling fake replicas of items that may or may not have belonged to the famous outlaws who were killed up at North Fork.

Still, I was surprised Bat Masterson would bother with the story of the events. Masterson was well known as a man who always found his way to the most personally profitable enterprise, even if it was not entirely legal.

I intended to inform him I had no interest in having anything to do with the Police Gazette, a magazine arguably the most lurid publication in the country. It was typical Masterson would be involved with a publication of such low standards. He’d been regaled in the magazine as a great sportsman and gambler.

Still, out of courtesy, Tom and I both stood up to shake hands with the man.

“How do you do, Mr. Masterson? Of course we’ve heard of you. May I present my wife Lora, and the children, Jacob and Sarah. This is the Chief of Police here in Bear Creek, Tom Smith and his wife, Becky.”

“I’m pleased to meet all of you. As I said, my friends call me Bat. I hope we’ll all be friends.”

He was a bit overdressed for a Saturday morning at the Bon Ton. He wore the latest and most stylish, dark grey suit, with a matching waistcoat, a white shirt with a celluloid collar, and a neck tie. His walking stick was his most notable affectation.

While he appeared to be freshly shaved, Masterson had a bushy mustache he was training to curl up on the ends.

He appeared to be a few years younger than me, and a little thicker through the waist. In keeping with the local ordinance, no handgun was clearly in evidence.

“If you gentlemen will excuse us, I promised the children we would go shopping today, and now would seem like a good time.” Lora said, as she stood and began to organize the children.

“I’ll go with you, Lora. I’ve been meaning to have a look at the latest Sears Roebuck and Company catalogue. I’ll bet I can make any item of children’s clothing they sell, and do it right here in Bear Creek.” Becky chimed in.

Both ladies were avoiding any acknowledgment of Mr. Masterson.

After we said our goodbyes to the ladies, I invited Mr. Masterson to join us for coffee.

“Again, please call me Bat. I hope I didn’t say something offensive to the ladies.”

He’d asked, so, I got straight to the point.

“Yes, you did offend them, Mr. Masterson. The National Police Gazette is not a magazine suitable for women and children. Nor is the subject you wish to discuss.”

To my surprise, he chuckled at my response.

“No, it certainly isn’t. Dick Fox is a friend of mine, but his magazine
is
disreputable, and I’m quite sure he’s already in the process of publishing a sensationalized story of the events up there. Come on, John, I was kidding about wanting to interview you for that particular periodical. It was meant to be a joke. You might be aware of how my own reputation was besmirched in his sordid rag.”

“I believe it established your reputation.”

“Exactly, and it is largely the reason I am no longer in law enforcement. I’m afraid the same thing may well happen to you.”

“…How’s that?”

“A man’s reputation is almost completely out of his control. I fear you will be presented as a gunslinger, and a mad killer with a badge. Once that image is made public, it will make it quite hard for you to change it.”

I nodded. I’d already had far too much experience with the effects of such stories.

“This is bad, John. You really should get out of the public eye, for a while.” Tom observed.

“I’m afraid it will not be sufficient to avoid the issue.” Bat said.

“What else can I do?”

“I’ve had a look around North Fork, and talked to some of the people involved on the occasion in question. I also read Tommy Turner’s affidavit of the events, which I’m told
you
filed for record in the courthouse. A brilliant move on your part, by the way. My point is this; you need to fight fire with fire. Let me tell the world the way it really happened. I have some notoriety, I really can get the story published in reputable newspapers, and it will be circulated all over the world. When the Police Gazette comes out with their story, it will immediately be seen as an obvious distortion of the facts.”

I shook my head.

“Bat, the facts have already been published in newspapers all over the country. The truth is out there.”

“Is it? That’s why I’m here. The story
has
been told, but not by you. It seems you’ve refused to comment, and you’re avoiding the press. I just want to give you the chance to tell the story, in your own words.”

I considered my response.

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

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

“I’ll think about it…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No kidding, Bat Masterson?”

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

“Like a what, Mr. Harold?”

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

“May I see the affidavit, please?”

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

“That’s very…convenient.”

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

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

I read the affidavit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had one more thing to look for.

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

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

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

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

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

He grinned when he saw me.

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

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

“And why is that?”

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

He looked startled.

“You’re joking…right?”

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

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

He stiffened up a bit.

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

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

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

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

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

“I think it would be best.”

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