Itchy Mitch and the Taming of Broken Jaw Junction

by Duane L. Ostler

ITCHY MITCH AND THE TAMING OF BROKEN JAW JUNCTION

  by Duane L. Ostler

  Copyright 2012 Duane L. Ostler

  Cover art and Illustrations by the author

  This book may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for any purpose without the author's express permission. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, please purchase your own copy.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 – How Mitch was Hoodwinked into Becoming Sheriff

  Chapter 2 – How Mitch Faced Down ‘Bad Bart’ and Got the Name ‘Itchy’

  Chapter 3 – How Mitch Handled ‘Big Tom’ and ‘The Knife Man’

  Chapter 4 – How a Flower Turned the Saloon into a School

  Chapter 5 – How Mitch Got Rid of the Lazy, Good-for-Nothing Loafers

  Chapter 6 – How Some Bank Robbers Got Stung for their Crimes

  Chapter 7 – How Some Carrots Stopped a Range War

  Chapter 8 – How Some Garlic Captured the Cattle Rustlers

  Chapter 9 – How the Claim Jumper was Stopped by Vegetable Stew

  Chapter 10 – How Mitch Finally Met his Match

  Chapter 11 – How Mitch Arranged for the Town to be Safe While he was Gone

  OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

  Chapter 1 - How Mitch was Hoodwinked into Becoming Sheriff

 

  Broken Jaw Junction was a quiet place. It had one dusty street with 5 buildings on one side and 6 on the other. All of the buildings were dull and gray, and so were the few people willing to live in such a boring, lonely western town. From early morning until late at night, they would all sit on their front porches and stare out at the dull, gray landscape, while thinking dull, gray thoughts. The most exciting thing that had happened in town in the last 20 years was when Mildred Fussblot put new shingles on her house in 1869 (which turned from brown to grey in a few days).

  But then one day, Old Jake found gold.

  He had gone to the creek (which he pronounced “crick”) to get a swig of water on one of those baking hot days that come every summer in the dry Nevada desert. He dunked his grizzled face in the creek, took 2 gulps, opened his eyes—and saw something shiny lying in the mud 2 feet below. When he took it to the man in the gold asay office in nearby Soda Jerk Springs, he found out that it was real gold! After that, Old Jake fairly skipped (something he hadn’t done in 40 years) all the way through Soda Jerk Springs and back to Broken Jaw Junction, shouting he was rich.

  The news spread like wildfire. In no time, Broken Jaw Junction was bursting at the seams with gold seekers. The little town that used to have only 67 residents now had so many thousands of people milling around that most of the old timers (who all hated crowds) lit out for the tiny town of Mud Flats, 200 miles away, so they could go back to the boring, gray lifestyle they were used to.

  In addition to gold seekers, almost every other type of person you can imagine came to Broken Jaw Junction. There were drifters, outlaws, slick gamblers, and other questionable characters by the wagonload. The once peaceful town was now noisy with shootings at night, and busy with funerals during the day. It wasn’t long until the undertaker was the busiest man in town, and the cemetery (named “Boot Hill”) saw more digging action than the nearby gold mines.

  One day, the town mayor and a few of the town council members got to talking about the lack of law and order in town. Now this mayor and these council members were only slightly better than the outlaws and other no-goods that had swarmed into Broken Jaw Junction ever since gold was found. But instead of making their money getting all muddy trying to pull gold out of the creek, they got rich charging outrageous prices from the gold seekers for permits to dig gold. Now however, with Broken Jaw Junction getting so dangerous, they were worried the gold seekers would stop coming and they would not be able to charge for any more permits.

  They had already hired a dozen sheriffs and deputies over the past few weeks, but all of them had ended up either run out of town or in boot hill. Now no one could be found who was willing to take the job—especially not at the lousy wage the mayor and town council were willing to pay. (They didn’t want a sheriff’s wage to cut into their profits).

  “So, now,” said Mayor Slickswindle on this day in his greasy voice, “How’re we gonna find a sheriff when nobody in town wants the job?”

  Councilman Doug Shyster spat out the tobacco he was chewing, and said in his smooth, southern drawl, “You’re the mayor. I think it’s your responsibility to take the job!”

  Several other councilmen nodded in agreement, but Mayor Slickswindle turned white as a sheet. “Not on your life!” he exclaimed. “I’ve made a heap of money from the gold seekers coming to this town. How can I spend it if I’m six feet under at boot hill?”

  “Aw, c’mon, mayor,” laughed Jimmy Weasel. “Aren’t you any good with a gun?”

  “Not good enough to stay alive one day in this town,” answered the mayor. “You know Bad Bart is waitin’ over at the saloon right now to take care of whoever we hire as the new sheriff, just like he took care of the last four!”

  There were several more nods of agreement. Bad Bart was the fastest gun in those parts, and was meaner than a cat with its tail tied to a hitching post.

  “So, what’re we gonna do?” asked Mayor Slickswindle again. “We’ve gotta have a sheriff, or the gold seekers will stop coming and we won’t get any more fees from them. But we can’t find anybody who will take the job.”

  “How about if we trick somebody into it, then?” said Bert Fuddletheef. “Like we trick the gold seekers into thinking they gotta buy a permit from us to dig gold, even though the gold fields are outside city limits and they don’t really need a permit.”

  “Shhh!” said Mayor Slickswindle, looking worriedly all around them. “Don’t let anybody hear you say that, or we’re outta business!”

  “You know, I think Bert’s got something” said Jimmy Leach. “There’s gold seekers coming to town every day. Why not trick one o’ them into thinking he’s the new sheriff?”

  “Hmmm..” said the mayor, rubbing his chin. “I guess that might work. But what do we say to him to make him do it?”

  “Tell him he has been see-lected in a lottery as the lucky winner of a prize,” said Bert Fuddletheef. “And the prize is the privilege of being sheriff and gettin’ $1.00 a week fer it!”

  There were general nods of agreement from the rest of the councilmen. Mayor Slickswindle smiled. “Great idea, Bert!” he said, slapping Bert on the back. “We’ll give it a try.”

  Then he gave Bert a sickly, sweet smile. “And since it was your idea, I think you’re just the man to tell the new sheriff all about it!”

  The other councilmen all grinned broadly while poor Bert swallowed hard, wishing now that he hadn’t said anything at all.

  And so, upon the arrival of the next stage, Mayor Slickswindle and a nervous Bert Fuddletheef waited to greet the new gold seekers. They were disappointed when the first three passengers to get off were two women and an old man. But the last two people to emerge from the stage that day were two relatively young men, and looked more promising. They were Elias Mudgrit, and his cousin Mitch Gardener, who had come all the way from West Virginia.

  The mayor pushed Bert Fuddletheef forward to face them. Bert coughed nervously. He mouthed some words, but nothing came out until the mayor poked him in the back.

  “Welcome, strangers!” said Bert in a high, squeaky voice. “Do you know, that you two are the lucky winners of a lottery? And wait’ll you hear the grand prize!”

  “We won a lottery?” said Elias in surprise. “See
that, cousin?” he said turning to Mitch with a big grin on his face. “Your ma and my pappy was dead wrong when they said we was wastin’ our lives by coming out here! We’ve had good luck already!”

  Mayor Slickswindle smiled slyly as he stepped forward and shook Mitch’s hand. “Yes, indeedy!” he exclaimed. “You, sir, are the lucky winner of the privilege of bein’ the new town sheriff for the incredible wage of one whole dollar per week! And yer lucky friend here is winner of the job of bein’ your deputy!”

  Elias’ jaw dropped in shock, but Mitch didn’t move a muscle. Mitch never got upset or surprised about anything. He was always calm as a sleeping jackrabbit. That’s why his ma and Elias’ pappy had insisted that he come with Cousin Elias to the gold fields instead of anybody else—in order to keep Elias out of trouble!

  The truth is, Mitch hadn’t wanted to come to Broken Jaw Junction at all. Impossible as it sounded, he had no interest in gold or getting rich. His only love was his garden back in West Virginia, and how his tomato plants were getting along.

  “Now, wait a second, here,” said Elias nervously. “It’s nice of you to give us prizes an’ all that, but I don’t want to be a deputy! That there’s a dangerous job!”

  “Nonsense,” said the Mayor. “Why, Broken Jaw Junction is such a peaceful place, you can spend all week in the gold fields, and just be deputy on weekends! Isn’t that right, Bert?”

  “Sure is!” said Bert loudly, in order to be heard over a spatter of gunfire from the saloon down the street. Then he whipped a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Of course, to go work in the gold mines during the week, ya gotta buy one of these here mining permits. Only fifty dollars!”

  Elias’ jaw dropped again. “Fifty dollars!” he cried. “I done spent all my money just to get here! I don’t have fifty dollars!”

  Mayor Slickswindle stepped next to Bert and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Don’t drive them away, or we won’t have a sheriff.” Then he quickly grabbed the paper out of Bert’s hand. “See how lucky you are?” he said merrily to Elias and Mitch. “If’n you accept the sheriff and deputy jobs, we give you the permit in advance! You can pay for it out of your wage. It’ll only take a few weeks to pay off!”

  “Yeah!” said Bert cheerfully. “It’ll only take … uh …” he scratched his head. “How many weeks will it take at one dollar per week?”

  “Only sixty-two!” smiled the mayor. “Now,” he said, digging in his pocket and pulling out two shiny badges. “What do ya say?”

  Elias rubbed his jaw, thinking hard. But Mitch, who had not said a word so far, stepped forward and took the badge. “I will be your sheriff out of a sense of public duty,” he said simply. “But I won’t buy one of your permits, since I have no intention of digging for gold.”

  Now it was Bert and the Mayor’s turn to drop their jaws in shock. They had never heard of anyone coming to Broken Jaw Junction who wasn’t seeking for gold, or of someone willing to become sheriff out of a sense of public duty.

  Elias took the other badge with a smile. “If Mitch is gonna be your sheriff, then I’ll be your deputy, since I know he’s a gonna do a good job and I’ll be safe. And, I’ll take one of them permits too.” He grabbed the paper out of the mayor’s hand. “Did you say I’d have it paid in fifteen weeks?”

  “Fifty-four!” said Bert, recovering his wits. “That’s only half a year. Of course, by then, you’ll be so rich from all the gold you find you won’t care about getting one dollar per week as deputy!”

  Mayor Slickswindle sniggered. He and Bert both knew that all the good gold spots had already been taken, and the new gold seekers were only finding dirt. “That’s right!” he said cheerfully. “Why, I’ll bet you’ll soon be so rich you could hire someone else to be deputy, so you can spend the weekends at your diggings getting more gold!”

  “Didja hear that, Mitch?” said Elias excitedly. “People here is getting rich in just a few weeks! In no time at all, we can go back home to West Virginy richer than two polecats sittin’ in a field of diamonds!”

  “Maybe, but how will my tomatoes look in a few weeks?” Mitch asked sadly. “They’ll probably be withered or eaten by aphids!” Then he picked up his trunk and set off down the street.

  Bert and the mayor stared after Mitch as if he were crazy.

  “Don’t worry about him,” said Elias as he grabbed his own trunk that had been tossed down from the top of the stage. “He just misses his garden. But I’m sure he’ll plant one here soon enough.” Then he ran to catch up with his cousin, leaving the Mayor and Bert shaking their heads in disbelief.

  And that is how Mitch Gardener was hoodwinked into becoming sheriff of Broken Jaw Junction—and the greatest legend of the old west was born.