Riding For The Brand: Sage Country Book Three

by Dan Arnold

  Sin is real and always destructive of whoever embraces it. Sin isn’t so much a particular act, as it is a matter of the heart, a sickness of soul. The wages of sin is death. There is a spiritual death as well as a physical one.

  It’s not my place to judge another man’s heart or know his ultimate destiny. Bat had attempted to befriend me, so I put out my hand.

  “That’s good enough for me.”

  We shook on it.

  5.

  The next morning, I was out of the house early and arrived in my office in the courthouse only to find it already occupied.

  “Morning, John.” Buckskin Charlie Owens said, as though we met like this every day.

  Buckskin Charlie Owens had recently been an exhibition shooter in a traveling Wild West show. He could do amazing things with a handgun, or pretty much any type of long gun. He’d been billed as “Buckskin Charlie Owens, the world’s finest marksman and fast draw artist.” These days, he’d cut his hair, and he seldom wore the double holsters, or the fancy fringed buckskin coat, which had been part of his stage persona. He still had a big bushy walrus mustache. He’d been well on his way to becoming a famous entertainer, but Charlie had gotten sick of show business. Most folks still thought of him as “Buckskin” Charlie.

  Before the Wild West show, he’d been a little known and underappreciated law man. I was thrilled when he accepted my job invitation. I’d recently promoted him to Chief Deputy.

  This morning, he was sitting at my desk in my “official” office on the first floor of the courthouse. We had another office downstairs in the basement, near the jail. That was his usual post, but with me out these last couple of weeks, he’d taken custody of my office.

  “I suppose you want your desk back…”He said, as he started to stand.

  “No, Charlie. You stay right there.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “I just came in to tell you I’m going to be gone for a little while longer.”

  “Oh, alright, I understand. I sure am looking forward to you coming back though. I hate having to be the man in this office. Now I understand a little about how President Cleveland must feel.”

  I grinned.

  “Kinda makes you appreciate the bad guys, huh?”

  “Shoot yes! I’d rather spend my time with the men locked up downstairs than have to deal with the people who walk into this office. I swear; the criminals are more honest and less likely to stab you in the back.”

  “I know what you mean. Listen, I’m going to attend the meeting of the Board of Commissioners tonight, so you won’t have to be there. I’ve got some things to talk over with them.”

  He nodded.

  “Appreciate it, but I’ll be there anyway, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all, Charlie. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

  He nodded once and changed the subject.

  “How are you feeling, John, you healing up alright?”

  “Good, Charlie, I’m doing fine. I just need some time to work out some personal stuff.”

  “You bet. Don’t worry; we’ve got the duties of the Sheriff’s department pretty much under control.”

  “Have you heard anything from Ed?”

  I’d left orders to send my deputy, Ed Burnside, up to North Fork. I’d sent him up there after the shooting trouble in the town. He was supposed to stay up there for two weeks, or until the worst of the riff raff had pulled out. It all started, when the Governor instructed me to put an end to the open corruption, prostitution, and gambling up at North Fork. I’d given the town notice they had one month to get it done. Two weeks into the month, I found myself shooting it out with some bad outlaws.

  “He came in late last night. I haven’t seen him yet this morning.” Charlie said.

  “Seen who?” Ed asked, from the open doorway.

  “Hah, just the man I was looking for.” I said.

  We shook hands.

  “Sheriff, I heard you’d been shot. You look a little the worse for wear, are you OK?”

  “I’m fine, and you’re a sight for sore eyes. I was afraid I was gonna have to ride up there to check on you. Has there been any trouble?”

  “No sir. The local ‘sheriff’, Tommy Turner, hasn’t been much help, but he never tried to interfere with me. I’ve had to say and do some things to get the point across, but I haven’t had to deal with any really strong resistance. I’ll bet fifty people have pulled out of town, in the last couple of weeks.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I knew I could count on you.”

  “Yes sir, but I think I’ll need to go back up there. Least ways, someone will have to. I don’t mean to say Tommy Turner can’t be trusted…”

  “…But Tommy Turner can’t be trusted.” Charlie and I chimed in.

  We all shrugged, simultaneously.

  “That’s one of the things I need to address with the Board of Commissioners tonight.” I observed. “If you’re willing to go back up there, I can’t think of anyone better than you.”

  “Yes sir, but I need some things…”

  “Whatever you need to do your job, I’ll see you get it.”

  “Yes sir, only do you think maybe I could get my pay?”

  I looked at Charlie.

  “I’ve got your pay right here,” he said, opening one of my desk drawers. “I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to get it to you, Ed.”

  ***

  When I left the courthouse I walked over to the livery stable. I spent some time grooming Dusty. I hadn’t seen him much since I’d been shot.

  I saw Alexander Granville Dorchester III, the proprietor of the livery stable, approaching.

  “Hey, Al,” I said, my usual greeting.

  I needed to discuss the matter of Dusty’s board. The county was paying to have Dusty boarded here at the livery stable. If I took him home with me, Al could lose some income.

  There was considerable convenience to having him at the livery stable. Al took good care of him, sparing me having to feed him at least twice a day, and keeping his feet properly shod.

  Then again, we had good pasture down by the creek and our barn had stalls. Our two carriage horses were quite content there.

  “Al, I’m thinking about moving Dusty down to my place. What do you think about that?”

  Al nodded thoughtfully.

  “Sure would beat having to hike up the hill into town every day, especially when the snow falls. You can ride him up here, and ride back down in the evening. I know he would enjoy having some room to roam around and roll in that good grass you have down there. It isn’t natural for a horse to have to be penned up all the time.” He said.

  “Maybe the county would still pay his board bill, if I had him boarded here during the day.” I mused.

  “Well, you do what you think is best. You know I’m pretty fond of him myself.”

  “I’m gonna give it a try. Jake wants to ride him some.”

  “How are those kids doing? I kind of miss having them around here,” he said.

  “Do you, really?”

  “No, not really, it’s not safe here for children, and they worried me some.”

  “It was kind of you to let them hide here, not chasing them off.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  “Tonight, at the meeting of the Board of Commissioners, I’m going to address the issue about all the orphans in town.”

  “Good. I’ll come to the meeting myself.”

  “You might want to speak to some other folks about the meeting, too. It would be good if some of the more prominent town folk were there.”

  He squinted at me. “Say now, it’s a good idea and I’m gonna do exactly that.”

  6.

  Back at the house, Bat and I had an early lunch and then walked back into town together so he could catch the 12:10 to Denver.

  When we got to the top of the hill near the courthouse, we stopped for a moment. Bat was red faced and sweating. By the way he bent over; I could tell
he had a stitch in his side. He looked up at me.

  “I can see you’re not fully recovered, John. You look a bit peaked. Are you feeling alright?” He stayed bent over, panting a little.

  I chuckled. “You’re the second person to say that to me, today. All this walking back and forth is the most exercise I’ve had in over two weeks. I’m fine though. I just need to build up my strength.”

  Bat nodded. “You’ll be back in fighting form in no time. I’m a bit winded from the hike myself.”

  “It’s the altitude, not the grade or the distance,”

  “It’s all that, and more,” he replied, patting his ample belly.

  We both chuckled at the comment.

  At the depot, we stood there talking as the train came whistling down the tracks and chugged to a steamy halt at the platform.

  We waited for the arriving passengers to get off, one of whom caught Bat’s attention.

  “I say, Theodore, is that you?”

  “Why, Bat Masterson, bully to see you!” The man responded. He struck a pugilist’s pose, fists extended, grinning a toothy grin. Bat matched his pose for a moment, the two men looking remarkably alike.

  “Hah! What are you doing in Bear Creek, Theodore?”

  “Just stretching my legs, I’m on my way to Denver, and then back to the city. How about you? Are you still in the fight game?”

  Bat waggled his hand, indicating ambiguity.

  “Theodore, let me introduce you to my friend John Everett Sage. John, this is Theodore Roosevelt. You two have something in common.”

  “How do you do Mr. Roosevelt,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “Are you the Sheriff Sage, the celebrated shootist? I wonder what we might have in common.” The man said, looking me in the eye.

  “You’re both in law enforcement, Theodore. That’s what you have common. John, Theodore is the Police Commissioner for the city of New York.”

  “Well, that’s impressive. You’re a long way from home, Mr. Roosevelt.”

  “I have some land in North Dakota, Wyoming and Montana. I had a cattle operation, but the winter of ’87 did me in, wiped out my entire herd. I’m still in love with the west. Beautiful country, I come out here whenever I can.”

  “Theodore is something of a reformer, John. He’s cleaning up the police force in New York City.”

  “I imagine it will take some doing.” I observed.

  “I’ve heard you know how to deal with corruption yourself, Sheriff Sage. Bully for you!”

  “You can’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

  Nodding his understanding, Theodore looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “I believe we may have another friend in common, besides old Bat here.”

  “Who might that be?”

  “Do you know John Browning?”

  I grinned.

  “Yes, I surely do.”

  “Board! All aboooard!” The conductor called.

  “That’s us, Theodore.” Bat said. “John, thanks for your hospitality and consideration. Don’t worry. I’ll see your story gets properly published.”

  “Good bye, Bat. Mr. Roosevelt, it was a pleasure to meet you.” I said, shaking hands all around.

  The two men turned and boarded the train, each stepping aside for the other, Theodore finally boarding before Bat. The two looking so alike, they could’ve been brothers.

  As the train pulled away from the station I thought about what a strange man Bat Masterson was. Imagine him knowing the Police Commissioner for the city of New York! Bat was something of a rascal and Theodore was a hard-nosed reformer, but clearly, they were friends.

  ***

  I found Tom in his office at the police station.

  “Good afternoon, Chief. What’s new with you?”

  “Well, howdy, Sheriff Sage. I’m just going over the reports. I don’t know what to do with these sagebrush orphans. We’ve got a crime wave going on.”

  I wondered if Tom had made the sagebrush orphan reference because he knew it was how I got my name.

  I’d been one of those sagebrush orphans. They called me a sagebrush kid, eventually just “that sage kid”, and the name had stuck.

  Life can be especially harsh and unforgiving, west of the Mississippi. Many of these orphaned kids were the unwanted children of prostitutes, while others were children whose parents had been lost to the sudden calamities common throughout the west.

  “They’re stealing just about anything that’s not nailed down. My officers have caught several of them, but I can’t lock em up in my jail or yours. They’re just kids. The crimes have been mostly petty thefts so far, but it’s just a matter of time till something worse happens.” He said.

  “I’m going to address the issue with the county Board of Commissioners tonight. I got a letter from Mrs. Poole, or I should say Mrs. Bradley, the preacher’s wife. She detailed specific terms for the administration of her gift, and included the deed to the property up at North Fork. We can have a fully functional orphanage within a matter of weeks, maybe even sooner, once we get the commissioners to sign off on the deal.”

  Tom smiled. “You wouldn’t mind if I came to the meeting and addressed the commissioners myself, would you?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “When are the uhhh, ‘Bradley’s’ coming back?”

  I knew Tom was referring to the Reverend Jeff Bradley and his new bride, Emma Bradley, our friends who were formerly known by other, more notorious, names.

  “It probably won’t be long. Once people stop coming to see the place where the famed gunfighter, Wes Spradlin, was killed, and others forget Mrs. Bradley was once the legendary Mrs. Poole who ran some rather successful bordellos…”

  “Yeah, it wouldn’t do to have Wes Spradlin suddenly resurrected in our midst, would it?” Tom speculated.

  “No. But, Ed tells me about fifty of the outlaws, tramps and losers have pulled out of North Fork. That’s most or all of the people who might’ve known either Wes or Emma in their previous lives. I’m confident they’ll be able to start a new life in North Fork.”

  “It’s a better chance than most folks get. It’ll be a new life for both them and the town.”

  “God willing, things are turning around up there. The deal with the logging company is pretty much done. There’ll be a new sawmill and new families moving into North Fork, before the snow flies.”

  “They’ll have a new church and a new preacher as well.” Tom added. “I hear they’ve already started construction.”

  “And the county orphanage,” I pointed out

  “I expect the Governor is pleased, John. You’ve accomplished more than he asked you to do.”

  I shrugged.

  “I haven’t heard from him and I don’t expect I will. He’s probably distancing himself as far from me as he can, at least until the ruckus dies down. He doesn’t want people to think he sent a killer up there to clean up the town with gunfire.”

  “Politics, John. Both of your careers start and end with politics. He’s an elected official, just like you are.”

  “So you keep reminding me.”

  7.

  Politics has never interested me, but as Tom is fond of reminding me, I’m an elected official. It’s an aspect of the Sheriff’s job I do not enjoy.

  Part of the responsibility involves going to the monthly County Board of Commissioner’s meetings. Because I’m a county employee, I’m answerable to the Board of Commissioners. It’s through them all business matters of the Sheriff’s department are funded and approved.

  To say I got a mixed reception at the meeting would be an understatement.

  It was clear the commissioners had already been talking to each other and had chosen sides. About half of them were happy to see me and greeted me warmly, enquiring about my recovery. The other half wouldn’t even make eye contact with me and gave me the brush off as quickly as they could.

  It didn’t help that the local newspaper, The Bear Creek Banne
r, openly opposed me at every turn. It really irked me, because they’d found in me an abundance of colorful stories (mostly fabricated) which improved both their circulation and revenue from advertising.

  It was evident the commissioners were surprised at the attendance of this seemingly routine board meeting.

  The seven of them were seated behind a couple of tables pushed together in front of the Judge’s bench in the courthouse. They were facing the rows of seats in the gallery, now fully occupied by the citizens in attendance. There were even people leaning against the walls.

  Not expecting much of a turn-out, the commissioners had only printed about fifteen copies of the agenda, not nearly enough for all the people in attendance.

  There was a continuous murmur of voices as the citizens of the county discussed the meeting. The atmosphere was…expectant.

  The chairman struck his gavel to bring the meeting to order. They started by reading the minutes of the previous month’s meeting and voted to accept them as read. They moved on to old business generated by the previous meeting.

  As usual, there was a long discussion about manure disposal and the need to limit the horse traffic in town. Maybe the county should build a wagon yard just outside town, where people could park their rigs and manure pickup would be much easier.

  Eventually someone moved the matter be tabled because it was more of a city issue than a county issue, and no one from the city had officially requested it. It was quickly seconded and the vote was called. The vote to table the matter was, as usual, unanimous.

  When the old business had all been addressed, it was time to move on to the matters listed on the agenda for this meeting. Most of it was routine and related to collection and distribution of revenues, which eventually brought them to the issues involving the County Sheriff’s office.

  “Sheriff Sage, we’re glad to see you’re feeling well enough to represent your department in this meeting. We have a number of concerns to address…” The chairman started. “First, let me say we find your recent conduct entirely…”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Chairman. My conduct is not listed on the agenda for this meeting. There are, however, other issues which are on the agenda. As a point of order, don’t you think we should address those items on the printed agenda? I believe public discussion of my conduct might have to wait until we get to new business.”