Chapter 1

Portland Oregon 1876

"State your name for the record please," Judge Reynolds ordered the prisoner. The Judge was about 60 with a great mane of gray hair. He was a tall, slender man dressed in a frock coat, a button on collared shirt and a string tie. The Judge had a frown on his face as he looked through his Prince Nez glasses at the man standing in front of his bench.

"Johnny Burrows sir," the shaggy looking man answered. He was dressed in buckskins and Indian moccasins that had seen better days. He kept putting his hand to his head and swayed back and forth.

Reynolds looked closer at the prisoner, noticing for the first time that his hands were shackled in front of him. "Marshal Sims, why is this man wearing shackles in my courtroom?"

"Your honor, he beat the hell, excuse me, heck out of two of my Deputies last night. I thought it best we keep him trussed up."

"Remove them at once," Judge Reynolds ordered.

As the Marshal released Burrows, Reynolds thought there's no doubt that he's a "mountain man". He's got to be 6'3 or 4; if he was shorter he'd be called stocky with those broad shoulders, big arms, and huge hands. His curly bearded face and scarred hands show the years of working outdoors. The judge continued his thought; he's part of a dying breed, damn shame too.

The Judge had grown up reading and hearing stories about mountain men. Before he was Judge Reynolds he was Gerald Reynolds, a young boy that would light a candle after his parents went to bed, to read the dime novels about men like Jim Bridger and Daniel Boone.

The mountain men were usually the first white men to see new parts of the country. Stories of their exploits and adventures in the wilderness and with the Indians kept the young boy awake many a night and gave him pleasant dreams of someday being a mountain man too.

Clearly the Judge had a soft spot in his heart for this figure from history.

Judge Reynolds read the arrest warrant and saw no mention of the man's age. Burrows could be anywhere from 40 to 70 years old, Judge Reynolds told himself.

"Are you alright Mr. Burrows?"

"Yes sir, your Honor," the big man answered and then laughed. "A bit too much of who-hit-john last night."

"Who-hit-john?"

"Yes sir, you know, whiskey."

"Yes now I understand. Haven't heard it called that since I was a boy. What is your given name Mr. Burrows"

"It's Jonathan D Burrows sir. But I've been Johnny more years than Jonathan."

"What does the D stand for?"

"The D is for Daniel Judge. Back where I grew up every third or fourth man has Daniel in his name somewheres, so I don't use it much."

"And where were you raised?"

"I was born and raised in Lexington, Kentucky. Everybody back thar names their boys after Daniel Boone."

"Is Portland your home now Mr. Burrows?"

"No sir, it taint. Don't rightly have a home. I just sorta move around as the wind blows me."

"And why did you 'blow' into Portland?'

"Well sir, I led a wagon train up here to the Willamette Valley. Back in '62 it was and I just never went back south," Burrows answered.

"And you've been here in Portland since then?"

"No sir; just got back to Portland last week."

"What have you been doing since the wagon train Mr. Burrows? Tell me the story and don't make me keep asking questions please"

"Well sir, after I got the wagon train here, I put together a grub stake and decided to take a ride," Johnny said and stopped. At the look from Judge Reynolds he continued. "Decided I wanted to see Washington and Mount Rainer. I stayed there for awhile and then went to Canada. Didn't like Canada, they talk funny up there. So I came back to Portland."

"You said you just came back to Portland last week, how long was this ride?"

"Well, let me figure it out. I got the train here in the fall of '62, stayed around getting drunk until the summer of '63. That's when I left," Burrows replied. Looking up Judge Reynolds he asked, "What year is it now?"

"This is April 30, 1876 Mr. Burrows," Reynolds answered. He wasn't really surprised that a mountain man wouldn't know the date or year.

Burrows nodded and got a faraway look as he did the arithmetic. "Reckon I was gone for nigh on to 13 years Judge."

Reynolds paused for several seconds. Quite a ride, he thought. He read more of the Marshal's report. "Mr. Burrows, the arrest report says you were drunk and disorderly, incited a riot, and attacked two Deputy Marshals. Is that correct?"

"Well Judge ... I don't know about that riot stuff and I didn't attack those Deputies; I was defending myself." Burrows saw the look on Reynolds face and added, "They tried to arrest me and I didn't want to be locked up, so I resisted them a bit."

"He resisted more than a bit Your Honor," the Marshal interrupted in an angry voice. "Tom's still over to the Doc's getting tended to and Bill won't be able to work for three or four days."

"Why did you refuse to go with the Deputies Mr. Burrows?" Reynolds seemed more curious than judgmental.

"I tolt you sir. They was gonna put me in jail and I didn't want to go." Johnny paused and added, "I tolt them to let me be and I'd leave but they wouldn't have none of it. Said I had to go to jail, so I resisted."

"I guess that tells me about the assault on the Deputies," Reynolds said. "What about this drunk and disorderly charge Mr. Burrows?"

"Well ... I was drunk and I guess disorderly. But I haven't had a drink of real whiskey in over a year Judge. I was trying to make up for lost time and I guess I over did it a mite. So I guess that parts true."

"Alright. Then there's the charge of inciting a riot. Care to explain that?"

"It wasn't a riot, it was just a barroom fight is all. This big fellar named Swede said I looked and smelled like a horse that'd been rode hard and put away wet. So I told him it looked like he'd had a fire on his face and someone put it out with a pitch fork. That's when the fight started."

"Why did you say that to this man Swede Mr. Burrows?"

"He's got all these marks from the pox," Johnny answered with a grin. "Anyway we was havin a good time fightin when one of his friends hit me across the back with a chair. Made me mad, so I grabbed him and before long there was two other fellars jumped me."

"There was a lot of damage done to the saloon Mr. Burrows," Reynolds told him.

"Twernt me Judge. Those boys just kept throwing chairs and bottles and even a table or two. All I did was throwed them back."

Judge Reynolds was having a hard time trying to keep from laughing. Burrows is a man who thinks fighting four men at once is just a good time, he thought.

"Are this Swede or his cohorts in the courtroom? Can they or anyone else verify or disputed Mr. Burrows' account of the events at the saloon?"

"No, Your Honor," the Marshal replied. "When we got to the saloon, Burrows had his foot on the chest of a man lying on the floor and the other two he had in headlocks. Swede was sitting on the floor holding his nose. Those four took off as soon when we arrested Burrows here. Don't know where they are. The other customers took off when the fight started."

"What about the bartender? He didn't leave also, did he?"

"No sir. But he said he didn't see anything after Swede hit Burrows," the Marshal answered. "A bottle flew by his head and he ducked down behind the bar."

"Anyone else have anything to add?" Reynolds looked around the courtroom but no one spoke up. He thought for a minute still trying to keep a straight face.

"Mr. Burrows, in the absence of conflicting testimony or eye witnesses, this court finds you not guilty of inciting a riot. However the court does find you guilty of being drunk and disorderly and resisting two Deputies. Have you anything more to say before I sentence you?"

"No sir, I reckon you gotta do what you have to."

"Mr. Burrows, this court fines you ... how much money do you have sir?"

Johnny reached into the draw string bag tied to his waist and pulled out a few coins. Counting them he replied, "Got about $20 here Judge."

"The fine for destruction of property is $5." Reynolds leaned forward and added, "Swede and the others aren't here to dispute you story but they're not here to pay a fine either, so it falls on you."

Leaning back Judge Reynolds continued, "The court further sentences you to 90 days in the city jail." Waiting a few seconds Reynolds added, "I will suspend the sentence with one stipulation sir."

Johnny had sort of slumped when he heard the 90 days; he was used to living outdoors and free. Johnny didn't know if he could take 90 days locked in a jail cell. Now he looked up at Reynolds with a little hope in his face.

"I will suspend the sentence if you will give me your word that you will leave Portland as soon as possible. Are we agreed Mr. Burrows."

Now Johnny was grinning. "Yes sir Judge. Time for me to get outta this big town and back to the mountains anyway."

"How long will you need to get ready to leave Mr. Burrows?"

"I'll need a day or two to get supplies and such for the trail." Johnny thought for a bit and said, "Reckon I can get gone in two days Judge."

"So ordered. Pay the bailiff, Court's adjourned." Reynolds stepped down from the bench, walked over to Johnny and shook his hand.

"Johnny I think you're probably the last of your kind. It'd be a damn shame if I heard you had to spend your last days in jail or the state prison. Be careful sir." Reynolds turned and left the courtroom.

Watching Judge Reynolds walk away Johnny shook his head and smiled. Nice fellar, he thought. Not many would have been as fair with me. Johnny turned to the Marshal. "No hard feelings Marshall. Hope your two boys are okay."

"No hard feelings hell, Burrows," the Marshal replied. "You said you'd be gone in two days, if you're here the evening of the third day I'll put you in jail as a public nuisance."

Johnny walked toward the door but stopped. "That puttin me in jail part didn't work out real good the last time, did it Marshal?" He stared at the man with the badge and left the courtroom.

Just no pleasing some folks, he thought. Oh well, got things to get ready.

First Johnny went to the livery stable to tend to his two horses. William was his riding animal; the horse was named for a young man that kept him from getting a beatin back when he first started out to be a mountain man. He'd been at a church social paying attention to a young lady. The man she came to the social with didn't care for Johnny's attention to her.

He gathered three friends and braced Johnny, planning to beat him and run him off. William Kelly stepped in on Johnny's side and made the men back down. Damn, that was better than 30 years ago, back in '43, he thought. Johnny remembered fondly the man and his sweetheart, Molly that had befriended him.

Johnny's other horse was Buck; his pack animal. He'd picked up the animal before he started back from Washington. Buck was a big horse, probably too slow to be a good saddle pony, but he could carry almost twice what normal pack animals could.

Making sure his horses were well fed and watered Johnny climbed the ladder to the hay loft where he'd been sleeping for the last week. Tomorrow I'll stock up on trail supplies, he told himself. He sorted through his meager possessions deciding what he wanted to take with him before getting some lunch.

"Mr. Burrows are you here?" A voice called up to him. "I'd like to talk with you if I may."

Damn that sounds like a woman, Johnny thought. Peeking over the edge of the loft he saw a young woman of about 20 or so looking up at him.

"Mr. Burrows," the young lady introduced herself, "I'm a reporter for the Portland Gazette."

"A female reporter?" Johnny had never heard of such a thing.

"Yes sir. Could you come down and I'll explain why I want to talk to you."

Johnny came down the ladder and looked at the young woman. Pretty little thing, he thought. "I never heard tell of a female reporter Miss. Thought mostly men did that job."

"That's what most people think, Mr. Burrows. I plan to prove them wrong," the girl said heatedly. "I'm Margaret Anne Dempsey," she introduced herself reaching out to shake hands.

She had a strong handshake and looked Burrows in the eye. Margaret was about 5' 4 with auburn hair and sparkling green eyes which told of her Irish heritage. She's a fine figure of a true Irish colleen, Johnny thought as he shook hands with her.

"My uncle owns the Gazette and he hired me to do stories about tea socials, flower shows, and debutant balls for the society page."

"That sounds like a fine thing Miss Dempsey."

"Call me Maggie please and I'll call you Johnny if I may," she replied. "It is a good job but I want to write about more important things. I want to report on real news items, about the things important to Portland and to Oregon."

Johnny smiled; he admired the spunk and intensity of the young woman. "Where'd you ever get such an idea?"

This time it was Maggie that smiled. "My father is something of a ... a rebel I guess you'd say. He thinks that women should be treated equally with men. As I was growing up he instilled the same ideals in me."

Maggie stopped and chuckled. "He once told me if I'd been born a man I could have been a powerful force in state government. As it was I'd have to fight to be treated as something more than a second class citizen."

She looked at Johnny with fire in her eyes. "I won't be treated like a second class anything and my Daddy supports me. He even named me after two of history's first and finest women reporters; Anne Royall and Margaret Fuller."

"Never heared of them," Johnny admitted.

Maggie smiled again and continued, "Margaret joined the staff of the New York Times in 1844; she was their first female reporter. Anne Royall was the first female reporter to get an interview with a sitting President of the United States," Maggie explained.

"In1826 John Quincy Adams was bathing naked in the Potomac River and Mrs. Royall asked for an interview but President Adams declined. Anne sat on his clothes and wouldn't let him have them until he talked to her."

"I think I would've liked Anne Royall. Always did admire someone, man or woman, with spunk," laughed Johnny. "But what do you want with me, Missy?"

"My uncle said that if I could write something that would interest men as well as the women who usually read my work that he would print it," Maggie answered. "I was at your trial this morning and I thought a story about you and your life would be the way to write something more important than whose roses won the blue ribbon."

"Who wants to read about an old broken down mountain man?"

"I heard Judge Reynolds say you were the last of your kind and he's probably right. I think people would be fascinated to hear about the life and times of a real life mountain man," Maggie explained. "Look at all the books and stories written about Daniel Boone, Jim Bridger, and John 'Liver Eatin' Johnson."

"Well Missy, I wouldn't mind helping you but I've got to find some day work for a couple days to get a grub stake so's I can leave town like I promised the Judge. I just don't think I'll have the time."

"How much do you need, Johnny?"

"I reckon about $80 would see me through. I got about $50 after paying that fine so I need another $30 or so."