Homer Bolton: The Sheriff of Duncan Flats

The Sheriff of Duncan Flats

  by

  Mark Goodwin

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY

  Copyright 2011 by Mark Goodwin

  ISBN 978-978-1-4660-6728-8

  This ebook is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Jane Sladen

  Note: This is meant to be a fun light read. The plot is not complex. The author has given dates and locations from the knowledge he possess. He has made no attempt to verify the accuracies of either. It is not meant to be a historically accurate story. It was written solely to be nothing more than a pleasant reading experience.

  Prologue

 

 

  Today, May 22, 1894, I feel the need to tell the truth of the life of Sheriff Homer Bolton. That’s me. Many of the town folk referred to me as Sheriff Hobo and that is something that disturbed me greatly and still affects me today. Today, I am no longer an American. Two years ago I moved to Winnipeg, Manitoba, a city north of Wyoming, a city within the country we call our neighbour, Canada.

 

  Chapter 1 – My Early Years

 

  Before I was a Sheriff, I was a Deputy in the pretty but rowdy town of Broken Hearts, Wyoming, back in the year 1863. The town attracted a lot of deserters from the Confederate army. When I took on the job, I was only 21 but I was better educated than most of the people at that time. I learned to read and write and got me a good knowledge of what was right and wrong. But, I am getting ahead of myself.

 

  I was born in the year 1842 to Charles and Emile Foster. My folks owned a cattle ranch near Pewter Lake, twelve miles west of Houston, Texas. My parents had a little girl three years after my birth. They named her Elizabeth.

 

  My Pappy had a herd of 120 cattle and I didn’t seem much of him in my early years. He worked from dawn till after dark and most of the time, especially when I was really young, I was in bed before he came in for his evening meal.

 

  I started my schooling when I was six and was a fast learner. By the time I was twelve, I only need schooling three hours a day. The rest of the time I worked on the farm helping with small chores when I was not getting schooled. At fourteen, I was working fulltime with my father and by the time I was sixteen, had learned everything there was to know about running a cattle ranch. By the time I was eighteen, I stood six foot three and many people said I was lean and mean, neither of which was true. At that age, I weighed 180 pounds and had never been mean to anyone except maybe my little Sis when she wouldn’t let me play with her new puppy. That was a long time ago.

 

  I continued for working on the ranch for another year or so but started to get restless. Pappy thought I was smart and wanted me to study law in Boston. The cattle ranch gave our family a comfortable living but didn’t allow us any luxuries The idea of my going to Boston to further my education was out of the question. Me, I had a burning desire to see what was outside of Texas and at twenty, said good-bye to my Mama and Pappy.

 

  For eighteen months, I roamed from town to town. Trying to find work in the West was not an easy thing to do. But I managed. I worked five months helping to build a railroad, had a job as a clerk in the local bank, even sold farming supplies in a hardware store. The job I liked the most was being a bouncer for Sam’s Saloon out in Turtle River, Nevada.

 

  Sam took a shining to me the first time he saw me. It was a hot August day. I had stopped in to get a cold one to quench my thirst. Sam offered me a job as bouncer and promised me at least $2 a day. I was still selling farm supplies but my boss only paid me a small commission for the things I sold and I hadn’t been selling a whole lot lately. It was just before my twentieth birthday when I started to work for Sam. I hadn’t grown much more, maybe an inch or two but I wasn’t lean. I weighed somewhere around 230 pounds and much of that was muscle, not fat. Working on the cattle farm with Pappy - that’s what I needed to be thankful for!

 

  The first few days hadn’t been much to speak of. In fact, it was a bit boring sitting around watching men drinking and playing cards. The only incident was when the town doctor got a bit tipsy and started to sing just when the chorus girls came out on stage. It didn’t take much to convince him to leave, not when he was just 150 pounds soaking wet. Sure, he grumbled a bit as he left but he knew it was pointless to argue with me.

 

  It was around the fifth or sixth day that my job was put to the test. Drinking and gambling was not always a good thing to do. Most of the time, those playing cards had enough sense to drink only what they could handle. They knew well enough that if they drank too much their card playing suffered. But such was not the case with Tom Chapman.

 

  Tom always had a drinking problem but he usually confined it to his homestead just outside of town. He never came into town much, maybe once a month to get supplies.

 

  It was on a Friday night, if my memory serves me right. He had just bought goods over at the General Store and came into Sam’s for a meal and a drink or two. The problem was that the drink or two turned into three or four. Then he decided to join three of the town folk in a game of poker. One of the people at the table was the owner of the General Store, Bill Murphy.

 

  I’m not even sure today what really happened. I think Tom got complaining about what he had to pay for a bag of flour. Then, so I was told, Murphy won a pot with four aces and Tom accused him of cheating. A scuffle broke out. Somebody started to reach for a gun but I stopped him in the nick of time. Murphy looked pretty sober to me and it was obvious that Tom was the one who started the fight. It was all I could do to control him, not because of his size but because he was more wiry than an angry ‘gator from the Louisiana swamps, as I found out years later.

 

  In the course of working for Sam, I got to know all his chorus girls. One, a young Irish lassie, Mary O’Brien, I got to know better than the others - a lot better! She was twenty-four and had immigrated to America just two years before. At first, I found it difficult to understand her but in the course of our friendship it was soon forgotten.

 

  Altogether I worked for Sam for eight months before I had to move on. Most of the times, all that my duties demanded were throwing out the odd patron who had had too much to drink. Oh Sam, he didn’t mind how much they drank but when they started to get too loud or they started to eye the crowd for someone to fight with, that’s when Sam would give me the nod. I always waited for Sam’s signal, well most of the time anyway.

 

  There was that one time when Joe Fletcher put his hands up the skirt of one of our dancers. I didn’t waste any time grabbing him by the collar and throwing him out in the street. He was a pathetic looking sight, laying there in the muck. It had been raining all day. He was a lucky man though, because had it been Mary, I think I would have sent him to his Maker that day.

 

  It was in March, 1862 when my life took a complete change. A gunslinger came into town with his gang of five. They were the meanest looking hombres north of the Mexican border. As soon as they entered the saloon, everyone in there knew there was going to be trouble. It didn’t take long to come. They all ordered a double shot of whisky and refused to pay for them. Then one of them decided to take a fancy to Sam’s daughter Sally, who was wiping down tables. He grabbed her by the waist and tried to haul her into the backr
oom for his own amusement. That’s where I came in.

 

  I tackled him from behind and he lost his grip on Sally. I pushed him to the floor where we rolled into a table knocking it and two chairs over. He managed to pull his gun and fired at me. How he missed, I’ll never know.

 

  I clouted him on the jaw knocking him out. The gun fell harmlessly out of his hand. By that time, Sam had hold of the shotgun he kept under the bar and was pointing it at the table where the others sat. They had been so busy watching the girls dancing that they hadn’t noticed what was happening until it was too late.

 

  Sam ordered them out of his bar. The leader’s hand began to move to his right side but then he hesitated and withdrew it. They all got up slowly and started to walk towards their fallen comrade but before they could reach him, I grabbed the gun and edged my way back to the bar.

 

  There was a jug of beer on a table which they grabbed and splashed into his face. As he began to regain consciousness, they hauled him to his feet and left the saloon promising they would get even.

 

  Sam ran over to the Sheriff’s office and explained what had happened. The Sheriff, Walton I think his name was, suggested that it might be dangerous for Sam and me to stay around town. It wasn’t a day later that Sam closed his saloon, packed up his belongings and was getting ready to move to Kalamazoo where he would live with his sister whom he hadn‘t seen for many years. After all, Sam was over sixty when this happened and he figured it was just as good a time as any to retire. He had saved quite a sum of money and figured he’d have no trouble selling the saloon to a nephew of his. That left me without a job. I could have hung around to see if the nephew bought it and if he required my services but I didn’t want to wait.

 

  Chapter 2 - On the Road Again

 

  Well, the time had come for Sam and me to say good-bye. I had breakfast with him in the small cabin he rented on the outskirts of town. Before leaving, he gave me an envelope, we hugged and promised to keep in touch with one another. I had the address of his sister in Kalamazoo. I couldn’t give Sam my address as I had no idea where I was going to go.

 

  As I walked back into town, I was sad that I was leaving Turtle River behind. My friendship with Mary had cooled down somewhat but even so; I knew I would miss her as well. As with Sam, we both agreed to keep in touch.

 

  I went back to the rooming house where I boarded, got the little I had and said good-bye to my landlady before catching the stagecoach out of town. The Wells Fargo office was across from the Sheriff’s so I dropped by and had coffee with him before I left. I didn’t even know where I was going. It depended on where the stagecoach was headed.

 

  I was back on the road again just before lunch. I was thankful for the biscuits my landlady gave me when I left. The coach wasn’t expected to stop at the next town for another 3 hours. So there I was, travelling deluxe in a Wells Fargo coach with one other passenger to keep me company. She was a little old lady whom I thought must have been born long before settlers even came to this part of the world.

 

  The three hours seemed to turn into days. The old lady kept on and on about Jesus, his disciples and the biblical events of days gone by. I don’t think she was retelling me things that she had read. Rather, I thought she was recollecting things that she had actually witnessed.

 

  Finally we arrived in Blue Meadows. I was tired so I found lodgings for the night and had a nice hot bath to ease my aching leg muscles from the bumpy road earlier that day. Before I went to bed, I opened the envelope Sam had given me and inside was $100, a small fortune even today. That night, I fell into a deep sleep but do recall dreaming about two fellows named Mark and Luke who went from town to town telling people about a man named Jesus.

 

  In the morning, after a belly filled with the best eggs, bacon and grits that I had had in a long time, I asked the owner if there were any trains nearby. I was told there was a small freight train that would be leaving soon. It was going north to Hot Springs and there, there was a train station where I could continue north, east or west depending on where I wanted to go. The fact that there were no trains going south didn’t bother me at all, having spent most of my life down that way. I wanted new experiences. I wanted to see new places. I thought maybe I would return south briefly a few times, just to see my family but that’s all.

 

  I left to resume my travels. The freight train was leaving in twenty minutes and I was able to get on it. The engineer wouldn’t take any money from me and said he was glad to have some fresh company along the way. The train was carrying hay, ore and lumber. We had to go a distance of some eighty miles before we reached Hot Springs. It took us more than four hours to get there because of the heavy load we were carrying and also because the tracks wound its way around several mountains.

 

  Finally we arrived at our destination. I had seen many trains before but not all at the same time. There were five tracks leading into the station and there were signs by the tracks saying where the trains traveled to. I don’t remember two of them now but I do remember the East Bound Track which had a sign that said “Chicago, New York, Boston”. There was also a train that went to San Francisco and one going to some place I never heard of, Broken Hearts. I thought it was somewhere up north, perhaps in Wyoming, maybe it was near the Canadian border.

 

  I was feeling a bit sad and the name, “Broken Hearts”, seemed to beckon me. Besides, if it was near Canada, I thought maybe I’d cross over and see what was on the other side. I had heard that the people up there were a peaceful lot. Certainly they weren’t fighting amongst themselves as we were down here. I heard there was no such thing as slavery and many of the negroes were going there. There had been rumours of an underground railroad that helped them flee the southern states. Of course, now as I write this, that rumour was proven to be fact when a series of tunnels were found all over the States, leading north to Canada.

 

  I checked with the Ticket Agent who did confirm that Broken Hearts was indeed in Wyoming, 35 miles from the Canadian border. That train was leaving just after supper and would be travelling overnight. That settled it for me. I was going to Broken Hearts.

 

  Once I had purchased my ticket, I ate at a place that served the worst food I ever had in my life. I don’t recall the name but I sure recall the food. I wouldn’t have let my dog eat there, if I had one. I wouldn’t have even let my sister’s dog eat there!

 

  I got back to the train station and had time to kill. I bought a paper and read how the South was winning the war. Being a Southerner, I had mixed emotions. I didn’t want to see the Yankees win but I didn’t agree with much of the slavery I had witnessed. Yes, my Pappy had a slave working for us on the cattle ranch but he was treated well. He even ate with us at suppertime. That wasn’t the case with a lot of the slaves, especially those in Louisiana and Alabama who were picking cotton.

 

  Chapter 3 – On the Train to Broken Hearts

 

  The train was late leaving. We left after sundown. There weren’t many people on the train and I found a seat all to myself. Again, I was somewhat tired and I didn’t really want to get into any social discourse with anybody no matter how interesting they might have been. I still remembered the old lady‘s voice and her telling me how Jesus fed multitudes with just a few fish and loaves of bread. Mind you, I have never had a problem with religious people. Not at all, we need a balance in our lives but this lady seemed to be reliving the stories she had told me.

 

  I did manage to sleep a little while the train chugged its way north. Not the best sleep I ever had but it was better than being awake all night. The rumble of the train along the tracks would cause me to fall asleep only to be jostled awake every n
ow and again when the train would encounter a bump along its way. I do recall the train had to stop for more than an hour because a tree had fallen across the track. It was so large they had to cut it several times and haul it out of the way.

 

  In the morning the train stopped at a little place called Devil Lake and there two passengers got on. One was a well-dressed man with a gold chain hanging from a vest pocket. I assumed there was a pocket watch on the end, no doubt an expensive one. With him was a lady, probably his wife, though she did appear to be twenty years his junior.

  Introductions were made and as luck would have it, (if luck is what it was) the man was the Mayor of Broken Hearts. His name was Adam Grant and his wife‘s was Sarah. The train had another eight hours before its final destination and I was able to learn a lot about Broken Hearts.

 

  It was a community of about 3,000 people - a combination of settlers, army deserters and some friendly Indians who worked as tour guides for the many visitors who came to fish the nearby lakes and rivers. The area, the Mayor said, had the best trout fishing in the entire country and rivalled the fishing in Manitoba, which was just a bit further north in Canada.

 

  When he asked why I was bound for his town, I told him what had happened to me recently and that I was beginning another stage of my life. I was hoping that I could find employment in the town and I thought Mr. Grant might be someone who could help me.

 

  He told me that the Town Sheriff had been looking for a deputy to help him but he didn’t know if the job was still available. He had been in Devil Lake for a week trying to drum up business and he hadn’t been in touch with anyone since then.

 

  They were a pleasant enough couple and I was grateful to have met them. Unlike the old lady, I didn’t even know their religious persuasion, nor did I care.

 

  Chapter 4 - In Broken Hearts

 

  We arrived in Broken Hearts at 3PM. Since I was famished, I wanted a good meal before looking around town. Mayor Grant suggested a stop at the Twisted Tree which was only a few minutes from the train station. It was easy enough to find. In front was the weirdest, most twisted tree I have ever seen in my life. The grub inside must have been real good because I couldn’t find a table to sit at, the place was so crowded. I did manage to find a stool at the counter and ordered myself a steak, along with baked potatoes and some corn. Delicious it was!