Chapter 11

I felt nothing from having killed this man with the knife, but the other man was so relieved that he offered to buy me a beer for saving his life. What the hell? I figured that I might as well, so I drank another beer. I was alert enough now to realize what a filthy, scruffy person I had become; it was over two weeks since I had shaved or had a bath, and even longer since I had a haircut. My clothes were also filthy, but I had a change in my saddlebags. The town had a barber with a bath facility, so I left the saloon to get cleaned up. They knew where I was going, in case the marshal wanted to talk to me.

I actually felt human an hour later as I left the barber shop. It was fairly late in the day, so I found the saloon which had rooms for rent. I booked a room and went for supper. After supper, I made the rounds of the three saloons in town before going to bed.

I left the next morning, again, not knowing where I was headed, but the best road led toward Denver, so I turned in that direction. At the rate I was going, it was going to take me 12-15 days to get to Denver, if I didn't turn off. It was a bit early in the year, so it was plenty cool at night. I usually stayed in some sort of hotel during this period simply because of the cool to cold nights. I could afford it, so why not?

About a week after entering Colorado, I stopped at a large town, as had become my habit. It was quite late in the afternoon, so I decided to spend the night. At the nearest saloon, I was directed to the hotel. I booked a room and ate in their restaurant. Man, was I getting sick of beef and beans!

I was standing at the bar in one of the town's saloons nursing a beer when an altercation started in the back of the room. One of the saloon's whores was sitting in the lap of a potential customer and another man was standing nearby shouting at her. I didn't pay any attention to what was being said, but I did note that the whore was better looking than they usually were.

Suddenly, the man standing up grabbed the whore by the wrist and pulled her to his side while pulling his bowie knife with the other hand. He was holding the knife near her neck and threatening to cut her throat if she did not do what he wanted. I wondered if it was a lovers' quarrel and not any of my business, but I decided to make it my business when I realized how much the whore resembled my old friend Sally. This roused emotions I thought were long dead.

I put my beer mug on the bar and walked somewhat purposefully toward the man with the knife. I was about 15 feet away from the pair when I stopped and said, "I don't want to hurt you, Mister, but I insist that you turn the young lady loose."

"Git outta here, asshole. This ain't none of yer business."

"You are wrong, Mister, I am making it my business. Now, release the young lady!"

"No way, asshole. Ya better step back or I'll cut her throat."

The whore said, "He means it, Mister. Judd's a mean one when he's had too much ta drink."

Judd pulled the woman closer to the knife and acted as if he were about to use it, so I pulled my pistol and shot him in the elbow. The knife went flying, along with blood and bone. Judd screamed, as well he should. That arm was going to have to be amputated to save his life. He released the whore's wrist and fell to the floor, writhing in pain. I called to the bartender, "PLEASE SEND SOMEONE TO FETCH HELP FOR THE INJURED MAN!" He nodded to me and spoke to the swamper, who ran out the door.

The whore sank back down on the lap she had been pulled from and thanked me for rescuing her. I nodded and walked back to the bar. I ordered another beer, and the bartender said to me, "That was damned fine shootin', Mister. I happen ta be mayor of this here town, an' we're lookin' fer a marshal. Ya interested in the job?"

"I don't know. How much does it pay?"

"We kin manage $60 per month, an' ya kin live in a room off the jail's office."

"That sounds interesting, but I'm sick of beef and beans for every meal. Is there a boarding house where I could get decent food?"

"Yeah, Widder Anson runs a boardin' house. The food is right good, an' ya kin eat at her table without livin' at her house. Several businessmen do that."

"Where is the jail. I'll take a look." The bartender handed me a key and told me how to find the jail, which was less than a block away. He also gave me directions to Widow Anson's boarding house. I went to take a look at the jail and the attached "apartment." It looked adequate for my needs, and it had its own privy and well. The boarding house was only a short walk away, so I went over to find out about eating there.

I knocked on the door and an elderly woman answered the door. "Yes, Sir, what kin I do fer ya?"

"Mrs. Anson, I presume?" She nodded, so I said, "My name is Jeremiah Bartholomew. I have just taken the job of marshal of Hancock, and I was told that you might have room at your dining table for a paying guest."

"My, Mr. Bartholomew, such fancy talk. It's a pleasure ta hear it. Yes, I do have room for another diner, but I don't have no rooms right now."

"That is not a problem, Mrs. Anson. I plan on living at the jail, but I am absolutely sick of beef and beans, and I would do almost anything for a decent meal."

She chuckled and said, "Very well, Mr. Bartholomew, I can appreciate that attitude. I assure ya that I serve a full range of meats an' vegetables." She then gave me the prices she charged and the times that she served, so I promised to be there at 6:00 o'clock tomorrow morning, prepared to eat.

I went back to the saloon, and the bartender and mayor of Hancock, Mr. Job Utley, pinned a badge on my shirt and made me officially the marshal, effective immediately. I figured to show my face and badge in the other three saloons before going to bed.

The next morning, I checked out of the hotel and went to breakfast. I had a fantastic meal of eggs, bacon, biscuits, sausage, potatoes, and coffee. I thanked Mrs. Anson and complimented the cook before leaving for the jail. This was a dusty and dirty mess. I spent most of the morning cleaning out the place before dropping by to speak to the mayor. He said for 25 cents a week, he'd have his swamper sweep out the jail every day so I wouldn't have to do it. That certainly was agreeable to me.

My next job was to visit the businessmen of Hancock and introduce myself. I wanted them to know and trust me, so that my job would be easier. Everybody wanted to talk a few minutes, so I didn't finish my plan to visit everybody. I'd try to do that tomorrow. I did tell everybody that I planned to make rounds starting about 9:00 o'clock to check that everything was safe for the night, so they would not be surprised if they saw me. Several were surprised to hear that, because it had never happened before in Hancock.

After supper, I visited all of the saloons just to check on things before making my rounds. I had gotten about half way through the process when I nearly tripped over a drunk sleeping on the sidewalk. I woke him up and asked who he was. All I could get from him were some mumbles, so I half walked, half carried him to the jail and laid him out on one of the bunks in a cell to sleep it off. Then I left him to finish my rounds.

The next morning, I checked the drunk and found him still asleep in the cell. I made sure that the door was not locked so he could leave when he woke up, then I left for breakfast. While I was eating, I happened to mention the drunk in one of my cells and was informed that I must be talking about Archie Hancock, the town drunk. It seemed that he had founded the town back in 1858, but had lost all of his money in a financial panic in the '60s. Supposedly, he had gone crazy when that happened, but he was harmless, so he was tolerated by the town. He lived off the loose change he could beg from the townsfolk.

Life went along smoothly for about 10 days until one evening when I got a call to hurry to one of the saloons. When I arrived, a man was standing on the bar and waving around a six-gun, threatening to kill anybody who "messed" with him. Currently, his pistol was pointed at the bartender, and the gun was cocked. Any sort of sudden movement by the gunman could result in the bartender being shot.

I stood at the door and said, "Hey, Mister, why don't you put up your gun and climb down off the bar before you hurt somebody?"

"Ya can't make me do nothin', Marshal! I'm king of the hill, an' I don't bow ta nobody."