Chapter 4

Man, was I glad to get out of that town! Being shot in the ass so it hurts to sit down is not my idea of a good way to take a couple of weeks off. I couldn't even sit comfortably in a saloon chair; I had to spend most of my time standing up. God, I hated it! I'll kill Brodrick if I ever see him again!

Once I was able to sit in my saddle again without it hurting too bad, I lit out like a bat out of Hell! I had no special place in mind, I just wanted to be somewhere else. I was in the high southern "desert" of New Mexico Territory where every mile looks pretty much like every other. The only change was caused by a water source, and that was usually where you would find a farm. A lot of people had moved in to homestead back when there was enough water to keep a decent stand of crops going; now, about all you could see were abandoned farms with an occasional active farm where there was still enough water. But that's the story of NMT: "God, please send us enough water."

It was getting toward dark and I was looking for a place to camp when I saw in the middle distance a reasonably prosperous-looking farm. Maybe I could stop there and buy a little supper instead of having to scratch for myself and then spend the night in the barn. Even a symbolic roof over my head would be better than nothing. I know I was sounding maudlin, but I was really tired.

I made it to the house before it was hard dark, so I was able to get a good look at the place. It was a good looking setup, but it looked a little frayed around the edges. I went up to the door, took off my hat, and knocked gently, but firmly. The door opened a crack and I was staring at the wrong end of a pistol barrel.

"Who are you?" was snarled at me in an old woman's voice.

"I'm just a pilgrim passing through looking for a home-cooked supper he's willing to pay for," I answered in my calmest voice. Meanwhile, I was trying to look my most nonthreatening best.

"What's your name?" she demanded.

"Mat Sullivan," I answered.

"Are you from around here?"

"No, ma'am. I'm just passing through."

"Well, you look harmless enough. You can come in, but wipe your boots on the mat, first."

"Thank you, ma'am, but will you pull the gun out of my face, first?"

"Oh, sorry, sonny. I don't get enough visitors. I forget my manners now and then."

"That's perfectly alright, ma'am. Thank you Mrs... ?"

"It's Tilden. Margaret Tilden."

"Well, Mrs. Tilden, thank you and may I talk you out of a little supper? I'll be happy to pay you for it."

"I was just about to fix my own supper; I'll be happy to fix you some to eat with me. No need to pay for it. I'll be glad for the company."

"If you don't mind me asking, where is Mr. Tilden? It sounds like you've been alone for a while."

"My husband died about three months ago and I've been trying to carry on without him. I'm about ready to give up and head back to Georgia. My children all died at an early age and I really don't have anything to keep me here in this God forsaken desert." A small tear began to show as she put our supper on the table.

"In that case, Mrs. Tilden, what's keeping you here. Surely, there at least would be companionship for you back in Georgia."

"Really, there ain't nothing keeping me here. I could leave as soon as I finish getting this crop in so I would have a little money to make the trip."

I am a sucker for a sad story, so I couldn't keep quiet, "I am in no hurry to get anywhere. Perhaps I could help you get your crops in."

"Oh, but I couldn't ask you to do that. I have no money to pay you."

"Don't worry about that," I said. "Your good cooking is payment enough."

"Well, if you really mean it, I sure could use the help."

"Very well, then that's settled. I will sleep in the barn with my horse. May I leave my other stuff in the house to keep it safe from varmints?"

"No need to do that. There's an extra bed and bedroom you can use."

"Why, thank you Mrs Tilden. I'm pretty tired so I'll see to my horse and get to bed, if you don't mind."

"Certainly, Mr. Sullivan. I'll show you the bedroom and you can come and go as you please."

Over the next six weeks, we (well, I) got the crops in and took them to market. Once they were sold, I helped Mrs. Tilden get her stuff together and get on the stagecoach to start her return to Georgia. As she got into the coach, she handed me a diamond ring. "I want you to have this. It's been in my family for years. You've been so kind to me, I want to give it to you. Maybe, you could use it for your engagement ring when you find the right girl. Good by, DEAR ONE."

What could I say? I took it with thanks and a kiss on the cheek. You were a wonderful woman, Mrs. Tilden.

I was feeling a lot better about myself as I rode away from the Tilden place. By the way, we couldn't sell the farm, there were just no buyers. The whole area was dying for lack of water.

I had no problem making it to the next saloon before dark. There was not much of interest for me, except for a little poker; even that was blah. So I found the hotel and went to bed. The next few days were about the same, but even more boring. So much for the exciting life of the bounty hunter!

I was about to give up in disgust and return to Santa Fe, when I heard an interesting story. It seems that the son of a very rich guy in Alamogordo had been kidnapped and was being held for a big ransom. Now, that sounded interesting, so I headed out to try my luck. When I got to town, I looked up this Mr. Jameson with the kidnapped son. When I finally got in to see him, I explained who I was and what I wanted. He was not impressed until I dropped the name of Saul Jakobs of Santa Fe. The atmosphere changed immediately when I told him to contact Mr. Jakobs if he had any doubts about me. We agreed to $10 per day retainer, plus expenses, and a sliding scale percentage of the ransom, depending on how long it took me to find his son.

I got all of the details I could from Mr. Jameson. His son, who was 11 years old, had been out riding in the desert with his bodyguard. When they did not return for supper, a search was mounted. The bodyguard was found dead the next day, amid the signs of a fierce struggle. The boy and both horses were missing. Mr. Jameson was given two weeks to raise the ransom according to a note left at the kidnapping site. He had it ready and it was to be delivered tomorrow.

Since it was undoubtedly too late for me to accomplish anything by looking at the kidnap spot, I didn't bother. Instead, I hoped to follow the ransom as it moved through to the kidnappers. I told Mr. Jameson my plan.

The next day, I followed Mr. Jameson to a secluded grove of trees west of town where he left the ransom (gold coins) in a leather bag. I looked around for any one else there, and, not seeing anybody, I climbed a tree close enough that I could keep an eye on the bag. I was careful to brush out my tracks so they wouldn't give me away. I waited for about three hours without any action, when a man finally showed up. He looked around, but not up, and picked up the bag without checking its contents. I guess it was heavy enough that he thought he didn't have to look.

Being careful not to be seen, I followed the man to his horse. He mounted and rode slowly off toward Alamogordo. I quickly retrieved my horse and followed. He rode into a rundown part of town. After a few twists and turns (was he trying to shake a tail?) he wound up at a house that looked like it was still standing out of habit, instead of structural integrity. He knocked on the door in a funny pattern and went in when it was opened.

As soon as he was inside, I ran up to a window to try to see what was going on. The window was boarded up, but there were enough cracks and openings between the boards that I could see what was going on and hear most of it, too.

The kid was tied to a chair in one corner and the crooks were gathered around a table gloating over all of the gold they had received. The were also talking about how to safely release the kid and get away. The thug who appeared to be the leader said that they should just kill the kid and run like Hell. The other two were in agreement.

They were so intent on their conversation that they were not paying any attention to anything else. It looked to me that my best bet was to ease away enough boards that I could shoot all three trough the window. I pulled my lower pistol and used my left hand to pull on a particularly loose board. Unfortunately, the damed thing squeaked as I pulled it. Fortunately, all three turned toward the window to see what was going on. If one had drawn his gun, they might have had some chance, but they were too dumb. By the time they were all looking my way, I was able to shoot them, fatally.

I then broke in the door and checked out the boy. He was blindfolded, as well as tied up, and he was scared to death. Smart kid! I removed the blindfold and explained who I was and what had happened. I untied him and told him to sit still while I gathered up the ransom. We then both got on my horse, and I returned him and the ransom home.

Mr. and Mrs. Jameson were overjoyed to see their son safely home and were profuse in their thanks. I told them that I would see them tomorrow afternoon, Saturday, and left for my hotel.

I showed up at the Jameson residence at 3:00 PM on Saturday. The butler showed me into the parlor where I greeted Mr. and Mrs. Jameson. After a cup of tea and some cake and small talk, the conversation turned to business. I gave Mr. Jameson my bill for two days ($20) and expenses and asked for the $1000 I felt I was owed as ten percent of the ransom. He was so relieved that the whole episode was over that he paid me without argument. In parting, I suggested that his son needed at least two bodyguards.