Neither Fear Nor Favor: Deputy United States Marshal John Tom Sisemore

by Wesley Harris

  Intelligent and ambitious, May had moved from Vienna to Russ Town when the railroad was built. He fell in love with one of Russ’s daughters and they were married. Despite his struggles to preserve the peace, May seemed to be the first police chief who truly had a grasp on the job so many others had found hard to handle. He had already survived a little over a year after replacing the previous chief. That man had lasted exactly one month to the day.

  May worked hard to do a good job but he didn’t have as much nerve as Sisemore in standing up to the hoodlums and desperadoes. There was little doubt in May’s mind that he could not mount a one-man operation against outlaws like Sisemore often did. In Ruston, there was almost always a good man within shouting distance who would come running if an officer of the law needed assistance. May took comfort in that fact.

  CHAPTER SIX

  State of Louisiana

  vs.

  T. F. Mullins

  District Court No. 842

  We, the Jury, do find the accused guilty of an assault with a dangerous weapon.

  C. H. Henry

  Foreman

  September 24, 1895

  August 1896

  Frank Mullins lived a series of impulsive bets, with every decision made as carelessly as the throw of the dice. He liked to win, but he did not bet just to win. He gambled for the enjoyment of the game.

  He brooded in the parish jail. The confinement ate at him. He wanted to be doing something, anything. The bare walls day and night offered no fortunes, no risk. Still, it was better than going to the penitentiary.

  He especially missed his friends. Men like Ben Smith fed his ego and compensated for the many deprecating stares he received from the good people of Ruston.

  Like his customers’ addiction to moonshine, Frank’s friend Ben was stimulated by the bootlegger’s nefarious ways. Excited by the thrill of living on the edge of the law, Smith himself had sold a little illegal whiskey.

  Ben Smith, Jr. was the third of five sons born to a irreligious, hot-tempered father. Ben Smith, Sr. had built a room outside the house for the boys, providing a haven away from the discipline their young friends experienced at home.

  Ben, Jr. inherited his father’s business sense and made his first money swapping knives and working in the family cotton gin. By the age of sixteen, he had scraped up two hundred dollars to attend school out of state. He returned to Lincoln Parish and opened a tiny store in Woodville and then another at Allen Greene station. When he heard of a livery stable for sale in Ruston, he quit the mercantile business.

  He borrowed three thousand dollars from his four brothers, who never expected to see their money again. The venture was so successful, he repaid his brothers within three years. Even if his reputation was one of a genial rascal, his earnings made him one of the most prosperous businessmen in Ruston. There he had met Frank Mullins.

  Frank’s legal problems extinguished Ben's own urge to sell liquor. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with John Sisemore.

  Frank recalled Ben’s visits to the jail and his persistent pleas to give up the business.

  “It’s easy money,” he had replied. “Even with the fines, you can’t imagine how much I make for so little work.”

  “It’s gonna catch up with you one of these days,” warned Smith. “Mark my words. It’s gonna catch up with you.”

  They remained friends. Smith’s fascination with rowdy lawbreakers caused him to associate with a different segment of society than most Ruston businessmen.

  Frank’s father and brother visited but his mother refused. Her absence saddened him. Mary Mullins loved her sons as much as any mother could, but she hated what her family had become. Her husband was not a particularly evil man, but he would not straighten Frank out. Frank was a full-grown man, but he might listen to his father. But O. W. Mullins left his son alone.

  Mary Mullins lived a lonely life, existing today only in hopes of better things tomorrow. She had all but given up on changing the men in her family. Her preacher at the Walnut Creek Church, where she worshipped her God and prayed for her family, tried to convince her that she was not to blame for Frank’s and Will’s behavior. It was not her fault. They had been overcome by the evil influences of the world.

  Frank’s father tried to explain during a visit. “Mother wants to see you. She can’t bring herself to call at a jail. She would be embarrassed and ashamed to come. She’s seen women whispering and imagines they were gossiping about her.”

  Will Mullins idolized his older brother. Frank always had money, dressed well, and seemed to live a life of ease, despite the recent jail sentence. Will steadily became more involved in Frank’s illegal enterprises and ran the liquor operation, although on a smaller scale, during his brother’s incarceration.

  Frank sulked in his cell. He subconsciously rubbed his shoulder. It was healing well, and he exercised it often to work out the soreness. His vanity caused a gnawing anxiety that a scar would remain. He was of medium height, trimly built, with a thin, well-groomed mustache. There was a crude elegance about him. He spent much time thinking and planning, for there was little else to do. He thought a great deal about John Sisemore. Because he didn’t hate the marshal, because he had a tinge of respect for him, Mullins hoped to look at John Tom Sisemore face to face, smile, and then kill him.

  Now his sentence was nearly finished, he thought back to the incident that landed him in jail for twelve months. That February day was a blur. He could still see Sisemore, Police Chief Winfrey May, Officer O. K. Huey, and Pea Colvin. They were all shooting at him.

  He had shot at May and Sisemore and missed. Targets are harder to hit when they are shooting back, he had realized quickly. Soon Huey and Colvin joined the exchange. But it was John Tom Sisemore who had shot him.

  Sisemore had no business there, anyway. He didn’t live in Ruston, nor was he a Ruston policeman. He believed that federal badge let him do whatever. Sisemore had sort of adopted Ruston and spent a great deal of time helping Colvin and Chief May. And now he had been hired as a part-time Ruston policeman.

  At least May was calling himself Chief. There had been some controversy there that confused Mullins. The Town Council elected a fellow named Warren as chief, but quickly changed their mind and elected May to replace him. May was on the Council and voted for himself as chief. Both men had claimed the position. At the time of the shooting, Judge Barksdale’s ruling that Warren was the rightful chief had not been overturned. It had helped convince the jurors to vote “not guilty” on the charge of resisting an officer. How could you resist an officer that might not really be an officer? And Sisemore was a federal officer and the charge did not apply to him.

  If Sisemore had not shot him, the whole thing might be funny. When Officer Huey testified before the grand jury, he mentioned May pulled out his pistol from under his coat. So, they indicted May—the police chief—for carrying a concealed weapon. Even Mullins couldn’t figure it.

  Then in June, while out on bond, he foolishly snapped a shot at Sisemore on the street. He had witnesses who would have testified Sisemore was coming after him, but Mr. VanHook had convinced him to plead guilty. When he was convicted by a jury in September, VanHook arranged for the jail time for the June shooting to run concurrent with the sentence from the February shooting.

  It was not that William VanHook was afraid to go to trial. He had managed to get Mullins off at least a half dozen times in the last three years. VanHook explained jury selection was half the battle. Keep the townspeople and dogooders off the jury. Choose farmers. Someone with sympathy towards taking a drink now and then. Whiskey juries had released Mullins many times to the frustration of Ruston officials.

  The days in jail had been long and frustrating. Frank had made a point of living his own life. He slept when he pleased, ate when it suited him. No one told him what to do.

  Soon he would be his own man again. He had matters to handle. And he had no intention of changing his ways.

  CHAPTER SEVEN


  MOONSHINERS.

  ______

  Three of Them Captured in

  Lincoln Parish.

  ______

  Their Still and 600 Gallons of Mash

  Destroyed.

  Special to the Times.

  Ruston, La., Sept 29.--Deputy United States Marshal John T. Sisemore and United States Inspector L. W. Calvert captured another illicit distillery about four miles southeast of here last night. It was equipped with a medium-sized copper still, and about 600 gallons of mash and one gallon of white corn whisky, all of which was destroyed.

  The officers found at the still three white men, Jeff Holloway and George and Bill Sullivan, who were captured and taken by Officer Sisemore to Monroe this morning, where they are to appear before the United States Commissioner and answer to the charge of moonshining.

  The corn crop of Lincoln parish is exceedingly short, but that fact does not seem to retard the operations of illicit distilleries.

  September 1896

  We’re almost home,” Ed Beatty assured his guest.

  Beatty was mildly worried about Frannie’s reaction to the arrival of an unexpected visitor. Not that Turpin would be unwelcome, but Frannie would want the family to put its best foot forward for company, and that required some preparation.

  She would recover quickly, however, and be delighted to see Turpin. Many months had passed since their friend’s last business trip to Ruston.

  Besides, Frannie knew her husband would be hungry after a long day of errands in Ruston. She would have a large meal prepared. After supper, she would make a big show of waiting on Turpin, getting his bed ready, and ensuring his comfort.

  While in town, Beatty had heard his brother-in-law mentioned in several conversations. John Tom’s notoriety made Beatty uncomfortable. Not that he felt any uneasiness around John Tom—quite the opposite. They had grown up on farms within shouting distance of one another. The Sisemores and Beattys had been neighbors for years. When Frannie consented to marry him, Ed was happy to remain on the homeplace next to the Sisemores.

  Things had changed some when John Tom became a lawman. Sisemore had little time for some of the joint projects they had shared in the past, like building a barn or mending fences. John Tom rarely hunted or fished anymore, either.

  Still, they had seen each other frequently. Nora and Frannie helped each other out. Ed remembered the excitement he felt helping John Tom with some cases. It was easy to buy illegal whiskey.

  “So, how are things?” Turpin asked, interrupting Beatty’s thoughts.

  “Pretty good. Cotton’s looking good, even with all the dry weather. We got a couple of good rains when we needed them.”

  “What were you in town for, Ed?”

  “Just running some errands. He jerked his head toward the bundles in the wagon bed. Went to get some supplies and then by Thompson’s to see if I could hire some of his men to drive the cotton in. How long you going to be in town?”

  “Just one day. I need to head back to town by noon tomorrow, so I can finish my business and catch the evening train.”

  “Wish you could stay longer. Been a long time since you’ve been around.”

  ***

  “Frannie, look who I brought home with me,” shouted Beatty, as he and Turpin stepped up on the front porch.

  Mrs. Beatty and her children hurried to the door. “I can’t believe it! I thought you forgot all about us,” she said, smiling.

  “Oh, I might forget old Ed here some day, but not you, Frannie.”

  “Come on in. I wish I had known you were coming. The house’s a mess and I coulda fixed a big meal.”

  “I’m sure you’ve got enough,” Turpin said. “But as good as your food is, I’m gonna eat all you put in front of me.”

  “Well, by the time you men wash up, I’ll have it on the table.”

  “Everything alright around here, Frannie?” Beatty asked in a serious tone.

  “Yes. No problems.”

  Turpin laughed. “Ed, did you expect the place to disappear while you were in town?”

  “No, but all my dogs died three nights ago. I think they were poisoned.”

  Turpin’s smile disappeared. “Why would anyone do that?”

  “I don’t know.” Beatty reflected on past events for a moment, then shook his head as if to remove the thoughts. “Anyway, it was probably something all together different that killed‘em. Disease or worms, maybe.”

  Turpin looked at him suspiciously, knowing Beatty did not believe that for a minute.

  ***

  Beatty sat at one end of the table, Frannie at his side, with his back to the stove. Turpin sat at the other end and the children took the remaining seats. The doors and windows stood open, allowing a nice breeze to cool the room.

  “Frannie, it looks delicious,” declared Turpin as plates heaped with food were passed around the table. The children were talkative, excited the visitor’s presence. Their mother had lighted extra lamps, a sure sign bedtime would be a little later than usual.

  “How long can you stay with us?” asked Frannie.

  “Just the night,” Turpin explained. “I have to go back to Ruston in the morning and leave tomorrow evening. Wish I could stay longer.”

  “Well, we’re glad to have you, even for just one night,” she replied, smiling. The smile froze and then disappeared as she glanced toward the open door behind her husband’s back. Eating heartily, no one else noticed the change.

  Something had caught Frannie’s eye. A movement of some sort. Then, it was there again. An object poked into the room from the blackness outside. Frannie cried out, but the shotgun blast drowned her screams.

  ***

  Ed Beatty’s head exploded, bits of hair and skull and blood showering the table. Hysterical screams erupted from the children. A wide-eyed Frannie stared in horror at her husband.

  Turpin hit the floor, expecting another blast. “Get down! Get down!” he cried, reaching up to pull children from their chairs. He felt helpless, no weapon on him or in sight in the room. He peered at the doors and windows from his place on the floor and saw nothing. Then he glanced at his friend.

  The lifeless head of Ed Beatty had landed in his dinner plate.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Shreveport Times

  September 29, 1896

  A FOUL ASSASSINATION.

  _____

  Ed Beatty Killed in the Presence

  of His Family.

  _____

  MURDERER LEAVES NO TRACE.

  _____

  The Unfortunate Was an Inoffensive

  Citizen--Steps to be Taken to Find

  the Assassin.

  _____

  Special to the Times.

  Ruston, La., Sept. 28--On last Saturday night about 8 o’clock Ed Beatty, who lives about two miles from town, was assassinated while eating supper, with his family around the table with him.

  The assassin slipped up to the dining room door and fired a load of buckshot into Beatty’s head, a little behind his temple, that caused instant death.

  Beatty was considered by all who knew him to be an inoffensive man and a law-abiding citizen, and if he had ever had trouble of a serious nature with any one it is not known.

  He was an important witness against T. F. Mullins, for selling whiskey illicitly, in both the United States court and district court. In fact, he was the only witness in the case now pending against Mullins in the United States court.

  The assassin was deliberate in his deed, and left no sign by which he could be traced. Beatty’s dogs had been killed some nights before, so that they could give no trouble. A slip gap had been made in the fence near the dining room door to avoid climbing over and taking chances on a shot. After firing the fatal load into Beatty, the murderer ran through an orchard to the wood near by, where all trace of him was lost. The track made in the orchard was about the size of a No. 6 or 7 shoe, and has the appearance of a track made by a fine shoe, and not a brogan or laborer’s shoe.
>
  About 10 o’clock it began to rain and by daylight all trace had been obliterated. If there had been any trained dogs within reach it might have been possible to have obtained some trace of the assassin.

  The coroner’s jury returned a verdict of “came to death by gunshot wound in the hands of an unknown party.”

  Everybody has an opinion, but none is based on facts sufficient to justify an arrest.

  This is the first assassination ever committed in this parish, and all good citizens are loud in their condemnation of such cowardly deeds.

  Nothing will be left undone to discover the murderer. The police jury meets next Monday and will doubtless offer a reward sufficient to justify some good detective to work up the case.

  _____

  ANOTHER ACCOUNT.

  Special to the Times.

  Monroe, La., Sept. 28.--It was shortly before 7 o’clock when Mr. Beatty returned to his home from a visit to Ruston where he had been on business. Supper was ready from him upon his arrival home and shortly thereafter the family sat down to the table. With them was a Mr. Turpin, a visitor, who was to spend the night there.

  It was only a few minutes later when there was a loud report and Mr. Beatty fell from his chair with one side of his head blown away by a charge of shot. No one else was hurt and they jumped from the table in terror. Turpin and Mrs. Beatty went to the assistance of the wounded man, but death resulted almost immediately.