Chapter 12

I was new to Roswell, so I thought I'd better take the time to nose around and see what was going on at the county seat. I had never been this far north in the county before, so I didn't know any of the local people. A sheriff really ought to know as many people as he can if he's going to be a good sheriff. I figured to spend a day just getting to know who was who, and who the troublemakers were.

Late that afternoon, George, my new deputy, found me in one of the saloons talking to the bartender. He said, "I quit my job at the ranch, so I'm now free to be yer deputy. I even bought one of them 'official' shotguns." He grinned at this latter statement.

"In that case, ya better pin on yer badge so ya look official," I said and grinned.

In a serious tone, he said, "Joking aside, boss, I'd like to take an official look at sumpthin' that's been botherin' me fer quite a spell, an' I'd like fer ya ta come along with me on it."

"Shore, I'll be happy to go with ya. What's the problem?"

"Let's go where we kin talk privately," he said and we walked out to the street. "Some of the county's niggers have been disappearin' under mysterious circumstances, but nobody's done anythin' 'bout it. I think it's the KKK, an' I don't like it! Will ya he'p me look into it?"

"Shit! I shore will. Do ya have any idee where ta start?"

"Yeah, I do. There's an isolated valley up in the hills where people have noticed strange flickerin' lights that look like a big fire. I figure it's a KKK meetin', an' I ain't fool enough ta go check on it all by my lonesome. I've seen ya shoot, so I figure that ya would be enough backup. Ifen ya'll git yer horse, I'll show ya where it is."

I got my horse and all my weapons, and we rode off into the night. We rode about 3 hours until we came to a little valley no more than a 100 yards long and 50 yards wide. George said, "Most of the locals say that these here hills are hainted, an' they're too scared of the ghosts to come up here. Personally, I think that's jus' an excuse to keep away. One of them 'what ya don't know can't hurt ya' kinda things."

As we approached the little valley, I could see some flickering light, so I figured that the party had already started. And I was right. There was a big fire going in the middle of the field and a bunch of men standing around, some already falling-down drunk. About 25 yards from the fire were 3 big wooden crosses standing upside down, that is, the crossarm was closer to the ground than you would expect. The two outside ones had charred human skeletons hanging from them with the head close to ground. The middle one had a bunch of bones piled up at its base, and some guy in a white robe and hood was gathering them up.

Nothing we could do for the people who had been the skeletons, so we waited to see what else would happen. We watched for about 20 minutes and were finally rewarded for our patience by a party of 5 men riding up to the fire. Four were dressed in the white robe and hood and the fifth man was a Negro who was tied to his horse.

The White men dismounted and dragged the Negro down. There was some sort of ceremony, we couldn't hear the words, and the Negro was dragged to the middle cross. A rope was tied to his legs and he was pulled upon the cross, hanging upside down. His arms were untied and each arm was tied to the arms of the cross. We could hear the Negro screaming and begging to be turned loose, but his cries were ignored.

Some logs and brush were piled under the Negro's head, and a man drunkenly staggered over to the fuel with a torch. I couldn't take any longer and blew the head off the bastard carrying the torch.

George and I started a measured fire on the rest of the bastards in the white robes and started to mow them down. A few managed to draw their pistols and return our fire, but most were too drunk to shoot straight. As it happened, George and I were using our rifles, since the KKK bastards were out of effective range of our shotguns. We went down the line, picking off the white robes as we came to one still standing. We were so mad that we went back down the line, shooting any that moved after they were lying on the ground! We kept shooting until we were satisfied that they were all dead or would be soon. I HATE cowards who murder people while hiding behind masks.

Once we were sure of the condition of the KKK bastards, we ran to see if we could help the Negro on the cross. God damn them all to hell! The Negro was dead, shot by a stray pistol bullet. George recognized him, so we cut his body down and tied him to a horse. George recovered the valuables from the corpses, and we led the horses to the Negro's home where we gave his wife the valuables and horses we had confiscated. Of course, she was devastated by the night's results, but thanked us for doing what we could to try to help her husband. We had left the bodies to the scavengers; we thought that they deserved no better.

The next morning, I slept late. I didn't get out of bed until 8:00 o'clock. It felt odd to sleep that late, but I figured that I deserved it. I talked to George again before I left town. I warned him to watch his back, and to let it be known around town that I didn't take kindly to people who shot at my deputies. I hoped my reputation for ALWAYS getting my man, usually leaving him dead, would help to protect George from KKK revenge.

It was noon before I finally left Roswell, so I didn't get very far that day. I spent the night at a place that didn't even have a name. Literally, it was just a wide place in the road! I spent the night in a room over the saloon which was the only excuse for the "town" to exist. Just in case, I did keep a pistol under my pillow, but I was lucky enough not to need it.

Late the next day, I rode into Santa Clara, which was the next town on my list. I was looking for Abner Lightfoot as my next candidate for deputy sheriff. I dropped by the marshal's office and introduced myself. During our conversation, I asked if he knew a man named Abner Lightfoot. "Shore, I know Abner. He's a good man, what ya want with 'im?"

I explained that I was considering him as a deputy sheriff.

"Well, ya shore won't find a better man. Right now, he's working at the livery stable down the street. You kin find 'im there."

I thanked the marshal and left to find Lightfoot. I was impressed when I talked to him and hired him on the spot. We went to supper and spent a lot of time talking about what I expected from him as a deputy and how he expected to do his new job. Six hired and four to go, I was making progress.

I was riding toward the next town on my list when I heard a tremendous explosion. When I jerked around, I saw a great pall of smoke and dirt. Not knowing what this was, I thought that it might need some investigation, so I cut cross country toward the site as fast as I could move.

I arrived in time to see a confrontation between two groups of cowhands. Nobody was shooting, yet, but I could tell from the body language that the gun fire would not be long in coming. Two men were facing each other from their saddles, and both were shouting without waiting to hear what the other had to say. They looked like they were about to shoot at each other and they were so close together that neither would have missed. I shouted, but was ignored by both sides.

In desperation, I pulled out my shotgun and fired a shot into the air. I knew that this was chancy, but I had to break up the confrontation as soon as possible. Fortunately, the boom of the shotgun blast did not sound like the normal shot they would expect, so the confrontation was broken by the surprise.

I shouted, "HOLD IT! RIGHT NOW! I'M THE SHERIFF AN' I DEMAND TA KNOW WHAT THE HELL IS GOIN' ON! I'LL SHOOT THE FIRST MAN TA DRAW A GUN!" Both sides looked at me like I was an apparition. They simply did not know what to do.

After at least 2 minutes of silence, one of the men turned to me and said, "This here bastard just blew up my dam. He's let out all the water I've been collectin' fer this here pasture."

The other man sputtered his indignation and said, "That there dam wuz cuttin' off all the water my stock needed. This here stream's the only one servicin' my whole eastern range. My cattle can't do without it!"

I said, "OK, I git the picture. Ya two are fightin' over water rights. Now, it seems ta me that this here argument kin be settled without guns."

I asked the rancher who had blown up the dam, "Do ya have cattle on this here range right now?"

"I damn sure do! I just shifted 'em here to fatten up for the fall market. Without this water, I'll be ruined! I need 8 weeks to have 'em ready to ship."

I turned to the other rancher and asked, "Do ya have stock on this range, yet? I shore ain't see any."

"Naw, not yet. I was going to bring 'em over in about 3 months fer winter grazing. By then, the pond would have been full an' they would have had plenty of water."