by Ed Roberts
After the dramatic events that had taken place over the course of a week or so, most people had the feeling that matters were drawing swiftly towards a bloody climax. Just exactly as Sheriff Parker had predicted, the mood in Mayfield was changing, and it wasn’t swinging round in favour of the new homesteaders, but more plumb against Carter and the men of the WSGA. It would have been one thing if matters were showing any sign of settling down a little and getting back to normal, but that was very far from how it was currently looking. Few people believed that the range was truly infested with rustlers and cattle thieves in the way that Timothy Carter was representing the situation. It was rather becoming plain that mercantile considerations alone lay behind the spate of recent murders, and this did not sit well with the town. If a man would organize killings simply because somebody was costing him money or threatening his profit margin, then where would it end? Would Timothy Carter and his men be prepared to deal so ruthlessly with the citizens of Mayfield itself, should they get crosswise to his plans?
Tom Parker went about his business during the next few days without trying to get folk stirred up against Carter and the other big ranchers. He believed, quite correctly, that the deaths of the settlers was acting like yeast on the town, slowly fermenting and causing a sea-change in attitudes.
During this quiet spell, which subsequent events showed to have been the lull before the storm, the sheriff gave more thought to his son than he had since the boy was a babe in arms. He knew that he had come within a whisker of losing the most precious thing in his life, and he did not aim to see Jack set in hazard again. He said to the boy the day after the shooting of Ed Summerfield, ‘You got the rest of the summer to yourself, son. You can fish, hunt, do whatever you want. I’m mighty obliged to you for the help in the office, but things are quieter now. Maybe next summer we can fix up a similar arrangement?’
But Jack would by no means consent to this plan, telling his father, ‘That won’t answer, Pa.’ He said this not in a petulant or sulky way, but straight and true; looking his father in the eye.
‘Won’t answer, hey? I’d like to know why the devil not.’
His son reasoned the case out so clearly that the sheriff was a little staggered. ‘First off,’ said Jack, ‘is where you still need somebody else in the office. I see what you been contending with there. Brandon Ross is a good fellow, but he can hardly write a word without consulting the dictionary.’
At this, Sheriff Parker laughed out loud. ‘So all those years in school have been some use to you, after all. What more?’
‘I can shoot as well as you with a rifle. Better, maybe.’ This was indisputably true, and it was generally acknowledged that young Jack Parker was one of the best shots in the area. He had won the prize for marksmanship at the last County Fair. Before his father could respond to this, Jack went on, ‘Aggie Roberts stood friend to me. I saw her killed. I can’t forget her, I have to help bring that damned villain to book.’
‘Watch your language,’ said Tom Parker automatically. He continued, ‘You ain’t about to give up on this, are you? Not even if I beg you to reconsider?’
‘I can’t, Pa. It’s like a duty.’
His father sighed and said finally, ‘Well then, I guess we’ll have to have it so. At least take today and tomorrow off and see your friends. You can come to the office again on Friday. That suit?’
‘Yes sir, Thank you. I don’t mean to be contrary. . . .’
His father did a thing which he had not done for some years. He reached forward and ruffled Jack’s hair. Then he bent forward and kissed his son on the top of his head. Without another word, he left the room.
Chapter 4
That day and the one after, Jack Parker fooled around with his friends. But although this was how he had always loved to spend his summers, now he felt that something was lacking. He was unable to put his finger on precisely what that might be, but somehow haring around the fields and talking about fishing and what would happen at school in September, seemed to have lost its flavour. The youngster was wondering more about the activities of the WSGA and trying to figure out what the next step in their game would be.
Jack had still not related to anybody the circumstance which led to his witnessing the murder of Aggie Roberts and John Baxter, and nor, surprisingly, did he feel in any way impelled to talk of the close shave he had had when somebody took a shot at him. He knew instinctively that something like this, which had happened in the course of law enforcement, was not the kind of thing one bandied around in casual conversation. His friends, for their part, sensed a new reserve in Jack. It was most noticeable when conversation turned to the shortcomings of their parents, a favourite topic among the boys at the school. Jack, who had always been among the most vociferous critics of male parents in general and his own in particular, was now silent on the subject. Nor would he be drawn into the discussion at all and this, after a while, made the other boys a little uneasy and they stopped talking of their own fathers’ tyrannical behaviour. All in all, the two days that he spent with his friends were stale and flat, compared with the days spent working with his father.
On Thursday morning, Jack went with his father to the office. Something he marked was that as the two of them walked through the streets now, people no longer grinned or made light-hearted remarks to the effect that Sheriff Parker had got himself a new deputy. Instead, they nodded soberly to the sheriff and included Jack in the greeting. Somehow or other, perhaps via Brandon Ross chatting unguardedly in some saloon, word had got about of the fact that Tom Parker’s son had been under fire. He was changing in the minds of the town’s folk from schoolboy to young man.
When they reached the office, Brandon was already there and he handed the sheriff a telegram, saying, ‘You best read that, boss.’ Tom Parker studied the thing and then, without thinking, passed it to his son. It read as follows:
PARIS TEXAS. REPRESENTATIVES OF WSGA IN TOWN AND HIRING MEN STOP CLAIM TO BE CLEARING PART OF WYOMING OF RUSTLERS AND STOCK THIEVES STOP MORE THAN FIFTY MEN ENGAGED STOP GOOD WAGES AND TRAIN HAS BEEN HIRED TO TAKE THEM NORTH NEXT WEEK STOP LOOKS MORE LIKE ARMY OF BUSHWHACKERS THAN RANGE DETECTIVES STOP LIKELY TO ARRIVE CHEYENNE TEN DAYS FROM PRESENT DATE STOP REGARDS MARSHALS OFFICE PARIS.
‘This has been sent to all county seats in the state,’ said Brandon, ‘You think it specially affects us?’
‘I reckon so,’ said the sheriff, ‘Texas, hey? You think it’s just happenstance that Carter’s new “range detective” is from down that way? I don’t think it for a moment.’
‘What should we do?’ asked the deputy. To his amazement, Sheriff Parker turned to his son and said,
‘What do you say, Jack? What would you do if you was in charge?’
Jack was almost as astonished as Brandon Ross was to find his opinion being solicited in this way. He thought for a second and then said slowly, ‘I’d make sure that they told me in Cheyenne when this train gets in and see if anybody there could say which way the men were heading.’
His father nodded approvingly and said, ‘Anything more?’
‘Yes,’ said Jack with growing confidence, ‘I’d work on the notion that they’re heading for us. I’d start finding which men would be ready to join us in putting a stop to it.’ He realized that both Brandon Ross and his father were staring at him and Jack flushed like a schoolgirl, ending by mumbling, ‘Anyways, that’s how it seems to me would be the way of it.’
‘What about you, Brandon?’ asked Tom Parker, ‘Let’s have your views and opinions on the question.’
‘Pretty much the same as your boy, I guess.’
‘Well, that makes it easy enough, if we’re all agreed on the course of action. Brandon, wire Cheyenne and get them to set a watch for these rogues. And Jack, you can come with me. We’ll sound out a few folks this very morning.’
When they were clear of the office and walking down main street, Tom Parker asked his son abruptly, ‘How would you feel about carrying that rifle of yours along of y
ou for a while?’
‘What, you mean in town and all?’
‘Well, you’re no sort of use with a pistol, that’s for sure. I’d feel easier in my mind if you were carrying something, you understand me?’
Jack turned over this proposal for a bit and then said, ‘Wouldn’t people think it was odd, seeing me with a gun all the time?’
‘How so? A lot of folks go heeled all the time. Not as many as once did, I’ll grant you, but it’s still not uncommon.’
‘You want I should go home and fetch it now?
‘No, tomorrow will do.’
The first place that the sheriff and his son visited was the mayor’s residence. If any concerted attempt was to be made to oppose the men who were evidently heading their way from Texas, then the mayor’s support would be vital. Mayor Collins was at home that morning and as amenable as could be. ‘You want to raise a posse, sheriff? Of course, you know best. You don’t need my say-so, you know.’
‘It’s not your say-so I want, Mayor,’ said the sheriff. Bill Collins was a regular stickler for protocol, and even in his private capacity, preferred people to address him as ‘Mayor Collins’, rather than Collins or even Bill. People would take their lead from him, though, and there was no legal compulsion for anybody to sign up to ride with a posse. Sheriff Parker continued, ‘What it is, Mayor, is that a word from you would show people where their rightful duty lay. When the time comes, will you advise people that there’s an emergency and that they should ride against these boys from Texas?’
This direct question put Mayor Collins in a tricky position and he did not wish to commit himself as being either for or against the project. On the one hand, he enjoyed excellent relations with the men from the Wyoming Stock Growers Association and there was no doubt that they were good for Mayfield, looked at in a purely financial light. On the other hand, having folk murdered near the town was not at all the sort of thing that anybody wished to see. And Collins had no doubt, any more than the sheriff did, that if once a band of fifty Texan cut-throats fetched up in the neighbourhood, then the previous deaths would most likely be multiplied a hundredfold. In the end, he decided to procrastinate, as he so often did when a difficult problem presented itself. He said to Sheriff Parker, ‘Tell you what, why don’t we see first if these fellows really are heading this way? Happen they’ll be going not here but to Johnson County or somewhere. If so, the law there’ll take care of ’em.’
As he and Jack left, the sheriff turned at the door and, dropping any pretence at formality, said bluntly, ‘Sooner or later, Bill, you’ll have to come down on one side or the other.’
Elsewhere, at the saloon, in the stores, and even at one of Mayfield’s churches, the response was more promising. It was looking as though many people could see which way the wind was blowing and were not at all happy about the recent turn of events. Half a dozen men allowed that things were not looking good and that if push came to shove, then they would like as not stand behind Sheriff Parker. There was no great enthusiasm for the idea of going up against a bunch of gunmen from out of state, but the alternative would be to surrender law and order entirely to outsiders.
A little after midday, Tom Parker said to his son, ‘You can cut along now, boy.’
‘You don’t need me any more today?’
‘I want you to take that gun of yours out and get a little practice. I don’t much mind what you fire at, but you need to be on good form for a while.’
Jack looked at his father a little nervously and said, ‘You don’t think anybody would shoot at me, sir?’
His father thought for a bit before answering and then said, ‘I don’t think it, but there’s no saying that somebody might not take a shot at me. Hell, I suppose that if somebody wished to harm me, they might hit upon the notion of hurting you; which would be a grief to me. While things are uncertain, I’d sooner know that you were armed than not.’
Jack needed no second bidding, but went straight home and took his beloved rifle from the closet in which it rested, along with a scattergun, a weapon Jack had never really taken to. The rifle was an 1866 Winchester, the model with the brass receiver which had earned it the nickname of ‘Yellow Boy’. The magazine held fifteen rounds. The rimfire cartridges it used were not always easy to obtain, more modern firearms favouring centre-fire, but Jack adored the rifle and regarded it as an old friend. It had originally belonged to his father, who now preferred his 1873 model. He had allowed his son to start shooting with the old weapon when he was just eleven years of age, gifting it to him outright the following year.
From the first time he sighted down the Yellow Boy’s octagonal barrel, Jack Parker knew that this was something at which he would excel. He couldn’t have said how he knew it, but there it was. His father was vastly impressed with the boy’s skill, and used to boast to his friends about the fact that a child of such tender years had such an astonishing proficiency with firearms. This was in fact something of an exaggeration, because in spite of his father’s repeated efforts to show him how it was done, Jack never was able to handle a pistol and be sure of hitting the proverbial barn door. With a rifle in his hand though, nothing which ran or crawled on the earth or flew in the sky was safe. The previous summer, Jack had beaten all comers at the shooting competition and walked off with the cup at the county fair; which showed that he was not only the best shot in Mayfield, but quite possibly the whole of Benton County.
The only problem with his father’s scheme for him to carry the Winchester with him all day was that it had no sling, and Jack would consequently be obliged to carry it through the streets tucked under his arm, as though he were out hunting. This was all right for the short distance from his home to the fields on the edge of town, but it would surely feel strange to march down Main Street with his rifle at the ready! Still, if that was what his father felt to be prudent, then so be it.
Jack left town and walked to a little wood which lay on the property of a farmer with whom he was on good terms. He had in the past obliged this man by shooting crows on his land, ridding the farm of many birds that would otherwise have caused a serious nuisance, with their predilection for crops and seeds. He guessed that Mr Timpson would have no objection to losing a few more of the pests. In the space of a half hour, Jack took down eleven crows and did not waste a single bullet.
The sheriff came home at the relatively godly hour of eight that night, and Jack had made some attempt at a meal for them both. It was only slices of buttered bread, along with the remains of a cut of meat they’d had two days previously, but his father was pleased at the boy’s thoughtfulness. He felt that they were drawing closer each day, and thanked the Lord for it. After they had eaten and washed up the wares, Tom Parker said, ‘Your birthday is coming along next week. Lordy, you’ll be sixteen. It don’t seem five minutes since you was a babe in arms. How the time does fly. What I wanted to say was that I’m not sure how much time I’m likely to have for shopping and so on. Is there anything you’d especially like?’
‘Yes sir, I know just what I’d like. It won’t cost you a cent.’
His father smiled at that and said, ‘Well that makes pleasant listening. What is it you want?’
‘I want you to swear me in as a deputy, so I can help you officially.’
For a few seconds, Sheriff Parker was so taken aback that he couldn’t speak. At last, he said, ‘You know how to open your mouth wide boy, I’ll give you that. What’s brought this on?’
‘I want to help you take down Timothy Carter and be revenged for Aggie Roberts.’
Tom Parker looked at his son uneasily. For the first time he wondered if this scheme of his, of getting closer to his boy by involving him in his father’s work, might not be going awry. It sat ill with the sheriff to hear a boy of fifteen talk in this way of being ‘revenged’. He tried not to let any of this show in his face, temporizing instead by remarking casually, ‘It may not come to that. For aught we know, those boys ain’t headed this way nohow. They might yet fetch
up in Johnson County instead. Lord knows they got similar troubles there.’
‘But if’n they do come here, you’ll swear me in? I can be a part of it?’
The sheriff didn’t take to being buffaloed in this way, not even by his own flesh and blood. He said as much to Jack, who shrugged and said, ‘You asked what I wanted for my birthday, and I told you. I didn’t think you meant it.’
For a moment, matters balanced on the edge of a knife. It looked as though the two of them might presently be at each other’s throats again, just like they had been for much of the last two years or so. Sheriff Parker couldn’t have borne that, not after the warmth which had grown between them over the course of the last week. He gave in, saying with the utmost reluctance, ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, but I won’t bargain further on this. If I get word from Cheyenne, always supposing that these fellows from Texas get that far, that they’re coming to Benton County, then I’ll make you a deputy pro temp.’
‘What’s “pro temp” mean?’ asked Jack suspiciously, smelling some species of double-dealing.
‘If’n you’d paid more heed during your Latin classes, you’d know,’ said his father tartly, ‘It’s a legal term, meaning “for the time being”. By which I mean I’m prepared, on the day you turn sixteen, to swear you in as a deputy, until the special circumstances are over; which is to say that any intruders have been dealt with, turfed out of the area or what have you. There, does that satisfy?’
It evidently did, for the boy’s face split into a broad grin and he said warmly, ‘It surely does. Thanks, Pa.’
‘Maybe we can eat now and talk of something else?’
The Cheyenne Examiner, which was the most important newspaper in the newly formed state of Wyoming, was connected by telegraphic wire to various parts of the nation. It often carried reports that were verbatim copies of articles which had appeared in other papers across the length and breadth of the United States; always provided, of course, that these pieces had some particular relevance for the inhabitants of Wyoming. So it was that on 10 July 1891 the Examiner carried a piece which had originally been published in Texas: