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diff --git a/23008-h/23008-h.htm b/23008-h/23008-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a8b04ad --- /dev/null +++ b/23008-h/23008-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1452 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Sheriff and his Partner, by Frank Harris + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sheriff And His Partner, by Frank Harris + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Sheriff And His Partner + +Author: Frank Harris + +Release Date: October 12, 2007 [EBook #23008] +Last Updated: December 18, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHERIFF AND HIS PARTNER *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE SHERIFF AND HIS PARTNER. + </h1> + <p> + <b> By Frank Harris </b> + </p> + <p> + One afternoon in July, 1869, I was seated at my desk in Locock’s + law-office in the town of Kiota, Kansas. I had landed in New York from + Liverpool nearly a year before, and had drifted westwards seeking in vain + for some steady employment. Lawyer Locock, however, had promised to let me + study law with him, and to give me a few dollars a month besides, for my + services as a clerk. I was fairly satisfied with the prospect, and the + little town interested me. An outpost of civilization, it was situated on + the border of the great plains, which were still looked upon as the + natural possession of the nomadic Indian tribes. It owed its importance to + the fact that it lay on the cattle-trail which led from the prairies of + Texas through this no man’s land to the railway system, and that it was + the first place where the cowboys coming north could find a bed to sleep + in, a bar to drink at, and a table to gamble on. For some years they had + made of Kiota a hell upon earth. But gradually the land in the + neighbourhood was taken up by farmers, emigrants chiefly from New England, + who were determined to put an end to the reign of violence. A man named + Johnson was their leader in establishing order and tranquillity. Elected, + almost as soon as he came to the town, to the dangerous post of City + Marshal, he organized a vigilance committee of the younger and more daring + settlers, backed by whom he resolutely suppressed the drunken rioting of + the cowboys. After the ruffians had been taught to behave themselves, + Johnson was made Sheriff of the County, a post which gave him a house and + permanent position. Though married now, and apparently “settled down,” the + Sheriff was a sort of hero in Kiota. I had listened to many tales about + him, showing desperate determination veined with a sense of humour, and I + often regretted that I had reached the place too late to see him in + action. I had little or nothing to do in the office. The tedium of the + long days was almost unbroken, and Stephen’s “Commentaries” had become as + monotonous and unattractive as the bare uncarpeted floor. The heat was + tropical, and I was dozing when a knock startled me. A negro boy slouched + in with a bundle of newspapers: “This yer is Jedge Locock’s, I guess?” “I + guess so,” was my answer as I lazily opened the third or fourth number of + the “Kiota Weekly Tribune.” Glancing over the sheet my eye caught the + following paragraph: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “HIGHWAY ROBBERY WITH VIOLENCE. + + JUDGE SHANNON STOPPED. + + THE OUTLAW ESCAPES. HE KNOWS SHERIFF JOHNSON. +</pre> + <p> + “Information has just reached us of an outrage perpetrated on the person + of one of our most respected fellow-citizens. The crime was committed in + daylight, on the public highway within four miles of this city; a crime, + therefore, without parallel in this vicinity for the last two years. + Fortunately our County and State authorities can be fully trusted, and we + have no sort of doubt that they can command, if necessary, the succour and + aid of each and every citizen of this locality in order to bring the + offending miscreant to justice. + </p> + <p> + “We now place the plain recital of this outrage before our readers. + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday afternoon, as Ex-Judge Shannon was riding from his law-office + in Kiota towards his home on Sumach Bluff, he was stopped about four miles + from this town by a man who drew a revolver on him, telling him at the + same time to pull up. The Judge, being completely unarmed and unprepared, + obeyed, and was told to get down from the buckboard, which he did. He was + then ordered to put his watch and whatever money he had, in the road, and + to retreat three paces. + </p> + <p> + “The robber pocketed the watch and money, and told him he might tell + Sheriff Johnson that Tom Williams had ‘gone through him,’ and that he + (Williams) could be found at the saloon in Osawotamie at any time. The + Judge now hoped for release, but Tom Williams (if that be the robber’s + real name) seemed to get an afterthought, which he at once proceeded to + carry into effect. Drawing a knife he cut the traces, and took out of the + shafts the Judge’s famous trotting mare, Lizzie D., which he mounted with + the remark: + </p> + <p> + “‘Sheriff Johnson, I reckon, would come after the money anyway, but the + hoss’ll fetch him—sure pop.’ + </p> + <p> + “These words have just been given to us by Judge Shannon himself, who + tells us also that the outrage took place on the North Section Line, + bounding Bray’s farm. + </p> + <p> + “After this speech the highway robber Williams rode towards the township + of Osawotamie, while Judge Shannon, after drawing the buckboard to the + edge of the track, was compelled to proceed homewards on foot. + </p> + <p> + “The outrage, as we have said, took place late last evening, and Judge + Shannon, we understand, did not trouble to inform the County authorities + of the circumstance till to-day at noon, after leaving our office. What + the motive of the crime may have been we do not worry ourselves to + inquire; a crime, an outrage upon justice and order, has been committed; + that is all we care to know. If anything fresh happens in this connection + we propose to issue a second edition of this paper. Our fellow-citizens + may rely upon our energy and watchfulness to keep them posted. + </p> + <p> + “Just before going to press we learn that Sheriff Johnson was out of town + attending to business when Judge Shannon called; but Sub-Sheriff Jarvis + informs us that he expects the Sheriff back shortly. It is necessary to + add, by way of explanation, that Mr. Jarvis cannot leave the jail + unguarded, even for a few hours.” + </p> + <p> + As may be imagined this item of news awakened my keenest interest. It + fitted in with some things that I knew already, and I was curious to learn + more. I felt that this was the first act in a drama. Vaguely I remembered + some one telling in disconnected phrases why the Sheriff had left + Missouri, and come to Kansas: + </p> + <p> + “‘Twas after a quor’ll with a pardner of his, named Williams, who kicked + out.” + </p> + <p> + Bit by bit the story, to which I had not given much attention when I heard + it, so casually, carelessly was it told, recurred to my memory. + </p> + <p> + “They say as how Williams cut up rough with Johnson, and drawed a knife on + him, which Johnson gripped with his left while he pulled trigger.—Williams, + I heerd, was in the wrong; I hain’t perhaps got the right end of it; + anyhow, you might hev noticed the Sheriff hes lost the little finger off + his left hand.—Johnson, they say, got right up and lit out from + Pleasant Hill. Perhaps the folk in Mizzoori kinder liked Williams the best + of the two; I don’t know. Anyway, Sheriff Johnson’s a square man; his + record here proves it. An’ real grit, you bet your life.” + </p> + <p> + The narrative had made but a slight impression on me at the time; I didn’t + know the persons concerned, and had no reason to interest myself in their + fortunes. In those early days, moreover, I was often homesick, and gave + myself up readily to dreaming of English scenes and faces. Now the words + and drawling intonation came back to me distinctly, and with them the + question: Was the robber of Judge Shannon the same Williams who had once + been the Sheriff’s partner? My first impulse was to hurry into the street + and try to find out; but it was the chief part of my duty to stay in the + office till six o’clock; besides, the Sheriff was “out of town,” and + perhaps would not be back that day. The hours dragged to an end at last; + my supper was soon finished, and, as night drew down, I hastened along the + wooden side-walk of Washington Street towards the Carvell House. This + hotel was much too large for the needs of the little town; it contained + some fifty bedrooms, of which perhaps half-a-dozen were permanently + occupied by “high-toned” citizens, and a billiard-room of gigantic size, + in which stood nine tables, as well as the famous bar. The space between + the bar, which ran across one end of the room, and the billiard-tables, + was the favourite nightly resort of the prominent politicians and + gamblers. There, if anywhere, my questions would be answered. + </p> + <p> + On entering the billiard-room I was struck by the number of men who had + come together. Usually only some twenty or thirty were present, half of + whom sat smoking and chewing about the bar, while the rest watched a game + of billiards or took a “life” in pool. This evening, however, the + billiard-tables were covered with their slate-coloured “wraps,” while at + least a hundred and fifty men were gathered about the open space of + glaring light near the bar. I hurried up the room, but as I approached the + crowd my steps grew slower, and I became half ashamed of my eager, + obtrusive curiosity and excitement. There was a kind of reproof in the + lazy, cool glance which one man after another cast upon me, as I went by. + Assuming an air of indecision I threaded my way through the chairs + uptilted against the sides of the billiard-tables. I had drained a glass + of Bourbon whisky before I realized that these apparently careless men + were stirred by some emotion which made them more cautious, more silent, + more warily on their guard than usual. The gamblers and loafers, too, had + taken “back seats” this evening, whilst hard-working men of the farmer + class who did not frequent the expensive bar of the Carvell House were to + be seen in front. It dawned upon me that the matter was serious, and was + being taken seriously. + </p> + <p> + The silence was broken from time to time by some casual remark of no + interest, drawled out in a monotone; every now and then a man invited the + “crowd” to drink with him, and that was all. Yet the moral atmosphere was + oppressive, and a vague feeling of discomfort grew upon me. These men + “meant business.” + </p> + <p> + Presently the door on my left opened—Sheriff Johnson came into the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Good evenin’,” he said; and a dozen voices, one after another, answered + with “Good evenin’! good evenin’, Sheriff!” A big frontiersman, however, a + horse-dealer called Martin, who, I knew, had been on the old vigilance + committee, walked from the centre of the group in front of the bar to the + Sheriff, and held out his hand with: + </p> + <p> + “Shake, old man, and name the drink.” The Sheriff took the proffered hand + as if mechanically, and turned to the bar with “Whisky—straight.” + </p> + <p> + Sheriff Johnson was a man of medium height, sturdily built. A broad + forehead, and clear, grey-blue eyes that met everything fairly, testified + in his favour. The nose, however, was fleshy and snub. The mouth was not + to be seen, nor its shape guessed at, so thickly did the brown moustache + and beard grow; but the short beard seemed rather to exaggerate than + conceal an extravagant out jutting of the lower jaw, that gave a peculiar + expression of energy and determination to the face. His manner was + unobtrusively quiet and deliberate. + </p> + <p> + It was an unusual occurrence for Johnson to come at night to the + bar-lounge, which was beginning to fall into disrepute among the + puritanical or middle-class section of the community. No one, however, + seemed to pay any further attention to him, or to remark the unusual + cordiality of Martin’s greeting. A quarter of an hour elapsed before + anything of note occurred. Then, an elderly man whom I did not know, a + farmer, by his dress, drew a copy of the “Kiota Tribune” from his pocket, + and, stretching it towards Johnson, asked with a very marked Yankee twang: + </p> + <p> + “Sheriff, hev yeou read this ‘Tribune’?” + </p> + <p> + Wheeling half round towards his questioner, the Sheriff replied: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, I hev.” A pause ensued, which was made significant to me by the + fact that the bar-keeper suspended his hand and did not pour out the + whisky he had just been asked to supply—a pause during which the two + faced each other; it was broken by the farmer saying: + </p> + <p> + “Ez yeou wer out of town to-day, I allowed yeou might hev missed seein’ + it. I reckoned yeou’d come straight hyar before yeou went to hum.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Crosskey,” rejoined the Sheriff, with slow emphasis; “I went home + first and came on hyar to see the boys.” + </p> + <p> + “Wall,” said Mr. Crosskey, as it seemed to me, half apologetically, + “knowin’ yeou I guessed yeou ought to hear the facks,” then, with some + suddenness, stretching out his hand, he added, “I hev some way to go, an’ + my old woman ‘ull be waitin’ up fer me. Good night, Sheriff.” The hands + met while the Sheriff nodded: “Good night, Jim.” + </p> + <p> + After a few greetings to right and left Mr. Crosskey left the bar. The + crowd went on smoking, chewing, and drinking, but the sense of expectancy + was still in the air, and the seriousness seemed, if anything, to have + increased. Five or ten minutes may have passed when a man named Reid, who + had run for the post of Sub-Sheriff the year before, and had failed to + beat Johnson’s nominee Jarvis, rose from his chair and asked abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Sheriff, do you reckon to take any of us uns with you to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + With an indefinable ring of sarcasm in his negligent tone, the Sheriff + answered: + </p> + <p> + “I guess not, Mr. Reid.” + </p> + <p> + Quickly Reid replied: “Then I reckon there’s no use in us stayin’;” and + turning to a small knot of men among whom he had been sitting, he added, + “Let’s go, boys!” + </p> + <p> + The men got up and filed out after their leader without greeting the + Sheriff in any way. With the departure of this group the shadow lifted. + Those who still remained showed in manner a marked relief, and a moment or + two later a man named Morris, whom I knew to be a gambler by profession, + called out lightly: + </p> + <p> + “The crowd and you’ll drink with me, Sheriff, I hope? I want another + glass, and then we won’t keep you up any longer, for you ought to have a + night’s rest with to-morrow’s work before you.” + </p> + <p> + The Sheriff smiled assent. Every one moved towards the bar, and + conversation became general. Morris was the centre of the company, and he + directed the talk jokingly to the account in the “Tribune,” making fun, as + it seemed to me, though I did not understand all his allusions, of the + editor’s timidity and pretentiousness. Morris interested and amused me + even more than he amused the others; he talked like a man of some + intelligence and reading, and listening to him I grew light-hearted and + careless, perhaps more careless than usual, for my spirits had been + ice-bound in the earlier gloom of the evening. + </p> + <p> + “Fortunately our County and State authorities can be fully trusted,” some + one said. + </p> + <p> + “Mark that ‘fortunately’, Sheriff,” laughed Morris. “The editor was afraid + to mention you alone, so he hitched the State on with you to lighten the + load.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay!” chimed in another of the gamblers, “and the ‘aid and succour of each + and every citizen,’ eh, Sheriff, as if you’d take the whole town with you. + I guess two or three’ll be enough fer Williams.” + </p> + <p> + This annoyed me. It appeared to me that Williams had addressed a personal + challenge to the Sheriff, and I thought that Johnson should so consider + it. Without waiting for the Sheriff to answer, whether in protest or + acquiescence, I broke in: + </p> + <p> + “Two or three would be cowardly. One should go, and one only.” At once I + felt rather than saw the Sheriff free himself from the group of men; the + next moment he stood opposite to me. + </p> + <p> + “What was that?” he asked sharply, holding me with keen eye and out-thrust + chin—repressed passion in voice and look. + </p> + <p> + The antagonism of his bearing excited and angered me not a little. I + replied: + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be cowardly to take two or three against a single man. I + said one should go, and I say so still.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” he sneered. “I guess you’d go alone, wouldn’t you? to bring + Williams in?” + </p> + <p> + “If I were paid for it I should,” was my heedless retort. As I spoke his + face grew white with such passion that I instinctively put up my hands to + defend myself, thinking he was about to attack me. The involuntary + movement may have seemed boyish to him, for thought came into his eyes, + and his face relaxed; moving away he said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “I’ll set up drinks, boys.” + </p> + <p> + They grouped themselves about him and drank, leaving me isolated. But + this, now my blood was up, only added to the exasperation I felt at his + contemptuous treatment, and accordingly I walked to the bar, and as the + only unoccupied place was by Johnson’s side I went there and said, + speaking as coolly as I could: + </p> + <p> + “Though no one asks me to drink I guess I’ll take some whisky, bar-keeper, + if you please.” + </p> + <p> + Johnson was standing with his back to me, but when I spoke he looked + round, and I saw, or thought I saw, a sort of curiosity in his gaze. I met + his eye defiantly. He turned to the others and said, in his ordinary, slow + way: + </p> + <p> + “Wall, good night, boys; I’ve got to go. It’s gittin’ late, an’ I’ve had + about as much as I want.” + </p> + <p> + Whether he alluded to the drink or to my impertinence I was unable to + divine. Without adding a word he left the room amid a chorus of “Good + night, Sheriff!” With him went Martin and half-a-dozen more. + </p> + <p> + I thought I had come out of the matter fairly well until I spoke to some + of the men standing near. They answered me, it is true, but in + monosyllables, and evidently with unwillingness. In silence I finished my + whisky, feeling that every one was against me for some inexplicable cause. + I resented this and stayed on. In a quarter of an hour the rest of the + crowd had departed, with the exception of Morris and a few of the same + kidney. + </p> + <p> + When I noticed that these gamblers, outlaws by public opinion, held away + from me, I became indignant. Addressing myself to Morris, I asked: + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell me, sir, for you seem to be an educated man, what I have + said or done to make you all shun me?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so,” he answered indifferently. “You took a hand in a game where + you weren’t wanted. And you tried to come in without ever having paid the + <i>ante</i>, which is not allowed in any game—at least not in any + game played about here.” + </p> + <p> + The allusion seemed plain; I was not only a stranger, but a foreigner; + that must be my offence. With a “Good night, sir; good night, barkeeper!” + I left the room. + </p> + <p> + The next morning I went as usual to the office. I may have been seated + there about an hour—it was almost eight o’clock—when I heard a + knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” I said, swinging round in the American chair, to find myself + face to face with Sheriff Johnson. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Sheriff, come in!” I exclaimed cheerfully, for I was relieved at + seeing him, and so realized more clearly than ever that the unpleasantness + of the previous evening had left in me a certain uneasiness. I was eager + to show that the incident had no importance: + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you take a seat? and you’ll have a cigar?—these are not bad.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” he answered. “No, I guess I won’t sit nor smoke jest + now.” After a pause, he added, “I see you’re studyin’; p’r’aps you’re busy + to-day; I won’t disturb you.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t disturb me, Sheriff,” I rejoined. “As for studying, there’s not + much in it. I seem to prefer dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + “Wall,” he said, letting his eyes range round the walls furnished with Law + Reports bound in yellow calf, “I don’t know, I guess there’s a big lot of + readin’ to do before a man gets through with all those.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” I laughed, “the more I read the more clearly I see that law is only + a sermon on various texts supplied by common sense.” + </p> + <p> + “Wall,” he went on slowly, coming a pace or two nearer and speaking with + increased seriousness, “I reckon you’ve got all Locock’s business to see + after: his clients to talk to; letters to answer, and all that; and when + he’s on the drunk I guess he don’t do much. I won’t worry you any more.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t worry me,” I replied. “I’ve not had a letter to answer in three + days, and not a soul comes here to talk about business or anything else. I + sit and dream, and wish I had something to do out there in the sunshine. + Your work is better than reading words, words—nothing but words.” + </p> + <p> + “You ain’t busy; hain’t got anything to do here that might keep you? + Nothin’?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a thing. I’m sick of Blackstone and all Commentaries.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly I felt his hand on my shoulder (moving half round in the chair, I + had for the moment turned sideways to him), and his voice was surprisingly + hard and quick: + </p> + <p> + “Then I swear you in as a Deputy-Sheriff of the United States, and of this + State of Kansas; and I charge you to bring in and deliver at the Sheriff’s + house, in this county of Elwood, Tom Williams, alive or dead, and—there’s + your fee, five dollars and twenty-five cents!” and he laid the money on + the table. + </p> + <p> + Before the singular speech was half ended I had swung round facing him, + with a fairly accurate understanding of what he meant But the moment for + decision had come with such sharp abruptness, that I still did not realize + my position, though I replied defiantly as if accepting the charge: + </p> + <p> + “I’ve not got a weapon.” + </p> + <p> + “The boys allowed you mightn’t hev, and so I brought some along. You ken + suit your hand.” While speaking he produced two or three revolvers of + different sizes, and laid them before me. + </p> + <p> + Dazed by the rapid progress of the plot, indignant, too, at the trick + played upon me, I took up the nearest revolver and looked at it almost + without seeing it. The Sheriff seemed to take my gaze for that of an + expert’s curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “It shoots true,” he said meditatively, “plumb true; but it’s too small to + drop a man. I guess it wouldn’t stop any one with grit in him.” + </p> + <p> + My anger would not allow me to consider his advice; I thrust the weapon in + my pocket: + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t got a buggy. How am I to get to Osawotamie?” + </p> + <p> + “Mine’s hitched up outside. You ken hev it.” + </p> + <p> + Rising to my feet I said: “Then we can go.” + </p> + <p> + We had nearly reached the door of the office, when the Sheriff stopped, + turned his back upon the door, and looking straight into my eyes said: + </p> + <p> + “Don’t play foolish. You’ve no call to go. Ef you’re busy, ef you’ve got + letters to write, anythin’ to do—I’ll tell the boys you sed so, and + that’ll be all; that’ll let you out.” + </p> + <p> + Half-humorously, as it seemed to me, he added: “You’re young and a + tenderfoot. You’d better stick to what you’ve begun upon. That’s the way + to do somethin’.—I often think it’s the work chooses us, and we’ve + just got to get down and do it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve told you I had nothing to do,” I retorted angrily; “that’s the + truth. Perhaps” (sarcastically) “this work chooses me.” + </p> + <p> + The Sheriff moved away from the door. + </p> + <p> + On reaching the street I stopped for a moment in utter wonder. At that + hour in the morning Washington Street was usually deserted, but now it + seemed as if half the men in the town had taken up places round the + entrance to Locock’s office stairs. Some sat on barrels or boxes tipped up + against the shop-front (the next store was kept by a German, who sold + fruit and eatables); others stood about in groups or singly; a few were + seated on the edge of the side-walk, with their feet in the dust of the + street. Right before me and most conspicuous was the gigantic figure of + Martin. He was sitting on a small barrel in front of the Sheriff’s buggy. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” I said in the air, but no one answered me. Mastering my + irritation, I went forward to undo the hitching-strap, but Martin, + divining my intention, rose and loosened the buckle. As I reached him, he + spoke in a low whisper, keeping his back turned to me: + </p> + <p> + “Shoot off a joke quick. The boys’ll let up on you then. It’ll be all + right. Say something for God’s sake!” + </p> + <p> + The rough sympathy did me good, relaxed the tightness round my heart; the + resentment natural to one entrapped left me, and some of my + self-confidence returned: + </p> + <p> + “I never felt less like joking in my life, Martin, and humour can’t be + produced to order.” + </p> + <p> + He fastened up the hitching-strap, while I gathered the reins together and + got into the buggy. When I was fairly seated he stepped to the side of the + open vehicle, and, holding out his hand, said, “Good day,” adding, as our + hands clasped, “Wade in, young un; wade in.” + </p> + <p> + “Good day, Martin. Good day, Sheriff. Good day, boys!” + </p> + <p> + To my surprise there came a chorus of answering “Good days!” as I drove up + the street. + </p> + <p> + A few hundred yards I went, and then wheeled to the right past the post + office, and so on for a quarter of a mile, till I reached the descent from + the higher ground, on which the town was built, to the river. There, on my + left, on the verge of the slope, stood the Sheriffs house in a lot by + itself, with the long, low jail attached to it. Down the hill I went, and + across the bridge and out into the open country. I drove rapidly for about + five miles—more than halfway to Osawotamie—and then I pulled + up, in order to think quietly and make up my mind. + </p> + <p> + I grasped the situation now in all its details. Courage was the one virtue + which these men understood, the only one upon which they prided + themselves. I, a stranger, a “tenderfoot,” had questioned the courage of + the boldest among them, and this mission was their answer to my insolence. + The “boys” had planned the plot; Johnson was not to blame; clearly he + wanted to let me out of it; he would have been satisfied there in the + office if I had said that I was busy; he did not like to put his work on + any one else. And yet he must profit by my going. Were I killed, the whole + country would rise against Williams; whereas if I shot Williams, the + Sheriff would be relieved of the task. I wondered whether the fact of his + having married made any difference to the Sheriff. Possibly—and yet + it was not the Sheriff; it was the “boys” who had insisted on giving me + the lesson. Public opinion was dead against me. “I had come into a game + where I was not wanted, and I had never even paid the <i>ante</i>”—that + was Morris’s phrase. Of course it was all clear now. I had never given any + proof of courage, as most likely all the rest had at some time or other. + That was the <i>ante</i> Morris meant.... + </p> + <p> + My wilfulness had got me into the scrape; I had only myself to thank. Not + alone the Sheriff but Martin would have saved me had I profited by the + door of escape which he had tried to open for me. Neither of them wished + to push the malice to the point of making me assume the Sheriff’s risk, + and Martin at least, and probably the Sheriff also, had taken my quick, + half-unconscious words and acts as evidence of reckless determination. If + I intended to live in the West I must go through with the matter. + </p> + <p> + But what nonsense it all was! Why should I chuck away my life in the + attempt to bring a desperate ruffian to justice? And who could say that + Williams was a ruffian? It was plain that his quarrel with the Sheriff was + one of old date and purely personal He had “stopped” Judge Shannon in + order to bring about a duel with the Sheriff. Why should I fight the + Sheriff’s duels? Justice, indeed! justice had nothing to do with this + affair; I did not even know which man was in the right. Reason led + directly to the conclusion that I had better turn the horse’s head + northwards, drive as fast and as far as I could, and take the train as + soon as possible out of the country. But while I recognized that this was + the only sensible decision, I felt that I could not carry it into action. + To run away was impossible; my cheeks burned with shame at the thought. + </p> + <p> + Was I to give my life for a stupid practical joke? “Yes!”—a voice + within me answered sharply. “It would be well if a man could always choose + the cause for which he risks his life, but it may happen that he ought to + throw it away for a reason that seems inadequate.” + </p> + <p> + “What ought I to do?” I questioned. + </p> + <p> + “Go on to Osawotamie, arrest Williams, and bring him into Kiota,” replied + my other self. + </p> + <p> + “And if he won’t come?” + </p> + <p> + “Shoot him—you are charged to deliver him ‘alive or dead’ at the + Sheriff’s house. No more thinking, drive straight ahead and act as if you + were a representative of the law and Williams a criminal. It has to be + done.” + </p> + <p> + The resolution excited me, I picked up the reins and proceeded. At the + next section-line I turned to the right, and ten or fifteen minutes later + saw Osawotamie in the distance. + </p> + <p> + I drew up, laid the reins on the dashboard, and examined the revolver. It + was a small four-shooter, with a large bore. To make sure of its + efficiency I took out a cartridge; it was quite new. While weighing it in + my hand, the Sheriff’s words recurred to me, “It wouldn’t stop any one + with grit in him.” What did he mean? I didn’t want to think, so I put the + cartridge in again, cocked and replaced the pistol in my right-side jacket + pocket, and drove on. Osawotamie consisted of a single street of + straggling frame-buildings. After passing half-a-dozen of them I saw, on + the right, one which looked to me like a saloon. It was evidently a + stopping-place. There were several hitching-posts, and the house boasted + instead of a door two green Venetian blinds put upon rollers—the + usual sign of a drinking-saloon in the West. + </p> + <p> + I got out of the buggy slowly and carefully, so as not to shift the + position of the revolver, and after hitching up the horse, entered the + saloon. Coming out of the glare of the sunshine I could hardly see in the + darkened room. In a moment or two my eyes grew accustomed to the dim + light, and I went over to the bar, which was on my left. The bar-keeper + was sitting down; his head and shoulders alone were visible; I asked him + for a lemon squash. + </p> + <p> + “Anythin’ in it?” he replied, without lifting his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No; I’m thirsty and hot.” + </p> + <p> + “I guessed that was about the figger,” he remarked, getting up leisurely + and beginning to mix the drink with his back to me. + </p> + <p> + I used the opportunity to look round the room. Three steps from me stood a + tall man, lazily leaning with his right arm on the bar, his fingers + touching a half-filled glass. He seemed to be gazing past me into the + void, and thus allowed me to take note of his appearance. In + shirt-sleeves, like the bar-keeper, he had a belt on in which were two + large revolvers with white ivory handles. His face was prepossessing, with + large but not irregular features, bronzed fair skin, hazel eyes, and long + brown moustache. He looked strong and was lithe of form, as if he had not + done much hard bodily work. There was no one else in the room except a man + who appeared to be sleeping at a table in the far corner with his head + pillowed on his arms. + </p> + <p> + As I completed this hasty scrutiny of the room and its inmates, the + bar-keeper gave me my squash, and I drank eagerly. The excitement had made + me thirsty, for I knew that the crisis must be at hand, but I experienced + no other sensation save that my heart was thumping and my throat was dry. + Yawning as a sign of indifference (I had resolved to be as deliberate as + the Sheriff) I put my hand in my pocket on the revolver. I felt that I + could draw it out at once. + </p> + <p> + I addressed the bar-keeper: + </p> + <p> + “Say, do you know the folk here in Osawotamie?” + </p> + <p> + After a pause he replied: + </p> + <p> + “Most on ‘em, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + Another pause and a second question: + </p> + <p> + “Do you know Tom Williams?” + </p> + <p> + The eyes looked at me with a faint light of surprise in them; they looked + away again, and came back with short, half suspicious, half curious + glances. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you’re a friend of his’n?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know him, but I’d like to meet him.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you, though?” Turning half round, the bar-keeper took down a bottle + and glass, and poured out some whisky, seemingly for his own consumption. + Then: “I guess he’s not hard to meet, isn’t Williams, ef you and me mean + the same man.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess we do,” I replied; “Tom Williams is the name.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s me,” said the tall man who was leaning on the bar near me, “that’s + my name.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you the Williams that stopped Judge Shannon yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know his name,” came the careless reply, “but I stopped a man in + a buck-board.” + </p> + <p> + Plucking out my revolver, and pointing it low down on his breast, I said: + </p> + <p> + “I’m sent to arrest you; you must come with me to Kiota.” + </p> + <p> + Without changing his easy posture, or a muscle of his face, he asked in + the same quiet voice: + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean, anyway? Who sent you to arrest me?” + </p> + <p> + “Sheriff Johnson,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + The man started upright, and said, as if amazed, in a quick, loud voice: + </p> + <p> + “Sheriff Johnson sent <i>you</i> to arrest me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I retorted, “Sheriff Samuel Johnson swore me in this morning as his + deputy, and charged me to bring you into Kiota.” + </p> + <p> + In a tone of utter astonishment he repeated my words, “Sheriff Samuel + Johnson!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I replied, “Samuel Johnson, Sheriff of Elwood County.” + </p> + <p> + “See here,” he asked suddenly, fixing me with a look of angry suspicion, + “what sort of a man is he? What does he figger like?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s a little shorter than I am,” I replied curtly, “with a brown beard + and bluish eyes—a square-built sort of man.” + </p> + <p> + “Hell!” There was savage rage and menace in the exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “You kin put that up!” he added, absorbed once more in thought. I paid no + attention to this; I was not going to put the revolver away at his + bidding. Presently he asked in his ordinary voice: + </p> + <p> + “What age man might this Johnson be?” + </p> + <p> + “About forty or forty-five, I should think.” + </p> + <p> + “And right off Sam Johnson swore you in and sent you to bring me into + Kiota—an’ him Sheriff?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I replied impatiently, “that’s so.” + </p> + <p> + “Great God!” he exclaimed, bringing his clenched right hand heavily down + on the bar. “Here, Zeke!” turning to the man asleep in the corner, and + again he shouted “Zeke!” Then, with a rapid change of manner, and speaking + irritably, he said to me: + </p> + <p> + “Put that thing up, I say.” + </p> + <p> + The bar-keeper now spoke too: “I guess when Tom sez you kin put it up, you + kin. You hain’t got no use fur it.” + </p> + <p> + The changes of Williams’ tone from wonder to wrath and then to quick + resolution showed me that the doubt in him had been laid, and that I had + but little to do with the decision at which he had arrived, whatever that + decision might be. I understood, too, enough of the Western spirit to know + that he would take no unfair advantage of me. I therefore uncocked the + revolver and put it back into my pocket. In the meantime Zeke had got up + from his resting-place in the corner and had made his way sleepily to the + bar. He had taken more to drink than was good for him, though he was not + now really drunk. + </p> + <p> + “Give me and Zeke a glass, Joe,” said Williams; “and this gentleman, too, + if he’ll drink with me, and take one yourself with us.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied the bar-keeper sullenly, “I’ll not drink to any damned + foolishness. An’ Zeke won’t neither.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, he will,” Williams returned persuasively, “and so’ll you, Joe. + You aren’t goin’ back on me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I’ll be just damned if I am,” said the barkeeper, half-conquered. + </p> + <p> + “What’ll you take, sir?” Williams asked me. + </p> + <p> + “The bar-keeper knows my figger,” I answered, half-jestingly, not yet + understanding the situation, but convinced that it was turning out better + than I had expected. + </p> + <p> + “And you, Zeke?” he went on. + </p> + <p> + “The old pizen,” Zeke replied. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Joe, whisky for you and me—the square bottle,” he + continued, with brisk cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + In silence the bar-keeper placed the drinks before us. As soon as the + glasses were empty Williams spoke again, putting out his hand to Zeke at + the same time: + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, old man, so long, but saddle up in two hours. Ef I don’t come + then, you kin clear; but I guess I’ll be with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Joe.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Tom,” replied the bar-keeper, taking the proffered hand, still + half-unwillingly, “if you’re stuck on it; but the game is to wait for ‘em + here—anyway that’s how I’d play it.” + </p> + <p> + A laugh and shake of the head and Williams addressed me: + </p> + <p> + “Now, sir, I’m ready if you are.” We were walking towards the door, when + Zeke broke in: + </p> + <p> + “Say, Tom, ain’t I to come along?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Zeke, I’ll play this hand alone,” replied Williams, and two minutes + later he and I were seated in the buggy, driving towards Kiota. + </p> + <p> + We had gone more than a mile before he spoke again. He began very quietly, + as if confiding his thoughts to me: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to make no mistake about this business—it ain’t worth + while. I’m sure you’re right, and Sheriff Samuel Johnson sent you, but, + maybe, ef you was to think you could kinder bring him before me. There + might be two of the name, the age, the looks—though it ain’t + likely.” Then, as if a sudden inspiration moved him: + </p> + <p> + “Where did he come from, this Sam Johnson, do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe he came from Pleasant Hill, Missouri. I’ve heard that he left + after a row with his partner, and it seems to me that his partner’s name + was Williams. But that you ought to know better than I do. By-the-bye, + there is one sign by which Sheriff Johnson can always be recognized; he + has lost the little finger of his left hand. They say he caught Williams’ + bowie with that hand and shot him with the right. But why he had to leave + Missouri I don’t know, if Williams drew first.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m satisfied now,” said my companion, “but I guess you hain’t got that + story correct; maybe you don’t know the cause of it nor how it began; + maybe Williams didn’t draw fust; maybe he was in the right all the way + through; maybe—but thar!—the first hand don’t decide + everythin’. Your Sheriffs the man—that’s enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + After this no word was spoken for miles. As we drew near the bridge + leading into the town of Kiota I remarked half-a-dozen men standing about. + Generally the place was deserted, so the fact astonished me a little. But + I said nothing. We had scarcely passed over half the length of the bridge, + however, when I saw that there were quite twenty men lounging around the + Kiota end of it. Before I had time to explain the matter to myself, + Williams spoke: “I guess he’s got out all the vigilantes;” and then + bitterly: “The boys in old Mizzouri wouldn’t believe this ef I told it on + him, the dog-goned mean cuss.” + </p> + <p> + We crossed the bridge at a walk (it was forbidden to drive faster over the + rickety structure), and toiled up the hill through the bystanders, who did + not seem to see us, though I knew several of them. When we turned to the + right to reach the gate of the Sheriff’s house, there were groups of men + on both sides. No one moved from his place; here and there, indeed, one of + them went on whittling. + </p> + <p> + I drew up at the sidewalk, threw down the reins, and jumped out of the + buggy to hitch up the horse. My task was done. + </p> + <p> + I had the hitching-rein loose in my hand, when I became conscious of + something unusual behind me. I looked round—it was the stillness + that foreruns the storm. + </p> + <p> + Williams was standing on the side-walk facing the low wooden fence, a + revolver in each hand, but both pointing negligently to the ground; the + Sheriff had just come down the steps of his house; in his hands also were + revolvers; his deputy, Jarvis, was behind him on the stoop. + </p> + <p> + Williams spoke first: + </p> + <p> + “Sam Johnson, you sent for me, and I’ve come.” + </p> + <p> + The Sheriff answered firmly, “I did!” + </p> + <p> + Their hands went up, and crack! crack! crack! in quick succession, three + or four or five reports—I don’t know how many. At the first shots + the Sheriff fell forward on his face. Williams started to run along the + side-walk; the groups of men at the corner, through whom he must pass, + closed together; then came another report, and at the same moment he + stopped, turned slowly half round, and sank down in a heap like an empty + sack. + </p> + <p> + I hurried to him; he had fallen almost as a tailor sits, but his head was + between his knees. I lifted it gently; blood was oozing from a hole in the + forehead. The men were about me; I heard them say: + </p> + <p> + “A derned good shot! Took him in the back of the head. Jarvis kin shoot!” + </p> + <p> + I rose to my feet. Jarvis was standing inside the fence supported by some + one; blood was welling from his bared left shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I ain’t much hurt,” he said, “but I guess the Sheriff’s got it bad.” + </p> + <p> + The men moved on, drawing me with them, through the gate to where the + Sheriff lay. Martin turned him over on his back. They opened his shirt, + and there on the broad chest were two little blue marks, each in the + centre of a small mound of pink flesh. + </p> + <p> + 4TH April, 1891. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Sheriff And His Partner, by Frank Harris + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SHERIFF AND HIS PARTNER *** + +***** This file should be named 23008-h.htm or 23008-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/0/0/23008/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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