The Starshine Kid: Arroyo Grande - Part 3 of 20
Cresting the Horizon
The smell of sagebrush permeated the
cool evening’s desert air. It was gracefully accompanied by the nightly
orchestra of valley crickets in the background. The Starshine Kid threw another
manzanita branch on the crackling campfire before laying his head against his
well-worn saddle.
A mother badger with its two cubs
waged its head back and forth in the near distance, analyzing this human
stranger who had invaded its territory. Ascertaining the man with his head
against a saddle was of no immediate threat, the family of omnivores scurried
along into the shadowy darkness of the dense underbrush.
By a nearby stream Sheriff Adam
King’s horse whinnied between bites of fresh plains grass. As the Kid lay
staring into the night sky watching the heavenly stars appear one by one like
new homesteads across the prairie, he reflected back upon the day’s events.
From the small morning lizard bobbing up and down on a warm desert rock to his
delivery of the renegade Apache known only by the name 'Scorpion' to a U.S.
Marshal, his thoughts rested upon the simple fact that this long day was now
over and tomorrow was soon to creep up over the horizon. The thin crescent moon
overhead smiled gently down as the sheriff drifted off into sleep, dreaming of
his distant love, Della, whose smile stretched wider than the Rio Grande.
The sheriff spent the next few weeks
researching and accumulating every telegram, newspaper article and eye witness
account, both east and west of the Mississippi, related to the infamous outlaw
brother of his love, Antonio from Antonio, a.k.a. Anton Madarász, son of
Michael and Katherine Madarász, brother of Della Madarász, presumed dead, but
as much alive as a stepped on rattlesnake.
The name Antonio was placed upon
Anton like a misspelled name carved into a tombstone… permanent, but wrong. The
outlaw was involved in a shootout in San Antonio some years back with a local
gunslinger. A misunderstanding of some sort led to the new name and the name
took faster than paint on old dried wood.
The sheriff’s recent endeavors only
revealed what Della had believed and told her love in confidence, that Anton
had only killed men that were no more than hired guns. Legal outlaws the wealthy
aristocracy held in their over-stuffed back pockets. Since the end of the Civil
War the leadership and control of many of the new land’s enterprises, political
realms, and just about anything else they could get their greedy selfish
fingers on, had shifted from ‘We the People’ to the more lucrative interested
parties who devalue humanity to a position below the gain of their own temporal
possessions. It was apparent that Della’s brother was only defending himself.
Why did one or more of these men
want Anton dead? the sheriff
had asked himself a thousand times. Why?
After delivering another local
cattle rustler to the sheriff a two days ride away and spending the night
sleeping under the stars, Sheriff King rose early in the morning hours, prior
to dawn’s wakening call, and cleared his campsite. He saddled up his faithful
steed and rode out, heading back to the place he called home for now. Come
about noon the fiery sun beat down on his neck like a military drummer entering
battle and his coal-black hair dripped with sweat. He drenched his neckerchief
in what precious little water he had left in his canteen, saving only a few
treasured drops.
Trail beaten and solar scorched the
Starshine Kid rode into town, his sun-parched mouth dryer than a week dead prairie
dog. Flicking a shiny coin to one of the local livery boys, he said, “Take care
of my steed, son.”
The boy happily replied, “I sure
will Sheriff. Looks like you took care of that business with the outlaw well
enough. That is, ya came back alive.”
Smiling at the lad, he replied,
“Sure did, son. I sure did.”
Starshine’s Mustang had been a gift
from a former Civil War Confederate captain and current Creek Indian Nation
Chief and Adam treasured the animal almost as much as he treasured life, maybe
more.
The floorboards creaked as he
entered his office and its cool musty smell was a welcome odor. After courting
the washbowl for a spell he sat down at his desk only to have the telegraph
operator interrupt him abruptly.
“Sheriff,” the out of breath man
blurted, “this just came in over the wire for you.”
“Thanks, Tim,” he replied as he
looked it over quickly. The operator exited as quickly as he had arrived and
without another word.
Bad news always comes at the wrong
time, he thought. But, I guess bad news is always at the wrong time since
no one in their right state of mind ever wants it anyhow.
The Scorpion had escaped en route to
his trial, but not without having first put two slugs into his escorting U.S.
Marshal’s belly. A three hour ride in the sun to the nearest town with a
telegraph office and local doctor had saved the Marshal’s life. It felt like
only yesterday that the Starshine Kid had officially handed over that
sole-clinging refuse of a man to a US Marshal and now all of that effort was
lost in the swirling desert winds of yesterday.
A peculiar sentence suffixed the
telegram, “Scorpion en route to Iron Creek to meet Antonio from Antonio. Stop.”
How in the world did this marshal
come to this conclusion? he wondered. Obviously,
the Scorpion must have informed the lawman in one way or another.
Adam continued pondering all of
these things that crested his mental horizons. He asked himself a serious
question, I’ve been a Town
Marshal, County Sheriff and a Bounty Hunter throughout the years, what if I was
to swear in and wear the star of a bona fide U.S. Marshal? Imagine that!
The familiar telegraph operator’s
head popped back in the door, “Sheriff, I forgot to tell ya that you got a
package waitin’ for ya. And it’s from a far…,” he drug out the word ‘far’ longer
than a howl from a lonely coyote, “… away.”
“Thanks, Tim.”
After retrieving the mysterious box
and returning to his office, Adam saw that the package was from Della. Well, I’ll be! he mumbled to
the captive audience of an empty room, unoccupied cells and vacant chairs.
He slowly opened the letter attached
to the top and read to himself, Dearest, Adam….
The letter informed the Starshine
Kid that Della’s mother needed a change of scenery after the death of her
husband and an opportunity arose to travel to Tasmania, formerly named Van
Diemen's Land, to live with long-time friends of the family for a spell. The
family friends had recently opened a hat factory there and Della thought it
appropriate, under the circumstances of her absence, to send her love a hat,
not just any hat, mind you, but a prototype of a unique cowboy hat she was sure
no one else in the Americas possessed.
‘Ain’t nobody but nobody got a hat
like this over there in them parts, ma’am,’ the family friend’s patriarchal
male figure had assured Della as they sealed the package for mailing to the
sheriff.
The letter went on to say that the
family was working on a machine for refining rabbit hair used in making the
hats. Della was not sure yet how long she would be remaining there with her
mother, but she would 'be back as soon as can be’. She also wrote, ‘Write soon,
or I’ll be as mad as a she-bear fightin’ for her cubs!’
Adam opened his desk drawer
revealing his dearly prized .44 caliber revolver. The 1848 Colt Dragoon was
gifted to him many years before. It held the secrets of untold memories and
actions from life long past; he set the weapon aside and carefully removed a
small box containing a treasured memento. Turquoise and silver and bearing a
five-point star… the memento was hand-made by his great grandmother, Nampeyo,
in memory of his late mother, Gentle Fawn, who died giving him birth. No one
knew of his precious mother or her ancestry, Adam hoped that no one ever would.
Placing the Dragoon securely back in its place and his new black hat on his
head, he proudly exited his office and walked to the telegraph station to send
Della a telegram. Thanking Della for the gift was not the only important
message within the text, the words bore a decisiveness that would either fill
Della with joy, honor and pride, or scare her out of her sweet and gentile
mind… “I’m taking a job as a U.S. Marshal. Contact the U.S. Marshal’s office to
locate me when you return. I miss you. Adam.”
* * * Part Four: The Stars Above * * *
________________________________
The Starshine
Kid: Arroyo Grande
By Royce A
Ratterman © 2012
All Rights
Reserved
Cover Art &
Illustrations by Erlend Evensen
The characters,
locales, enterprises, entities, and events herein are entirely fictional and
intended for educational and entertainment purposes. Content portrayals do not
reflect any actual events, locales, entities, or any individuals living or
deceased.
Dedicated to all
of those who lost their lives establishing peace, safety, and harmony in the
days of the Old West
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