The Haunted Hanging Tree

by David Krumboltz

  “Mayor Estrada, Town Council Members, and citizens. I have a proposal to make. The Glotz family property surrounds the town square and park. We would like to donate enough land to double the park size. Also, I think it only appropriate that the new park be named the ‘William Kayne Memorial Park’ with a statue of William Kayne. The Glotz family will cover all the costs incurred.”

  Cheers and whistles came from the audience.

  “Furthermore,” continued George Glotz, “I suggest a plaque be placed in the square telling the story of how an eighty-two-year-old mystery was solved because of the dedication of four young people—Scooter Kane, Mary Kane, Carlos Estrada, and 3J Johnson.”

  The audience applauded their approval.

  Mayor Armando Estrada looked at the members of the town council seated in the front row. Each nodded.

  “Mr. Glotz,” the mayor said, “on behalf of the town of New Dry Gulch, we accept your kind offer.”

  Uncle Armando and the Town Council members shook George Glotz’s hand.

  “This meeting is adjourned,” Armando shouted as he banged the gavel.

  As the crowd began to file out of the meeting, Sheriff Duncan walked up to Armando and said, “Why don’t we meet in your office tomorrow. I think there are a few things we need to go over with the kids in order to wrap some lose ends.”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff.”

  Chapter 47: Scooter Talks

  On the balcony outside Uncle Armando’s insurance office, Mary, Carlos, 3J, and I sat with Uncle Armando and Sheriff Duncan. The overhanging roof blocked the late morning sun.

  “Scooter, you and Mary leave for Iowa in a couple of days, I understand. You two, along with the rest of us, had quite an adventure during your stay.” The sheriff took a sip of coffee and placed the oversized mug on the table.

  “We won’t have any trouble writing something interesting about our summer vacation,” Mary laughed. “That’s always the first assignment when school starts.”

  “You kids proved William Kayne innocent and that he was not the Faceless Bandit, but I’m still confused about the moving of the headstones in the old cemetery.” Uncle Armando said and looked at the sheriff.

  “Why don’t you explain it to him, Scooter?” said the sheriff.

  “Okay,” I chuckled as I recalled that evening. “I wondered who the guy was that night we were camping out, and what he was doing there. I didn’t think he had anything to do with our great-great-grandfather. And in a way, he didn’t. The reason he was there was because he knew some of the gold and silver coins stolen by the Faceless Bandit were still buried under Sheriff Dell’s grave.”

  I leaned forward, elbows on the table, and continued. “When Deputy Jeremiah Glotz buried Sheriff Dell, he also buried some of the loot the Faceless Bandit stole. Jeremiah was the Faceless Bandit. He was smart enough not to rob any more businesses after William was convicted, and he used part of the stolen loot to start what is now the Glotz Grocery and Mercantile store.”

  “But how about the other bullet found with Sheriff Dell’s remains? Didn’t the ballistics show there were bullets from two different guns?” Mary looked at Sheriff Duncan.

  “It turns out there were actually two Faceless Bandits who worked as partners. One we now know was Jeremiah Glotz. His partner was Zeke Tibbs, the great-grandfather of our county clerk, Fletcher Tibbs.”

  Sheriff Duncan paused. He checked his watch, then continued, “After William Kayne was hanged, Jeremiah quit his lawless activity and tried to become a respectable citizen of Dry Gulch. But he had a secret, and only one other person knew about his past. That person was Zeke. Zeke blackmailed Jeremiah for the remaining loot hidden under the grave of Sheriff Dell.”

  “But who was the man in the cemetery?” asked 3J.

  “That was Fletcher Tibbs, the county clerk and coin collector,” I said. “Fletcher figured out, or somehow learned where the loot was hidden and removed some of the coins. But not wanting to have all his coins in one place or even two, he also used the Old Irish Mine as a hiding place. All he wanted to do in the cemetery that night was move the headstones, so if the investigation involved digging up the grave of Sheriff Dell, the buried loot wouldn’t be found. The easiest thing to do was to transfer headstones. He thought that since he was the local historian, no one would question which grave was Sheriff Dell’s.”

  “The sheriff knew Fletcher had been tampering with the graves because the distinctive footprints left on the gravesite, right Sheriff?” said Mary.

  Sheriff Duncan nodded. “That’s right, Mary. Fletcher tried to cover his prints the day we visited the old cemetery. And the picture you took of the footprints outside the Old Irish Mine proved he was the one who trapped you kids inside.”

  “What will happen to Fletcher Tibbs?” asked Mary.

  “He’ll end up spending some time in jail. He could face attempted murder as a result of trapping you kids in the mine. Additionally, dealing with stolen coins is a felony.” The sheriff paused. “The District Attorney may think up more charges as well.”

  “Was there a connection between Fletcher and Joe Glotz?” Carlos asked, hoping Joe, who bullied him, was in trouble.

  “Actually, the only connection was Joe’s interest in coin collections,” Sheriff Duncan stated. “And that he liked to hang out at Fletcher’s Coin Shop. But Joe feared that Fletcher might be dangerous to you kids. That’s why he sent the artistic warning.”

  “Who put the note on Scooter’s bike?” 3J asked the sheriff, but it was Mary who answered.

  “That was Fletcher Tibbs again. He was hoping he could scare us enough so that his secret would be safe.”

  “How about Mr. Glotz? Is there any connection there?” 3J asked the sheriff.

  “George suspected there may have been something shady in his great-grandfather’s past and wasn’t interested in any investigation that would verify a dishonest background. That was why he didn’t want the investigation. His worries were confirmed when Scooter and you kids solved the mystery.” Sheriff Duncan shifted in his chair. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work. You two Iowans come back to see us when you can.”

  As the others filed back into Uncle Armando’s office, Mary and I stayed on the balcony.

  “I noticed you left out some details about you know whoooo,” said Mary.

  I looked over my shoulder to make sure we were alone. “Kemo Kelley says a good detective never tells all he knows.”

  Chapter 48: Forgee

  “These have been the fastest three weeks of my life.” Carlos leaned his elbows on the breakfast table. “I wish you guys could stay for the rest of the summer.”

  “Me too,” said Mary. “This has been a great vacation.”

  “It’s hard to believe that tomorrow we’ll be flying back to Elm City.”

  “What would you guys like to do for your last full day?” asked Carlos.

  “I’d like to take one more ride to Dry Gulch,” I said.

  “That sounds like fun,” Mary agreed. “Let’s go get 3J.”

  # # # # #

  The sun warmed my back as Paint and I lead the group toward Dry Gulch.

  Mary and I, now experienced riders, galloped our horses across the open meadows. At the Hanging Tree, I brought Paint to a halt.

  “You guys go on. I want to stay here for a minute or so,” I said.

  The others nudged their horses down the narrow trail to the ghost town of Dry Gulch.

  I dismounted and moved under the giant oak tree. Sitting in the shade of the hanging tree, I smiled and patted the trunk. Even though the air was still, the tree leaves rustled. Then I heard the voice.

  “Barthinius… Barthinius…” The voice grew fainter. “Barthinius… Now I can go…”

  “Why? Where?” I looked up into the deep green leaves.

  “It’s time… I can rest in peace at last…”

  “But will I… will we ever…?”

  “No…probably not… well, maybe… if you need me…”

>   “Will you be happy?” I asked.

  “Yes…at last I can be truly happy…”

  “But, I… I… I don’t even know what to call you,” I stammered, fighting to hold back the tears.

  “Well… you may call me Forgee… ha, ha, ha, yes… call me Forgee… goodbye Barthinius… and thank you.”

  The rustling leaves stilled. I sighted Mary, Carlos, and 3J down below. I looked back at the Hanging Tree and wiped a tear from my eye.

  As I rode Paint down the hill, I kept saying, Forgee… Forgee… What kind of name is that? When I met the others, I said, “Let’s stop by Boot Hill one last time. I’d like to see William’s grave before we go home.”

  At the abandoned cemetery again, I carefully stepped over the gravesites until I found William Kayne’s grave. I stared at the headstone. Mary came up beside me and read the engraving, “William Kayne, Murderer, 1849–1873.”

  “Look,” said Mary, “the word ‘Murderer’ is disappearing and there’s something new being added…”

  We watched as new letters magically appeared on the head stone. ‘F - O - U - N - D… T - H - E…’ The silent carving continued, then it stopped.

  Her eyes closed, Mary asked, “What does it say?”

  I whispered, “Found the star to make things right. R.I.P.”

  # # # # #

  Riding back to the stable, I thought about our adventure, a mystery that could never be completely told, or understood. Even my own sister and partner in my detective work didn’t entirely believe it and she was there. Of course, right now, all she could think about was 3J and how she was going to miss him.

  “3J… 3J…” I said over and over to myself. “Hey, 3J,” I yelled. “Why did you say you’re called 3J?”

  “Cause my real name is John Joshua Johnson, you know, three J’s.”

  I slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand and rocked back and forth in the saddle laughing. “I got it. I got it.”

  Mary, 3J, and Carlos looked at me like I was crazy.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Mary.

  “Let us in on the joke,” said Carlos.

  “It’s nothing,” I chuckled as I dropped behind the rest of the group.

  “It’s not Forgee, it’s 4G,” I whispered to myself. “Great-great-grandfather-ghost.” I looked up, smiled and muttered, “Cool name.”

  A gust of wind picked up my hat, spun it around four times, and set it back on my head.

  The End: