The Starshine Kid: Arroyo Grande
Part 7 of 20
Topography of the Outlaw
Sheriff Curtis Long sat mesmerized
in his office chair as Marshal King demonstrated, on a large map of the county
and the surrounding terrain around the town of Swallow Hills, how to
conclusively locate the most likely and unlikely holdouts for the outlaws
involved in that area’s recent string of robberies. Taking into consideration
local waterholes, areas of wild game concentrations, and what Marshal King
called ‘the effect of invisibility’, the Starshine Kid portrayed his thorough knowledge of tracking outlaws, and anyone else for that
matter. The marshal carefully instructed the young sheriff concerning the
basics of reading ‘sign’ out upon the trail.
“How’s I ever gonna remember all
this, Marshal King, is beyond my ability to even think on,” a dejected Sheriff
Long stated.
“Aww, shucks, Curtis, I didn’t mean
to get you discouraged. It gets easier with practice, and after a spell it’ll
be second nature to you. Trust me, readin’ sign and the topography of outlaws
is an ever-growing art. Just take one step at a time and practice every chance
you get.”
“Ok, Marshal. I can learn it.”
“In fact,” continued Adam, “I’ll
write out a step-by-step paper for you. How’s that sound, Curtis?”
“Just fine, Marshal. Can you include
the circles things around where the crimes occurred and where they intersect
and all that measurement distance stuff?”
“Of course I will.”
“Oh,” the sheriff added, “and a bit
about how they have this safe feelin’ area that they like doin’ crimes in… and
some examples as to the how-tos behind all that stuff.”
“Absolutely. They may have grown up
in the area right around here in Swallow Hills, been on cattle runs here
before, rode through a few times, worked somewhere in these parts… I’ll write
out as many as I can think of and pass it on to you.”
Sheriff Long looked about as pleased
as a ten year old kid gifted with his own saddle on Christmas Day, grinning ear
to ear. “What say we get you settled in at the hotel, Marshal?”
“Sounds good to me. A hot bath and a
good meal would do it up mighty fine for me right now.”
Marshal King checked his rifle with
the sheriff for safe keeping, a recent personal gift from an undisclosed
bareback riding friend, before the pair departed the office and walked along
the wooden walkway toward the Crown Hotel.
An ancient looking tall Indian
walked toward the pair, excited upon seeing Marshal King, he said, "You
have the face and eyes of my people.”
Respectfully, the Starshine Kid smiled
at the aging living artifact of American history.
The man continued, "You have
the same black eyes… I see the fire of life in your soul." The elderly
Indian then continued on his way without another word being exchanged.
"What was that all about, Marshal
King?" inquired the curious sheriff. "That Indian never speaks to
nobody as far as I know. We leave him be 'cause he’s as harmless as a dead wolf
out on the prairie."
Diverting the sheriff's focus, Adam
replied with a question, "You say he never talks to anyone?"
"That's as right as rain."
"Maybe he's startin' now. Hey,
you say they got good grub at the hotel?"
"Yep, best in town,"
Sheriff Long replied, having already forgotten the previous conversation and
encounter. "Of course, it is pert near the only place in town with grub,
besides the saloon, that is."
Before the chance presented itself,
a scraggly looking man ran toward the pair of lawmen waving his hands
frantically, “Sheriff, Sheriff!”
“He’s one of our local fellas,”
Sheriff Long informed Marshal King.
The man, half out of breath and
talking faster than a jackrabbit runs after being stirred up by a coyote, told
a tale one would only hope to read about, but never experience firsthand, “You
gotta come, Sheriff Long, they be stringin’ up Telly Thomassen as we speak!
Rancher William Kornwall and some of his hands, they be sayin’ ol’ Telly was a
killer. The tale be told that he’s got a bunch of body parts and bones all over
his place out there. I ran all the way here.”
“Slow down a bit,” the sheriff replied.
“You say Mr. Kornwall and his boys are involved in a hangin’?”
“That’s what I just been sayin’. I
bet the deed be done by now. You better get out there, Sheriff.”
With growling stomachs and thirsty
tongues forced to wait their turn, Sheriff Curtis and Marshal King hurried to
their horses and rode to the Thomassen spread.
Telly Thomassen was a loner of a
man, never venturing into town except to buy the necessary supplies a man would
need from time to time. No one knew much about him. He had no friends to speak
of and never so much as talked to a single soul, except the storekeeper when he
visited town.
When the two lawmen arrived at the
Thomassen spread the barn was aflame, and Telly swung by a rope from a tree
while the wind blew his lifeless body around like a fancy dressed lady’s
parasol caught in a summer breeze.
Kornwall’s ranch hands rode off
swiftly, while William Kornwall remained behind. He approached the sheriff and
Marshal King as the two dismounted.
“Me and the boys took care of this
ourselves, Sheriff. You got no business here, so you and your friend can head
on back to town,” the rancher demanded.
Sheriff Long did not immediately
respond, so Adam took control of the situation and informed the rancher of his
identity as a US Marshal, and clearly warned the rancher that taking the law
into one’s own hands was not a trivial matter.
“This fellow,” he pointed toward the
man with one final rope burn around his neck hanging from the nearby tree, and
said, “he’s been killin’ folks, God only knows how many, and skinnin’ ‘em. I
found one of my missin’ hand’s personal belongings in that there barn over
there.”
“I suppose you didn’t think to take
anything out of that flaming barn before you went and lit it up, did ya’?”
Marshal King asked.
“I ain’t that stupid,” he angrily
replied, “It’s all over there by the side of the deceased’s house… and the
house is full a stuff too. Check it out for yourselves, go ahead, I ain’t goin’
nowhere.”
Just as the angry rancher had said,
the house looked like something right out of a trail hand’s campfire horror
story collection. Chairs made from human bones and upholstered with human skin
adorned the gruesome residence from wall to wall and even the window shades
were made from human hides.
This house holds a trove of unknown
stories, the Starshine
Kid thought to himself. I don’t have time for this distraction.
“Well, Curtis,” Marshal King
addressed the confused looking lawman, “It looks like you’ve got this under
control. I’m gonna head back into town and see if I can get a lead or two on
those robbers for you.”
Glancing around the immediate area
before his eyes, the stunned sheriff replied, “What?”
“If it was me, I’d let that rancher
fella go on his own recognizance, verify the facts here, be certain this
Thomassen was indeed responsible for all of this,” Starshine took a deep breath
before continuing with his advice, “and if it all pans out like gold to be the
truth , let things be.”
“Yeah, ok,” the sheriff replied, solidified
within a trancelike daze.
Marshal King had more important
things at hand than to establish the guilt of a dead man. Robbers needed to be
apprehended, and he needed to deliver some official papers to a pardoned man, a
man who needed to know about his newfound freedom.
With a dead man swinging from a tree
and a barn blazing in flames behind him, the Starshine Kid rode back toward
town.
*** Part
8: Tongues of Fire ***
________________________________
The Starshine
Kid: Arroyo Grande
By Royce A
Ratterman
© 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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