by Jim Cox
While the couple was looking over the rooms, the hotel agent brought their luggage and placed it in the bedroom. After Liz had freshened herself a bit, she started unpacking, placing their things in the dresser and closet. Scar left to take Molly and the mules to the livery, and then he headed back to the hotel.
“Are you ready to eat, Liz? I’m starving,” Scar asked, as he entered their room. She was sitting in a corner chair in her robe.
“Not yet. I want to bathe and put on fresh clothing before we leave. I’ve ordered hot water from the front desk. It should be here anytime.” Scar shook his head, knowing supper was at least an hour away. Just then, someone knocked. It was two hotel men, each carrying two large buckets of hot water. After the men left, Scar announced he’d be waiting in the dining room. She was to meet him there after dressing.
An hour and a half later, Liz stood in the dining room entrance. Scar was starting to stand when he saw a well-dressed, good-looking man walk up to her. The man had a pleasant smile and was no doubt trying to charm her into joining him at his table. Scar hurried across the room. “Hello, sweetheart. I’ve been waiting for you.” The well-dressed man eyed Scar from top to bottom, taking in his dirty, smelly traveling clothes. He then nodded at Liz with a smile and walked back to his table. After Scar had seated his wife, he said, “You draw men like honey draws bees, Liz.”
She looked at him with twinkling eyes. “As long as I draw you, sweetheart.”
Early the next day, Scar was in the sheriff’s office explaining his supposition about the Abernathy brother’s next hold up. Scar outlined his duties as a Colorado marshal and reported on the governor’s desire to catch the thieves, pointing out the many stagecoach and bank robberies they’d pulled off in the past six months.
The sheriff was a mid-sized man in his early fifties. His chest was sunk in a little but his belly stuck out, causing his belt and pants to sag underneath. His star was pinned on the left side of his black leather vest, which covered a good portion of a red and white flannel shirt. His boots were scuffed. His gun hung rather lazily by his side. But the most unique thing about the sheriff was his thick, bushy mustache hanging down a couple of inches at the corners of his mouth.
“What makes you think they’ll be coming our way? You ain’t given me no firm reasons why I should get everyone all riled up. I ain’t gonna ask men to sit around waiting for no robbery when I ain’t got sure proof it’s gonna happen. Besides, the bank vault ain’t easy to get into, and they sure won’t be carrying it off. It weighs a ton.” Scar spent the next hour trying to convince the sheriff of the likelihood of a robbery but to no avail. He was ready to leave when the door opened.
“Howdy, Mayor. What brings you in?”
A well-dressed man standing in the door avoided the sheriff’s question. His attention went to the big stranger. “Have we met before?” the mayor asked.
“Not that I recall.”
“May I ask your name?”
“My name is Bart Carter, but folks call me Scar.” The sheriff jerked his head around. The mayor’s eyes brightened. “What brings you to Council Bluff?” the mayor asked. Scar repeated the story he had told the sheriff. “What’re your plans, Sheriff?” the mayor asked. “What plans did you and Scar come up with?”
“We haven’t made any yet, Mayor,” Scar interjected, trying to keep the sheriff from embarrassment. “We plan to get together over breakfast first thing in the morning.”
“Good, I’ll join you,” the mayor said as he turned and left the office.
Scar was about to leave when the sheriff said sheepishly, “I’m sorry I treated you like I did. I didn’t know who you were.”
“That’s okay,” Scar said. “The important thing is for us to develop a plan to catch the thieves.” The local lawman nodded his agreement.
As Scar was leaving, the sheriff called out, “Thanks for saving my hide in front of the mayor.” Scar tipped his hat.
Chapter Fifteen
For the next two days, Scar and the sheriff worked out how they might capture the bandits. When the plan was completed, they shared it with the bank personnel and several town men who had volunteered their services. Everyone was somewhat apprehensive and wondered when the hold up would actually occur. A few doubted it would ever happen.
Liz stayed busy reading, knitting, and shopping. One day she sent a telegram to her family at the Double D and one to Rebecca confirming their arrival in Council Bluff and her well-being. She never rose early enough to join her husband for breakfast but most days ate her noon meal with him. They always dined together in the evening.
Liz and Scar had retired to their hotel room a few evenings after their arrival to Council Bluff and were discussing their return to Flat Peaks when someone knocked.
Scar opened the door to a young woman who he judged to be eighteen or nineteen years old. She had red eyes and a tear-streaked face. There were blood splotches on her hands, and her dress and apron were filthy with smears of soot and blood. “Are you Marshal Carter?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Yes, I am.”
“May I talk with you, sir?” Scar motioned her in. Liz joined them and led the girl to a chair where she started crying. Liz put her arm around her shoulders. A minute or two later, the sobbing young woman mumbled words barely audible, “They killed my husband and little boy.” Liz looked at Scar.
After the girl had collected herself a bit, Liz said, “My name is Liz Carter, and my husband’s name is Bart. May I ask your name?”
“It’s Elizabeth Stanford…but folks call me Betty,” she mumbled in a cracked voice.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, Betty? It may help.” Betty raised her head, made eye contact with Liz, and nodded. Scar knew his wife needed to stay with her, so he retrieved the coffee.
“Drink this,” Liz instructed. Betty took the cup.
A few minutes later, she set the empty cup on a table by her chair. With a muffled voice, Betty said, “I’d best be going. I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’m obliged for taking me in.”
Liz reached for her hand and said, “You’re not going anywhere, Betty. You’re staying right here with us until we figure things out. Right now we’re going to get you washed up and put you in some clean clothes.” Liz stood, helped the girl up, and led her to the bathing room.
Scar sat down with a slight smile. He wasn’t smiling at Betty’s misfortune, but at his wife’s actions. She’s responding exactly like her mother does when a tragedy takes place. She takes charge, telling people what to do.
Nearly an hour later, the two women walked into the sitting room. Betty had washed up, and her dark brown hair was gathered back, tied with a ribbon. Liz’s dress was a bit too long for Betty but otherwise fit fine. The girl passed Scar going to a chair.
“You look nice, Betty,” Scar said.
“Thank you, sir. I ain’t ever had on a dress like this before.”
Liz poured them each a cup of coffee and then sat down beside her husband. She looked at the young woman and asked, “Are you up to me telling Bart about your tragedy, Betty?” The young woman nodded. Liz started. “Betty told me her horrifying story while we were in the washroom. That’s why we were gone so long. She told me she was getting potatoes from their potato hill behind the barn when she heard five gunshots. By the time she rounded the corner of the barn running toward her house, she saw black smoke rising from their home and four men riding away at a fast gallop. At first, she thought her husband and son were in the burning house, but when she got to the front yard, she saw them lying on the ground by the front steps in pools of blood. By the time she pulled both bodies a substantial ways from the burning house, it was engulfed in flames. She wanted a Christian burial in the town’s cemetery with a parson saying words over their bodies, so she loaded their remains in her wagon and came to town.” Liz looked at the girl. “I believe I’ve told the story accurately. Did I leave out anything?”
“The only other thing I can think of is the empty to
bacco sack and the piece of paper I found in the yard by my husband’s body. I forgot to tell you about ’em, Liz.”
“What did the paper say?” Scar asked.
“I ain’t able to read, Mr. Carter.”
“Do you have the paper with you?”
“Yes, sir. It’s in my apron pocket. I’ll go get it.”
“Here it is, Mr. Carter. I hope it tells you who killed my husband and little boy.”
Scar quickly examined the paper. “It must have fallen from one of the bandit’s pocket when he pulled out his tobacco sack to roll a cigarette. It has a diagram of the inside of the bank and these X’s may mark the positions of two men standing on the outside. There’s also a notation that reads—three o’clock on April 11.”
“That’s tomorrow,” Liz said excitedly. Scar nodded.
“Betty, why did the men kill your husband and little boy? Were they after something? Did they take anything of value?” Scar asked.
“I guess they thought my husband had money on him. They didn’t take anything I know of, Mr. Carter. We ain’t got nothing that’s worth anything. I think maybe my husband was trying to protect our son in some way and they shot him…shot ’em both.”
Scar nodded and then asked a second question. “How did you find out my name and where to locate me, Betty?”
“The undertaker told me about you, Mr. Carter, when I brought the bodies in. He was awful kind to me. When I told him I didn’t have no money to pay him with, he said he’d get it from the town and for me not to worry. He said I should come and talk with you.”
“You did the right thing, Betty.”
After a few more minutes of conversation, the three got ready for bed. Liz and Betty went to the bedroom and Scar slept on the lounging couch with his feet dangling. I imagine I’ll be sleeping on this couch until we leave Council Bluff. Liz will more than likely insist that Betty remain with us until we go home.
By noon the next day, everyone was in their places. The bank employees had been replaced with eight gun-savvy townsmen who were now sitting behind desks or standing behind the teller windows wearing business suits with guns nearby. They were to protect themselves behind the barriers when the bandits came in. Scar and the sheriff were in separate rooms along the sides. On the boardwalk outside, two town men occupied a bench beside the bank’s door. They, too, were gun savvy but dressed in ordinary clothing.
At three o’clock sharp, four crusty-looking riders with guns hanging from their sides rode lazily down the street and stopped in front of the bank. After dismounting, two of the men handed their reins to the other two men and moseyed to the bank door. They entered cautiously, closing the door behind them. When the door closed, the men sitting on the outside benches rose and ambled in a nonchalant manner toward the men holding the reins. When they were within four feet of the thieves, the town men pulled their guns and said, “We’ll take those reins. Put your hands up.” The outlaws had no choice but to follow orders and were soon being escorted to the jail.
Inside, the two robbers, with guns in hand, had spread out. One walked to the teller window and said, “This is a holdup. Get the vault open and sack up the money. You’d better hurry or the shooting starts.” At the outlaw’s demand, the town men dropped to the floor. Scar walked out.
“Drop your guns and raise your hands. I’m a state marshal. You’re under arrest.” Both Abernathy brothers jerked their heads around toward Scar.
“What are you doing here?” one shouted as he turned and fired. Immediately, in a surprise move, the eight town men rushed out and overtook both bandits. With his shirt sleeve soaked in blood, Scar came forward and cuffed them.
“Your shoulder is bleeding, Scar. Let me have a look at it,” the sheriff said. The bullet had grazed his right shoulder, tearing his shirt and cutting a gash a half inch deep and three inches long. “You head on over to the doctor’s office and get this patched up while I get the gangsters locked up. When the doctor’s finished, you can come to the jail.”
As the sheriff started off with the cuffed men, one of the Abernathy brothers shouted out with a snarled face, “You should’ve died from those three rifle slugs my brother and I put in you at Flat Peaks a couple years back. If we ever get free, you’re a dead man, Scar.”
“I’m not worried. If you’re not hung, you’ll be old men when you get out of prison.”
“How did you know we were gonna rob the bank?” asked the brother who had made the threat.
“You should be more careful with your tobacco sack,” Scar answered. The gangsters frowned.
Liz had been observing the entire happenings from her upstairs hotel window. When she heard the gunshot, she hurried downstairs to see if her husband was injured. By the time she exited the hotel’s front door, the town men were escorting the outlaws to the jail. Since Scar wasn’t among them, she went to the sheriff and asked, “Where’s Bart, Sheriff?”
“He went to the doctor’s office, Liz, but don’t worry. The bullet only grazed his shoulder.” She hurried off.
When she got there, Scar was on a table, lying on his left side. His shirt was off, exposing his necklace and the scars on his back. “Are you hurt, Bart?” Liz asked as she crowded the doctor to look at his wound.
“It’s not bad,” the doctor said. “I’ll put in a few stitches and pour a little whiskey on it to keep the infection down. After I’ve wrapped it, he can leave.” The doctor had walked to the table to start the stitching but turned back to Liz. “He’ll need a clean shirt, ma’am. I suggest you get one while I tend to him. I’ll be done in thirty minutes.”
Liz had reached the door when she overheard the doctor ask, “How did you get those scars on your face and back? You’ve been through a lot.” Scar started to minimize the seriousness of his attacks, but Liz cut him short.
“The scars on his face and back are from a whip beating he got when he was a boy. He was unconscious for five days and nearly died. In fact, he’s almost been killed three different times.” Liz stood eyeing the doctor, making sure he understood the seriousness of Scar’s old injuries. She then left to get her husband a shirt. By the time she returned, the doctor had finished and Scar was waiting.
They walked to the jail, so Scar could instruct the local sheriff on procedures to follow concerning the prisoners. Scar also went to the cell area where the prisoners were incarcerated and was pleased to find the confinement secure. After leaving the jail, they went to the telegraph office to send a wire to the governor to inform him the Abernathy brothers had been captured and were now in confinement in the Council Bluff jail. He also requested procedures to be followed with the prisoners.
Scar spent the rest of the afternoon writing his report to the governor, outlining the details of the Abernathy brothers’ capture, stating the incident took place without any major injuries or killings. He included the gunman’s gruesome killing of Betty’s husband and son and their pending burial.
Liz and Betty spent the afternoon with the parson and undertaker making plans for the funeral. Liz also took Betty to buy her an appropriate dress.
Their evening hotel meal was rather subdued. The food was delicious, but conversations were nearly absent. Their minds were on the funeral that was to take place the next morning at ten o’clock. Liz and Scar had assured Betty they’d be there to offer support. It was a stressful time for the young widow. On three occasions, Liz comforted her when she broke down, but through it all, Betty remained quite strong.
It was a long evening.
»»•««
A little before noon the following day, Liz and Scar walked into the hotel’s dining room for their noon meal. They had just come from the burial of Betty’s husband and son. Betty had been asked to join them but declined, saying she wanted to be alone.
The couple was in a pensive mood, eating their meal with few words. Minutes passed. When their cups were filled for the second time, Scar asked, “Liz, how do you think Betty is doing?”
“I think as good as one c
ould expect, under the circumstances. She’s grieving, but she’s a strong person. She told me she’s been exposed to tragic situations before and understands it’s the way of life, especially in the West.”
“What will she do now? Does she have any family to fall back on? Have you talked with her about her future?”
Liz didn’t answer. Instead, her eyes went to the floor.
Scar smiled. He knew the reason she was silent. “You’ve asked her to go back to Flat Peaks with us, haven’t you, Liz?” She looked up and nodded. “Can she be ready to leave in three or four days?” Liz jumped up and nearly strangled her husband with a hug.
“Thank you, sweetheart. I’m sorry I didn’t speak with you earlier about Betty going home with us, but I didn’t know how you’d react. Everything will work out fine. You’ll see.”
“Liz,” her husband said reaching across the table for her hand, “I asked her, too.”
Liz’s eyes widened. “When did you ask her?”
“According to Betty, it was a few days after you spoke to her about it,” Scar said. They both grinned as they spent the next hour at the dining table discussing Betty’s possibilities when they returned home. They were leaving the dining area when the telegraph agent approached Scar. “I have a telegram from Governor Routt for you, Mr. Carter.” Scar accepted the envelope and opened it.
When he had finished reading it, he placed it back into the envelope, turned to Liz, and said, “The Territorial Judge will be here in three days. I’m to remain here to give my testimony and follow through on the sentencing procedures, whether it’s sending them to the territorial prison or hanging them.” Liz turned and headed for their room.
Several days later, Betty, Liz, and Scar rode past the town’s hanging gallows that had been used the day before, but their eyes were now looking eastward to the beautiful snow-capped mountains.