by Dan Arnold
“They offered me one thousand dollars, per year, just to turn a blind eye. That’s equal to my entire yearly salary!”
“Ya’ll know it’s a pretty common practice. The temptation can be overwhelming. In some places, the police are hardly more than organized criminals. I’m about to crack down on some of that, up at North Fork. Tommy Turner is the Sheriff, yet he owns and operates a bar and brothel. There are several up there. They have gambling in the saloons and casinos, as well. The miners are getting robbed seven ways from Sunday. None of it is legal in this state. I need to get some real law and order up into the mountains. I promised the governor I would. I’ll start with North Fork.”
When I arrived at the office, Hugh wasn’t in his usual place, behind the desk. He hadn’t missed a day of work since he came to Colorado. He had still been asleep when I left the bunk room down the hall, where he and I lived these days. A couple of the deputies stayed there as well. It was like the barracks where I lived with D Company of the Texas Rangers.
I walked down the hall to check on him, and found that he had checked out.
He’d died peacefully in his sleep.
Alta Vista County Chief Sheriff’s Deputy, Hugh Lomax, died the way he had lived his life…On the job.
I wasn’t good company for Lora that evening.
“Hugh was a really good man, John. I guess he was like a father to you.”
“No, Lora, it was Kergi Alexiev Borostoya, who was a father to me. Hugh was more of a mentor. I looked up to him for his character and his commitment to excellence. He was the single most dedicated lawman I ever met.”
Lora nodded.
“You’re like him in that way.”
“Am I? I get flustered with all the political stuff. Hugh just took it in stride. He believed everyone deserved to be treated the same way, with dignity. He didn’t judge people for what they did; he left it to the courts. He told me once he found something likeable in every man he ever arrested. He couldn’t be bought and he wouldn’t bend to the whims of petty politicians. I swear he liked criminals better than he liked politicians, and he was a pretty good politician himself.”
Lora laughed.
“You’re more like him than you know.”
It’s funny how things work out. Life isn’t what we want it to be, and it isn’t what we try to make it. Life is the gift of God and each day is a journey. The Bible says, “Trust in God with all your heart and don’t rely on your own intellect, in everything you do, acknowledge Him, and He will direct your paths.” That means He will show us which trail we should take. We still get to choose the trail we take and enjoy the consequences of the choices we make. On occasion, because we are only flawed human beings, we will make a bad choice and ride down the wrong trail. The key is to learn from our mistakes and get back on the trail we should be following.
One day, I caught the 12:10 to Denver and then another train to San Francisco. That train was so fast, at times we were traveling nearly one mile, in one minute!
From San Francisco, I took a Wells Fargo stage to Monterey and then down to Carmel, where I rented a horse. I rode the horse down the California coastline, beside the Pacific Ocean, until I saw, circled in a stand of Coastal Cyprus trees, some familiar wagons.
Well, that about covers it. I’ve found a place where I can make a difference. I have a job to do and friends to help me. Lora and I’ll be married, as soon as I get back to Bear Creek. Did I tell you Tom and Becky are expecting a baby?
As I look at the faces around me, lit by lamplight and the campfire, I see my son Nick with his new wife Rachel. I see my mother Sasha, with Katya and Matthew. And I see all of you, my family and my friends… my people.
Enough talk. Let’s have some music!
Turn the page for an excerpt from:
SAGE COUNTRY
Book Two
ALTA VISTA
©
DAN ARNOLD
SAGE COUNTRY
BOOK TWO
ALTA VISTA
©
DAN ARNOLD
Bob and I both had our guns on Sheriff Tommy Turner, as he walked into the room with his hands held high.
“Don’t shoot me, please don’t shoot. I’ve come to help,” Tommy said.
“Too late, get a mop.” Bob said.
“Yeah, you’ve made a hell of a mess,” Tommy observed.
“Tommy, go get a doctor!” I spat.
“We ain’t got one. The nearest thing to a doctor we had was the bartender here, but I see you’ve killed him, too.”
I knew I hadn’t. I looked at Bob, who shook his head. He hadn’t shot the bartender either. It must’ve been Wes or a loose shot fired by someone else. I looked at the man as he lay sprawled on the floor at the end of the bar. He had a sawed off double-barreled shotgun in his left hand.
“It was me. I shot that man,” Wes groaned. He was awake again.
“Damned good thing you did—if he had opened up on us with that thing, one or more of us would be dead for sure,” Bob said.
Wes shook his head weakly.
“Tommy, we need some help in here. Where can we get help for the wounded?” I asked.
“There’s a woman over at Aphrodite’s Bower. She was a nurse in the war. I hear she’s pretty good with wounds,” Tommy said.
“Well, go fetch her, NOW!” I yelled.
He took off at a run.
I looked at my watch.
It was just now eight forty five.
***
Shortly later, Mrs. Poole and Nancy came bustling into the building in the company of Max.
“Wes, I hear you’ve managed to get yourself shot again!” Mrs. Poole exclaimed. “Nancy, please have a look at him, while I see to the Sheriff here.”
She looked first at my neck wound and indicated it wasn’t serious but needed cleaning. She’d just begun to undo the makeshift bandage on my leg when Nancy interrupted.
“We need to get this man to the house quickly, Emma. He needs more help than I can give here. He has a bullet in him that has to come out.”
“Ah’ll take him, Miz Emma,” Max volunteered.
“Thank you, Max. Please hurry,” Mrs. Poole said.
Max scooped Wes up off the floor and cradled him in his arms like a baby. He and Nancy hurried out the door.
Mrs. Poole surveyed the room looking for other injured people. She confirmed everyone still on the floor was indeed dead. She asked Bob if he was hurt. He just shook his head.
“I don’t know how even one of you could have survived this,” she said sadly.
“I never wanted it to go this way. I intended to make an arrest of just two people, and it turned into a blood bath,” I said.
“Well, all I can say is when you say you’re going to clean up a town; you manage to take out most of the trash yourself.”
“Not like this. Why did everybody start shooting?” I asked.
“I guess there were several men in here who didn’t want to be arrested this evening. You killed Martin Pogue. He was sitting at the table with the Thorndykes. He couldn’t afford to be arrested. He faced hanging for sure. He just lost his head,” Bob said.
“This place was a den of low life criminals, cutthroats, and thieves. A pity you didn’t get Ian McGregger while you were at it. Can you walk, Sheriff?” Mrs. Poole asked me.
I nodded.
“I can hobble pretty well.”
“Bob, you’d better help him up. We’re going to the house to get you all patched up.”
“Okay, Emma,” Bob replied
It dawned on me they knew each other.
“How do you two know each other?” I asked, stupidly.
They both just stared at me.
I limped over and picked up my John Browning designed Winchester shotgun from where I’d dropped it. I reloaded it with shells from my jacket pocket.
Then we headed out.
***
Outside, the street was crowded with onlookers and some who had escaped the carnage. Pe
ople had come running as soon as the shooting stopped. Some were standing on the porch of the Gold Dust. Others had swarmed out of the Oxbow.
There were horrified looks on the faces of some. Others nodded their respects.
There was no sign of Homer Thorndyke.
Bob and I were in no mood for trouble, and people could sense it. They moved aside and let us be on our way. I managed to limp around the corner, but before we had gone very far, I had to lean on Bob. Mrs. Poole hurried on ahead of us.
A note from the author
Thank you for reading Bear Creek. I would love to hear from you. You can contact me at my website ~ www.danielbanks-books.com or follow me on Goodreads~ https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10798086.Daniel_Roland_Banks
I certainly hope you had as much fun reading this book as I had writing it. If you liked it please tell a friend - or better yet, tell the world by writing a book review on the book’s page on Amazon, or on Goodreads.com.
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All the best,
Dan
About the Author
I’ve led a colorful life, fueling my imagination for telling stories set in the American West.
I was born in Bakersfield, California and abandoned by my parents in Seattle, Washington. After living in the foster care system for some years, I was eventually adopted. I’ve lived in Idaho, Washington, California, Virginia, and now make my home in Texas. My wife Lora and I have four grown children, of whom we are justifiably proud, not because we were such good parents but because God is good.
I’ve written several novels and an illustrated book on the training of horses, in addition to authoring and/or contributing to numerous technical manuals and articles in various publications and periodicals.
As a horse trainer and clinician (I trained performance horses for twenty five years), I had occasion to travel extensively and I’ve been blessed to have worked with a variety of horses and people in amazing circumstances and locations.
I’ve herded cattle in Texas, chased kangaroos on horseback through the Australian Outback, guided pack-trips into the high Sierras and the Colorado Rockies, conditioned and trained thoroughbred race horses, galloped a warmblood on the bank of a canal surveyed by George Washington, and spent uncounted, delightful hours breaking bread with unique characters in diverse parts of the world.
At one (brief) point I was one of the 3% of fine visual artists who earned their entire income from sales of their art. I’m a painter, sculptor and writer.
Under the name Daniel Roland Banks (my actual birth name) I write contemporary detective thrillers. I’m a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Western Writers of America.
My book ANGELS & IMPERFECTIONS was selected as finalist in the Christian Fiction category in the 2015 Reader’s Favorites Book Award contest.
In 2013, after 40+ years of searching, I found and got reacquainted with my half-brother and a host of relatives from my mother’s side of the family.
I can’t sing or dance, but I’d like to think I’m considered an engaging public speaker, an accomplished horseman and an excellent judge of single malt Scotch.