by R. B. Conroy
It wasn’t long before the big man had joined Ed’s game. This was not a good sign; Jon didn’t like it. Ed, on the other hand, didn’t think a thing about the big man joining in. He always thought the best of everyone and had a difficult time separating a good man from a bad man. Jon could see trouble coming from a mile away and this guy spelled trouble.
“Is that big loud fella over there at the next table a wolfer?” Jon inquired of one of his playing partners, attempting to verify his intuition about the big lout.
“Sure enough is,” was the answer. “He’s from the Black Hills area over ‘round Deadwood. I hear he’s one mean varmint. Someone said he beat a man to death in Deadwood with his bare hands over a two dollar bet.”
“You don’t say,” Jon replied. “Sounds like a real fine fella.”
“Yea, he’s a bad one. He shouldn’t be in here anyway, being a wolfer and everything. I guess he’s so big he doesn’t give a damn,” the other man said quietly, not wanting the big man to hear him.
“I guess not,” Jon said as he threw his hand in. “I fold.”
Worried about Ed and what was going on at his table, Jon was not able to concentrate on his cards any longer. It didn’t take too long before his concerns about Ed were proven right; things were starting to get ugly over at Ed’s game. The conversation between the players had become very animated. The big bearded man was arguing with Ed about a pot Ed had just won. Jon listened as he accused Ed of cheating. Jon knew better than that; Ed Morgan was as honest as the day is long. Jon excused himself, gathered up his chips and quickly moved over to the end of the bar, right next to Ed’s table for a better vantage point.
Suddenly, without warning, the big wolfer suckered punched Ed. Overcome with rage, Jon interceded and violently beat the huge man senseless. The savageness of the beating was unnerving to the patrons in the saloon. Even in the rough and tumble buffalo camps, a beating of this brutality was rarely seen. At the sound of Ed’s voice, Jon backed off and let the battered man fall to the ground. There was a sigh of relief throughout the saloon. Jon apologized to the stunned crowd as the two tough young runners headed back to their camp, pride intact.
Soon the trouble in the saloon was a distant memory as the two boys continued to do well with their hunting. But even though things were going well, Jon was starting to get a little bored with the routine and was finding it more and more difficult to get up for the hunt. Ed could have kept at it a little longer but he also was growing tired of the long days on the range and the dirt and dust also. So they both agreed that enough was enough and decided to sell their outfit and move on down the road. Only trouble was, it would be two separate roads.
Ed was looking to find a wife, buy a nice piece of land somewhere, settle down and raise a family. Jon was looking to see a little more of the world. He wanted more adventure and excitement and a chance to use his poker playing skills in a few more of the many frontier towns that dotted the western landscape. Settling down was not in the cards right now for Jon.
He thought back to that day when he and Ed sold their outfit for a good profit to a couple of young runners in the camp. They reminded Jon very much of he and Ed when they first came to the camp two years earlier. Excited and filled with anticipation, Jon hoped the newcomers would do well. Later that evening, they gathered up some wood and built their last fire. It was a windy, cold evening on the Dakota prairie as they sat by the campfire for the last time.
“You got any kin up Ellsworth way?” Jon leaned close to the fire and rubbed his hands together as a cool northern breeze sent a chill up his spine. Ed had said earlier that he wanted to head up Ellsworth way and Jon was wondering if there was a family connection in the Kansas town.
“Couple of cousins and an uncle, that’s about it,” Ed replied as he threw a couple of logs on the fire. “We lived there for awhile when I was just a boy. I always liked the area, folks are nice there. Ever since then, I’ve thought that it would be a good place to settle down. How about you Jon, where’s your kin folk?”
They had been so busy trying to make a go of it in the camp that they never got around to talking about their families. Now that they were parting, it seemed to be something they wanted to know.
“I got a little sis out in Denver. Last time I heard she was working in a laundry. She’s the only kin I got left, except for a couple of cousins; both of my parents have passed away. Daddy died in a farm accident shortly before I left Indiana. He was up in the hayloft pitching hay in a wagon and lost his balance and fell. His head hit the hitch on the wagon and it killed him.
“I was always in awe of my father; I couldn’t believe how quickly he died after the fall. Just a matter of a few minutes, his head swelled up and his eyes almost popped out of his face. He looked frightful,” Jon said matter-of-factly.
“My mama died from pneumonia when I was just sixteen. She got real sick that winter with the flu and then she caught pneumonia and died. She was a fine woman, I really miss her.”
“What kind of man was your father Jon?”
“Hmmm...well, he wasn’t a very happy man that’s for sure. I got a good beating about every day. He said the beatings would make me tough, but I hated it and I hated him.” Jon’s voice trailed off. “How about your folks Ed?” he asked, anxious to change the subject.
“They’re fine. Both of them are still farming back in Missouri. I plan to visit them for awhile after I leave here.” Ed seemed surprised by what he saw next when he looked over at his friend.
Jon’s big calloused hand was trembling; his trigger finger wiped a tear away from his eye. “I’m going to miss you buddy, I want you to know that! I’m really going to miss you!” Jon’s big heart was breaking as he opened up to his departing friend. “You’ve been like a brother to me Ed, I’ll never forget ya.” Jon’s voice was shaking; he was almost whispering now.
“Now don’t go getting sentimental on me Jon or we’ll both end up bawling like babies,” Ed replied as he started to tear up. “I wish we could go on forever friend, but things change. And I guess we just have to go our own way now.”
“I guess we do,” Jon said quietly as he scribbled on the ground with a stick, not wanting the pain of looking his departing friend in the eye. “I guess we just have to go our own way,” Jon murmured as he laid back, pulled his hat down over his eyes and prepared to go to sleep for the last time on the cold Dakota prairie.
Ed sat for some time and looked at the flickering flames as they danced nervously in the dimming campfire. Then he too lay down on the cold, hard ground for his last night’s sleep in the buffalo camps.
Jon remembered how somber and melancholy the two young hunters had been that final evening as they sat by the campfire and reflected quietly over their two years together. All of the trials, tribulations and challenges that they had faced together in the camp had indeed made them very close. They had taken on a very difficult situation and had overcome enormous odds to make a go of it. All the struggles and shared experiences helped form the character of both men as they made their way through life. The lessons learned and experiences shared would never be forgotten.
Jon and Ed were pretty subdued the next morning as they loaded up their pack horses and prepared to leave. They were still trying to absorb the totality of the situation. Neither one knew what to say. Finally Jon broke the ice. “You better name one of them little ones after me, you hear me!”
“I promise I will, Partner, I promise! Jon Jr., no doubt about it,” Ed said enthusiastically. “And may your hole card always be an ace, my friend!” Ed said as he walked quickly over to bid his friend farewell.
“Thank you, Partner!” Jon said sincerely as he approached his friend with his hand outstretched. The two shook firmly, quickly embraced, mounted up and rode away in opposite directions. Both were nursing a very heavy heart as they turned without cue a few hundred yards down the trail and tipped their hats in a final farewell. Jon rode on toward Cheyenne and the gambling haunts in that railroad town whi
le Ed headed back toward Missouri for that visit with his folks. A powerful and defining period in these two young men’s life had just come to an end. Little did they know on that cool September day in the Dakota Territory that they would meet again many years later in a little mining town far out in the Sonoran Desert.
Chapter 4
The dust flew as Jon playfully kicked an empty tin can under the wooden walkway. He glanced at the “Military Discount” sign that hung next to the red, white, and blue barber’s pole as he hurried up the stairs. It was time for Jon’s bi-weekly haircut and some friendly jawin’ with his good friend Tom Baldwin, popular barber and President of the County Commission.
Busy sweeping the floor, Tom didn’t notice Jon come in.
Jon looked around, admiring the little shop. Several colognes, scissors, combs, shaving mugs, and the ever present straight razors were lined up on the shelf just behind the chair. A beautiful oval mirror with beveled glass hung above the shelf. Jon glanced toward the back, looking for Tom’s brown and white Bassett hound. He smiled as he spotted the docile hound lying motionless by the back door. The only sign of life from the chubby beast was an occasional swat of the tail.
“Well hello Jon, how the heck are you?” Tom grinned as he caught a glimpse of the big lawman. Commissioner Baldwin looked distinguished in his red plaid vest, white cotton shirt, and black shoe string tie. A pair of small, round lenses hung precariously on the end of his rather long nose.
“I’m just fine, Tom, good to see you again,” Jon replied.
“Sit down Jon, please.” The natty barber pointed to the chair.
Jon’s big body fell into the leather chair; his head nestled into the soft head rest. The breeze from the large black cloth felt good as it flew over Jon’s head.
“You know Jon, I always kind of hate to cut your hair.”
“Oh yea Tom? Why would that be?”
“I don’t like messin’ with perfection!” the friendly barber quipped.
“Ha, ha, ha!” Jon shouted. “That’s a good one!” His big hand slammed down on the leather arm. “Wait till I tell the boys about this one.”
“Gotcha that time Sheriff,” Tom said with a grin. “The usual?”
“Yea, just don’t trim too much off around my ears, I don’t want them to stick out,” Jon said, still chuckling.
“Okay, okay lover boy, don’t worry!”
Tom got more serious as he picked up the scissors. “I’m glad you came in today, I been meaning to talk to you.”
“Oh yea, what about?” Jon asked.
“Did you know our British friends Alex Faraday and Clive Cook have both thrown their names in the hat for County Commissioner?”
“No I didn’t, but they seem like nice enough hombres. They bought that big mansion out by the mines, didn’t they?” Jon asked.
“Yea, they seem to have plenty of money and they’re very popular around here. They could win, you know.”
“Are you worried about that Tom?” Jon asked.
“Well, I’m not sure. I was talking to an old friend of mine who just came here from up Kansas way. He stopped in for a haircut the other day. He was a bartender in Ellsworth before coming’ out here. He’s a talker, seems like he always knows what’s going’ on.”
“What’d he have to say?”
“Rumor was in Ellsworth that Alex hired Butch Canady, a nasty gunhand, and he’ll be arriving here in a day or two. I guess the question is, why would he need to hire a gunman? He doesn’t seem to have any enemies that I know of.” Tom seemed genuinely puzzled.
“Alex has been doing pretty well down at his saloon, maybe he feels he’s making so much money he needs protection.”
Tom’s foot tapped the foot lock, the chair spun to the right. “Maybe so, but something doesn’t feel right about this Jon. Maybe you ought to look into it.”
“Okay, Mr. Commissioner.” Jon grinned. “I’ll kind of check things out a little. Faraday and Cook came here from Denver. I’ll send a wire to my sheriff friend up that away and see what I can find out. One thing for sure, that Canady is one mean bugger. I spent some time with him in Dodge City years ago and he’s pure evil.”
“We need to stay on top of this,” Tom said warily.
Jon grimaced. “Sure do.”
“Well that’s enough of this kind of talk Sheriff. How bout a shave?”
“Sounds good, partner!”
Tom hit the release button on the cast iron chair; Jon went perpendicular.
“Hold on there!” Jon shouted, feet in the air, laughing like a fool.
Chapter 5
Steam rose as the hot black liquid splashed into the metal cup. “Thank you Ed,” Jon said. The pot banged as Ed strolled over and dropped it on the cast iron burner. Jon was nestled in the corner of the office behind his large oak desk. He took a sip of coffee and sat back to admire the new jail the town had built him. From this vantage point, Jon could see everyone coming and going from the jail. He also had a good view of all but one of the cells. That cell sat around the corner and was used to house harmless drunks, vagrants etc. The deputy’s desk was smaller and just to the right of the front door. A local seamstress had made some appropriately masculine brown curtains to adorn the windows at either side of the door. The four small cells featured steel plate ceilings lined with railroad ties, thirty-two inch stucco walls, and two hundred pound, riveted steel doors. Jon was particularly proud of several pictures of local dignitaries that hung in various places around the room. One was of himself.
Deputy Ed Morgan was at his desk doing some paper work when he noticed Jon admiring the room. “Nice office, ain’t it, Jon?”
“Yea, yea, it’s pretty darn nice alright.”
“You know, the other day I found some pocket mice back there in the supply room. They were trying to get in our bags of coffee and sugar,” Ed said as he looked over at Jon.
Jon was genuinely annoyed at being brought out of his delightful trance by his good friend. “Oh, oh well, is that so? Ah, what the heck did you do about it, Ed?”
“Well I uh, took the picture of that big ugly sheriff off the wall and sat it back there in the supply room for a couple of days. And you know what?”
“What?”
“I ain’t seen a mouse since,” Ed said, with a grin.
“Why you no account claim jumper!” Jon shouted. “You know I hate that picture, Libby makes me keep it up there because she painted it!” Jon grabbed a book off his desk and started to throw it at Ed. Ed was heading for cover under his desk. Suddenly, the front door swung open; Fred from the telegraph office rushed into the room.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the prim and proper Fred announced, obviously taken aback by the silly behavior of the two law enforcement officials. “But your message from Sheriff Taggart in Denver just arrived and you told me to bring it right down.”
“Yea, I certainly did Fred. And thank you for bringing it down so quickly.” Big Jon said nervously. He could feel his face turning red as he set the book on his desk. Ed was smiling from ear to ear, obviously delighted at the predicament his good friend had gotten himself into.
“That’ll be two dollars Sheriff.”
Jon’s hand slipped into his front jeans pocket and pulled out two silver dollars. “Thank you Fred,” Jon said. The wire slid across Jon’s desk. Fred left the jail, nose in the air.
Jon sat back and began reading the lengthy telegram from Sheriff Taggart. Several minutes later he looked up and made eye contact with Deputy Ed.
“Well, what is it? Let’s have it.” Ed was anxious to learn more about the two popular Brits who had opened the Faraday Saloon six months prior.
“It seems like I should have checked on these boys a little sooner!” Jon scowled.
“It’s that bad huh?” the deputy replied.
“Pretty bad. It seems our friends from Britain were quite the movers and shakers in Denver.”
“Oh yea? What’d Sheriff Taggart have to say?”
“Taggart
says they came to Denver about three years ago from Boston area. They both got their citizenship while they lived in Boston. As soon as they got to town; Faraday, the one with the money, bought a saloon in downtown Denver. He claims his ancestry goes back to some low level British royalty. Taggart says they were both very popular when they first arrived in Denver. It wasn’t long before Clive Cook was getting politically involved. He ran for sheriff and was narrowly beaten in a runoff with a local man. The new sheriff liked Cook and appointed him to be one of his deputies shortly after taking office. When the sheriff was mysteriously killed, the town asked Clive to take the job. That’s when the trouble started.” Jon paused and took a hard drag off of his Havana; the smoke drifted to the ceiling.
“So now Faraday owns a saloon and has local law enforcement in his back pocket,” the savvy deputy surmised.
“Exactly Ed. Cook started going around fining the other tavern owners for housing prostitutes and permitting gambling, while turning a blind eye to his friend Faraday’s operation. Faraday was doing the same thing, but not being fined for it. Nobody noticed at first. There were ordinances against gambling and prostitution in Denver but nobody abided by them; an occasional fine was levied, which served as a form of excise tax. The town used the money to fund worthwhile projects. But when the other owners found out they were the only ones being targeted, the crap hit the fan. They were angry, afraid the two curly wolves would run them out of business.”