The Missing Gold Dust Killing of Rollie Mathers (Silver Star, Montana, 1869)

"Houston, sit yourself down for some eggs and home fried potatoes," said Aunt Bessie.

"Mike Wagner, the bounty hunter, said that you and Angus were in charge of this county," said Uncle Walter.

"Yup. Nearly six months now." I said.

"How's it drawn up between you two?" asked Uncle Walter.

"Angus is known in the territory as U.S. Marshal Brady," I said.

"Are you both U.S. Marshals?"

"That we are. Angus has all the paperwork. He's the boss and catches all the cow pies."

Bessie brought a couple of oversized plates of her breakfast fixings to the table while Walter brought the coffee.

"You two men eat up. I got rolls in the oven."

"Aunt Bessie, hot flapjacks, fatback, onion hash browns and coffee. I missed you're cookin'."

"Me, too, Houston. She feeds you and your brother better than she ever fed me."

"Not true old man," Aunt Bessie grin.

"We heard you and your brother had a run-in with Club Foot Henry," said Aunt Bessie.

"We sure did. But another problem took place first. It was a busy night."

Bessie brought a second plate of steaming flapjacks and warm maple syrup to the table.

"This was around the first of May?" asked Aunt Bessie.

"That's right. The first Saturday in May. Angus and I arrived on the 4:30 train in Sunrise Springs."

"Why were you in Sunrise?"

"Sheriff Penny had a prisoner that needed to be transferred to Alden Gulch to stand trial for murder."

"Was that Ben Johnson?"

"That's right. Ben Johnson Junior. He killed a miner over a stolen saddle."

"Stolen saddle? asked Aunt Bessie.

"Kinda. The saddle was full of gold dust and some small nuggets."

"I'll be a wet hen," said Aunt Bessie.

"A wet what, Aunt Bessie?"

Aunt Bessie smiled.

"Bessie, let the man explain things. Houston, did the saddle belong to Ben?" asked Uncle Walter.

"Nope."

"Whom did it belong to?"

"The assays official of Alden Gulch."

"The saddle had gold dust in it?" asked Aunt Bessie.

"Sure did. That's how he sometimes transported a new strike when a miner was afraid of gettin' robbed."

"Houston, this is mighty confusin'."

"Let me explain. Ben Johnson Junior struck gold on the Sunrise Red Ridge and the assay official was onsite completing some property claims. The assay man offered to transport Ben's gold dust to Alden Gulch and make the gold dust assessment and then make bank deposits into Ben's family business account."

"What happened?" asked Aunt Bessie.

"The assay official's horse was seen in Sunrise by Sheriff Penny. The Sheriff had escorted the assay man out to the mines and knew something weren't quite right when he could not find the missing official."

"Did the Sheriff find out out who had stolen the horse?"

"Yeah. Rollie Mathers."

"The bounty hunter?"

"One and the same," I said.

"How did the Sheriff find out?"

"Rollie tried to trade the gold dust at the Outback Bar with Quint Reynolds for cash. For about a quarter of its value. Quint told Sheriff Penny. Sheriff Penny and his deputy locked Rollie up. When word reached Ben out at his mine that his gold dust had been stolen he rode into town. Ben got the full story from the deputy."

"Was the Sheriff there?"

"No. He was home with his family."

"Did Ben kill the bounty hunter?" asked Uncle Walter.

"Yeah. The deputy told Ben that they couldn't find any gold dust or nuggets on the assay man's horse. He also told Ben they found the assay man's body outside of town."

"That's terrible," said Aunt Bessie.

"Ben inspected the saddle. No gold. He went back behind the jail and shot Rollie through the jail cell window."

"Did Ben admit to the killing?" asked Aunt Bessie.

"No. He says he didn't do it."

"Hmm. Any witnesses?" asked Uncle Walter.

"None."

"Weapon?"

"No. Ben's gun was not the murder weapon. The bullet that killed Rollie was from a Winchester rifle."

"That's makes it difficult to prove. To me it means somebody else knew about the gold," said Uncle Walter.

"That's my thinking," I said.

The Club Foot Henry Problem

"Houston, we got distracted from the Club Foot story?" said Aunt Bessie

"That's darn tootin'. I plumb forgot you asked about it," I said.

"Can you tell us about Angus's run-in with Club Foot Henry?" asked Aunt Bessie.

"We heard Club Foot caused a big ruckus," said Uncle Walter.

"He sure the hell did."

"When did it take place?" asked Aunt Bessie.

"The very next night after the Rollie Mather's killing."

"Did you see the killing of Sheriff Penny?" asked Uncle Walter.

"No. Angus and I were enjoying our dinner on the front porch of The Lady Slipper."

"Is that the new saloon?"

"Yeah. It is on the boardwalk by the train station. Ma Bell's boys built it."

"Were you close enough to see?" interrupted Aunt Bessie.

"Nope."

"How did you find out?" asked Uncle Walter.

"You mean about Sheriff Penny?"

"Sadly, yes."

"His deputy came and got Angus and me mid meal. He told us what happened."

The deputy had told Angus and I that at the far end of town outside of The Dead Horse Livery Stable Club Foot had shot Sheriff Penny's horse right-out from under him. A thousand pounds of horse flesh crushed the Sheriff. Sheriff Penny and his horse died on the spot.

Uncle Walter and I were now indulging in Aunt Bessie's homemade cinnamon buns. We both had frosting covering our mustaches. I figured I best return to the Club Foot Henry problem.

"Club Foot has had a weakness for the drink," I said.

"He has a bad reputation," Aunt Bessie said.

"The Sunrise Gazette newspaper account that Bessie read to me stated that after several hours of afternoon liberation Club Foot had been separated from a bag of gold at the Red Rooster roulette and faro tables."

"His behavior once he got liquored-up was well known," said Aunt Bessie.

"He had been locked up by Sheriff Penny. Maybe a half dozen times for being drunk and disorderly," I said.

"Charlie Rigg's told us old Club Foot was as angry as a horse with an itchy nose," said Bessie.

"I didn't see Charlie that evening," I said.

"Charlie told us he was in Ginny's eating supper when he saw Club Foot come out of the Baa Humbug Saloon."

"What was Charlie doing with Ginny?" I asked.

Bessie said, "Spinster Ginny is trying get her claws in Charlie."

"Why would she be after that old sod?"

"He struck gold two months go. He is rich," said Walter.

"Charlie said Club Foot got on his horse, he began shooting at anything that moved," said Walter.

"Sheriff and his bay horse, Spike, were in the wrong place," I said.

"And at the wrong time," frowned Bessie.

I lowered my glass to the kitchen table. "Shitty break for Sheriff Penny."

"Sure was. His widow's got two boys to raise now."

After the shooting, Club Foot has been seen wearing Sheriff Penny's silver chained pocket watch.

"The nerve of that man," said Bessie.

"Houston, are you and Angus goin' to bring him in?" asked Uncle Walter.

"I'll tell ya what happened. Four days passed without a sighting of him in town." After finishing Bessie's breakfast, I checked my pants.

"Bessie's cookin' can make your pants shrink," Walter grinned.

As Walter pushed his plate toward Bessie's direction he said, "Damn great breakfast, Bessie."

" . . . After the four days passed, Angus and I were in Virginia City. We crossed paths with Club Foot. He was tying his bay to the hitch at the Bickford House."

"What happened?" asked an anxious Uncle Walter.

"Angus had been laying in wait. He sent me across the street to the roof of the Blue Moon Hotel."

"Bessie, some more coffee, dear. This gettin' mighty interesting."

"Don't interrupt him, Walter."

"That's okay. Angus was a good thirty paces from Club Foot. He took aim and fired twice."

Angus's first shot stopped the stolen Sheriff Penny pocket watch at 7:02 and a second shot stopped Club Foot's heart two seconds later. Club Foot was dead before his face hit the dirt. Those that witnessed Doc's precision that evening will always boast of their attendance at the two-shot funeral of Club Foot Henry.

Walter said, "Glad to hear that no-good-for-nothing is resting face down on cemetery hill."

I said, "Bessie, your home cookin' has been great. Seein' you both again is the best part of homecoming."

"Bessie and I never imagined you boys becomin' lawmen."

"Governor Meagher gave Angus and me a reason to take him up on his offer."

"Well, son, tell your brother you two can stay here with us instead of sleeping in that jail house stable."

"Angus and I appreciate that."

"Your old spare room still got bunk beds."

"Just like old times," I said.

"Mamma enjoys feeding you boys."

Bessie smiled. As kids she and Walter would feed us for cutting and splitting firewood, milkin' old Mabel, picking apples and vegetables. She and Walter never had children. Angus and I were their family.

Born and Raised in Silver Country

I have fond memories of our childhood. Angus and mine. We were blessed with small town ways. We grew up in Silver Star, which is on the Jefferson River, at the foot of the Tobacco Root Mountains. In the 1840's, Silver Star was a town of open range cattle ranchers, family farmers and silver miners and prospectors. Lots of folks working and seeking an instant fortune from the gold and silver rich veins of the Root Mountains.

Dad was the town doctor of Silver Star and momma was the backbone of the Brady family homestead, cattle and horse ranching operations. Momma raised Angus and me with our younger brother, Bradley, and his twin sister, Barbara. The plan always was for us four to take over the family business and land holdings.

Things got sidetracked. We had our share of family tragedy. Our youngest brother, Bradley, died in the winter of '53. He was just nine years old. Pneumonia took him in three days. Heart breaking. Nothing dad could do to turn the cards in Bradley's favor. Three years later, grief stuck our home for a second time. Our sister, Barbara, was killed on her birthday after she fell off her chestnut pony. She was only twelve. Angus mourned her passing for two full years. He was a ghost of himself. Momma and Dad never got over the loss of their two children. The premature death of Bradley and Barbara changed them from being kindred parents to wounded souls.

Angus was always Barbara's big brother. He taught Barbara how to read, fish for trout, snare a rabbit, dance the jig and to ride and rope. Her accident in 1856 left Angus and me as the lone siblings of Doctor Thomas and Maryanne Brady of Silver Star, Montana.

Full of Bull

I was eating my plate of gravy covered chipped beef and mashed potatoes and telling some of my favorite Angus quick draw tales. Listening attentively was the newspaper man for the Virginia City The Montana Post.

"Mr. Dimsdale, you're getting this all written down?" I asked.

"Trying to piece together Angus and your escapades is like trying to hold on to a mud-covered hog."

"What else you need to connect the dots?"

"I need to know how you and Angus became Montana Territorial Lawman."

"Anything else?"

"And some big stories on capturing killers. Some gun fights. Something you never told anyone."

"Give me a moment. I need to use the facilities to relieve myself and get something hot and wet to drink," I said.

Returning from my outhouse duties, I stared into my dark roasted coffee cup while asking Dimsdale, "Just how much of our story do you plan to tell?"

"Houston, if your story is as big as you say it is, it won't be just in The Montana Post."

"But you said that you're the publisher of Virginia City's The Montana Post?"

"Well, The Montana Post is the newspaper that I'm trying to establish in Virginia City. But I have bigger plans for your story. You and Angus have made a real name for yourselves in the territory."

Dimsdale had a couple of cups of black coffee and got out some more writing paper and pencils and proceeded to press on with his interview.

"Houston, based on your and Angus's exploits, I am going write a series of dime store novels."

"What's going to be your angle?"

"I am going use your interviews for a series of newspaper articles about how the Montana's judicial and the Governor fought to rein in the road agents and outlaws."

"What about the gold miners and prospectors? That damn stampede to Alder Gulch? What about the 'Vigilantes' of Virginia City? You know this is more about vast sums of money than the lack of law and order," I said.

"Of course, my good man. This story would not be complete without exposing Sheriff Henry Plummer and his band of renegades."

"Good to hear", I replied.

"Marshal, yours and Angus's investigations into the nearly one-hundred murders and robberies of innocent citizens at the hands of the 'road agents' will be the centerpiece of my novels."

"Indeed, Dimsdale. The 'Vigilantes' rid us of Plummer's outlaw band of road agents."

I continued, "Dimsdale, five brave men from Virginia City and four merchants in Bannack pledged to render justice against the marauders and murders traversing the fourteen miles connecting their two communities.

"Plummer's eventual demise and the capture of his men was a cornerstone in vigilante justice."

"Houston this is good . . . "

"Dimsdale, how do you tell such a story without it appearing to be a story full of cow pies?"

"Houston, did you hear about the mountain lion who felt so damn good after eating an entire deer and some bull?" asked Dimsdale.

"No," I said. "Where are you headed with this?"

"Well, a hunter came along and shot him and fed his family of four a meal of lion and deer and bull meat?"

"And?"

"The moral of the story, Marshal, is: When you're full of bull, keep your mouth shut."

Never Worship Gold

"Back to the task at hand, Houston. In marked contrast to the peaceful life of back East, miners' pursuits of wealth result in dangerous swaggers. They're armed to the teeth. They worship only one thing—Gold," said Dimsdale.

"When you wallow with pigs, expect to get dirty," I confirmed.

"Large amounts of gold dust in the hands of evil criminals have directly impacted our family. Horrific crimes. To uncle and our dad at the hands of these outlaws."

"Houston, are you willing to share the story?"

"Mr. Dimsdale, the Brady family story and the stampede to Alder's Gulch in 1863, and the discovery of gold attracted a dangerous class of predators. The 'worst of the worst' was the infamous Anderson Gang."

"Tell me about the Anderson Gang?"

"It's approaching 4 o'clock, I never drink this early in the afternoon unless I'm lonely or with somebody in a dress. How about we go to the 'saloon' and continue this conversation."

"Never ask a barber if he thinks you need a haircut, I'm right behind ya."

Peacemaker

"Hey, Sam, two beers for me and Editor Dimsdale."

"And keep 'em comin'," said Dimsdale

I paused for a moment and said, "Maybe we should start back at the beginning. You know when you get older and think back..."

Just as I was about to begin, Angus came in through the swinging saloon doors with bounty hunter Wichita Linneman. He eyed me and Dimsdale in the far corner table. We were about to tip up a couple of beers. Wichita strode behind Angus for a couple of steps. Then he cleared a space for himself to Angus's right. Wichita is a site to behold. He stands better than six foot-two in his low-heeled boots, in black pants, matching double breasted shirt layered with a dark vest. His long, brown hair tussled out from under his wide brim and high crown Stetson.

A gold watch chain traveled from his lower vest button to a side vest-pocket. Within that pocket was nestled his grandfather's 1830-time piece, his pride and joy. The 'watch' held a picture of his mom and dad. The first time Angus and I witnessed the 'time piece' we marveled at the beauty of its inlaid jewels.

Wichita is a bounty hunter, make no mistake about it. He has a pair of pearl-handled six-shooters, one resting on each hip. He has a bowie knife in each of his boots and he is known to carry a concealed derringer or two. He's part Mexican and Texan. He is one tough hombre. He has never been hit by a bullet or a cut by a knife. He is invisible in a fight. He's the kind of cowboy you want on your side when a fight breaks out.

Angus and Wichita pulled up two chairs while I signaled Sam for two more drafts. Wichita hadn't been in Silver Star for a couple of months or so. The last time he was here he collected 300 dollars for the apprehension of Sam Norris of Norris Gulch. Norris had held up the stage and robbed the passengers of pocket money and personal belongings. He bloodied the stagecoach driver with a shotgun barrel blow to the face. Broke the driver's nose and caused him to swallow several teeth. No other serious injuries were reported during the robbery.

It just so happened that the Territorial Judge, J.C. Cranmore, and his granddaughter were on that stage. Judge Cranmore posted a reward for Norris's capture and return to Silver Star. Wichita being down and out in walkin' around money tracked down Norris and brought him in for the reward.

I had to ask, "What brings you to Silver Star, Wichita? Do you have another bounty to cash in?"

"No, pardner. I am here to let you and your brother know about The Anderson Gang."

More of the same

"Houston, are you stuffing Mr. Dimsdale full of your cock 'em bull stories?" asked Angus.

"Darn it Angus, you sure are surly late in the afternoon. Best you have a drink," I said.

"Mr. Dimsdale, most of what people worry about never happens. Don't you agree?" said Angus.

"Yes, Marshall, I believe that to be true," replied Dimsdale.

"Mr. Dimsdale, I reckon that most of what my brother has told you is far-fetched dime store stories."

"Hmm. It might be just what I'm lookin' for."

"Mr. Dimsdale, I am Wichita. I think it is best that you don't judge people by their relatives."

"Pardon me Mr. Dimsdale, this here is Wichita Linneman. Part time bounty hunter, part time lawman and full time philosopher of the Montana territories," said Angus.

"Mr. Dimsdale is the editor and wordsmith of Virginia City's The Montana Post," I said.

"Honored to make your acquaintance," said Mr. Dimsdale.

"Likewise, my good man."

Wichita took a hard look at Angus. Angus gave me that wink eyed look that something needed my attention. Angus always says, 'a wink is as good as a nod to a blind mule.' I rose from my chair and gestured to Angus and Wichita. I informed Dimsdale that Angus, Wichita, and I needed to return to the jail for discussion purposes. I sensed that trouble was afoot. I told Dimsdale we could return to our discussion tomorrow morning while partaking in breakfast. We made plans to meet at 8 a.m. at the Golden Hotel. I also told him to visit with some of the local merchants to get their opinions on Angus's and my decisions as territorial Marshals.

The Anderson Gang

When we got back to the jail, the sun was just beginning to set behind Root Mountain. For supper I had three pieces of bone-in, over-cooked deer steak, some brown beans, biscuits and coffee. Angus and I tended to eat our meals at the Golden Hotel. We liked the food, and we liked the company of its cook and hotel's owner, Big Sal.

While I was struggling with my steak, Wichita started in telling us the reason for his arrival tonight.

"Angus, you and Houston got some serious trouble coming your way. The Andersons are planning to be here tomorrow morning. Their plan is to break into the Silver Star General Store and confiscate rifles, pistols, and ammo. Then they travel north and hold up the Overland Stage."

"How do you know this?" Angus asked.

"G.T, Shorty, Travis and Shane Campbell were in Twin Bridges, three days ago."

"What for?" I asked.

"They attempted a raid at M.T. Savings and Loan."

Wichita told the Marshalls about how the Andersons tried to take a farmer's wife hostage during their escape. But it turns out the farmer was good with a gun. He shot Travis Anderson inside the bank during the robbery and freed his wife, as the remaining Anderson brothers fled town with nearly thirty-eight hundred dollars.

"Why are they planning on coming to Silver Star?" I asked. "Seems they should be moving on."

Wichita nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders. "The Andersons are tough to figure."

Cow Pies for Brains

Angus and I sat there waiting for Wichita to finish.

Angus waited for a few seconds, then said, "Something else on your mind Wichita?"

"Yes. Travis Anderson shared some useful information while under some distressful medical care."

"What do you mean?" Angus asked.

"While removing the bullet from his shoulder, the doctor applied a little extra stress on the pellet. Travis offered some information in return for a lesser degree of medical services."

"That's understandable," said Angus grinning.

"What series of facts transpired during Travis's metal removal process," I asked.

"It seems the Andersons were going to make off with the M.T. Savings and Loan cash and try to get across the river into Wyoming. They had plans to meet up with the Boyer Gang. Well known cattle rustlers. The Anderson brothers were all set to make a purchase of 100 head of steers."

"I don't vision those boys making good cow punchers?" I said.

"Those Andersons are a curious lot," said Angus.

"They are," said Wichita.

"Genius has its limits. The Andersons' stupidity knows no bounds," said Angus.

Be Sure and Chew Your Food

Angus and I sat waiting for Wichita to finish lighting his cigar. He took a long draw, and the end burned a bright orange. He pulled out two similar looking smokes from his vest pocket and offered one to each of us. We lit 'em up. Smoke swirling about us. Angus settled back in his chair and reached for his coffee. His cup was empty. I refilled all our tin cups to the brim.

"Wichita, what makes you so sure the Andersons are now on their merry way to Silver Star?" I asked.

"Travis was in a cell with another prisoner, and he shared a few words."

"What led him to do such a thing?" I asked.

"Did they get him drunk?"

"Not at first. Travis can't seem to hold his tongue," said Wichita.

"They did hand two bottles of whiskey to Travis through the port hole bars. He had no idea he was being set up. He would let loose and brag about the bank hold-up."

"Who was in the next cell to him?" Angus asked.

"The other inmate was a deputy. Travis had no idea he was spilling the beans."

"How much did he tell the deputy?" asked Angus.

"Part way into the second bottle, he spilled the particulars regarding Silver Star," said Wichita. "The sheriff and I overheard him telling his cell mate that his kin would come and get him the next night. He also said that they needed to re-supply their weapons before completing their trip across the border. The purchase agreement that they had in Wyoming for the cattle, included the delivery of Henry rifles and shotguns, pistols, knives and ammo.

A liquored-up Travis shared the following, "My brothers, Shane and Shorty, know the layout of the general store in Silver Star. We are goin' to the storekeeper's home and hold his pretty wife hostage. He'll supply us with our guns and then we'll cross the border to the Wyoming grasslands."

"That's it?" I asked.

"That's it," replied Wichita with a puff of smoke.

"Did he say where in Wyoming they planned to get the cash and weapons for cattle?" I asked.

"No, he didn't," said Wichita.

"So where is Travis now?" Angus asked.

"Oh, he expired," said Wichita. "He died of natural causes."

"You don't say?" said Angus.

"Can you believe it. After drinking all that whiskey, he choked to death on a piece of fat-back in his beans."

"Our daddy always said, "The easiest way to eat salted pork and beans is while they are still warm. The colder they get, the harder they are to swaller," I said.

They're Here

Wichita cocked his head sideways and looked out the barred jail house window. "Angus, you got company. A young fellow just rode up on a half size, bare-back bay and he appears to be sweating and rattled."

Ten-year-old Luke, all four-foot two and half of him came through the jail house door rabbit hopping. He stopped short and took a second to suck in some wind and then let out a wailing cry and said something that sounded like someone took his ma and that Walter and Bessie was in the privy when he got away. Kind of confusing to say the least.

Angus grabbed Luke by the shoulders and looked him in the eye and told him to slow down and tell us what he was talkin' about. Luke went on the explain that several men on horseback, maybe four or five or more, came to the farm asking to water their horses. Walter told them they could help themselves to the well water, but they could not come in the house because of sickness with the 'pox'.

"At first, my ma and me and Bessie stayed inside. Then Bessie went into the outhouse with the shotgun and my ma. I was hiding by the woodpile. I saw two of the cowboys rush up on the porch. One grabbed Walter and struck him with the butt of his gun and bloodied his nose somethin' bad. Then they went into the house and started shoutin."

"What happened to Bessie? How did you get away?" I asked.

"Bessie told me to run to the barn and get my pony, Bolt, and I made our way here."

"Houston, you take young Luke over to Ma Riley's place for some supper and tell her to keep him there until we return. Wichita, you go saddle the horses while I prepare our traveling weapons."

Life in Reverse

We rode south out of Silver Star toward Twin Bridges for nearly a mile. I was on Angus's right and Wichita was comfortably on his left. I preferred to be on Angus's good ear. His hearing in his left ear hasn't been the same since he had pneumonia this past winter. He would never acknowledge it, but he was always wringing his ear at the start of each day, as if he was trying to clear a chamber of an unfired round.

Right on cue the clouds parted. With a full moon positioned at ten o'clock in the night sky, I could see the running waters of Jefferson Stream up ahead. Angus pulled up on the reins of his steady horse, Lookout, and we dismounted. We were at the break in the trail that would bring us to Uncle Walter's and Aunt Bessie's homestead. It was a road we had walked since we were kids. Pleasantville Road.

"How about we water the horses and discuss my thoughts on how we should proceed?" said Angus.

"Sounds good with me," Wichita nodded.

I positioned myself on Angus right, "Angus, how are we goin' to go about this?" I asked.

"I suspect the Andersons to all be inside the main house. Based on what Luke said, they could be resting after a meal of Bessie's cooking. Uncle Walter and Laura, Luke's ma, are probably restrained in some manner."

"Houston, when we arrive, I want you to get their horses out of the corral and get 'em long gone. Make sure that no one is outside playing lookout and guarding the horses. You got five minutes to free their horses from the corral. Then go around back. Keep your shotgun positioned on the rear door for any exiting Andersons."

"Angus, what do you prefer as my location?" asked Wichita.

"Wichita, their place consists of three main structures. A one-story, timber framed, main house with a barn and corral. The only other building is a double-seated outhouse in the rear. Houston will make sure the seats are clear. While Houston is taking care of the Anderson's transportation, you get up on the loft of the barn and get yourself a clear view of the front of the house and the corral. Prepare your Henry for any escape attempts."

"Wichita, how many rounds does old Henry hold?" I asked.

"Thirteen shots," answered Wichita.

"Use as many as need be," replied Angus.

What We Do Best

As we approached the dimly lighted homestead, Angus said, "Let's find out how many Anderson brothers are interested in going to jail and how many ain't."

Angus tied up my Fleeter and his Lookout and then made sure his pistols had that extra sixth-round loaded in the first chamber. Wichita took off his overcoat and placed it over his saddle. He got his Henry out of its scabbard and double-checked it for ammo. It was loaded. He had two pistols and two knives as backups. He had that look of 'this is what I do best'. Wichita's Henry was carrying rounds of .44's. If any of the Anderson brothers made it outside in the moonlight, they would be in his sights for 100 yards. God rest their merry souls.

My double-barreled, eight-gauge shotgun was locked and loaded. I had a dozen rounds on my belt. My pistol was tucked in my holster. I took my second Navy pistol and loaded it with five rounds and positioned it behind my back, under my cartridge belt.

Angus looked at Wichita and me and said, "You both ready?"

I winked at Angus. Wichita nodded his head in affirmative.

"Let's do this," Angus said.

Midnight Moon

We approached the house from behind the barn and corral. No signs of an Anderson gunman serving as watchman in the corral or the barn. Not a soul to be seen. The porches were pitch dark.

Angus instructed Houston that they gotta get all of them out alive. He reminded Houston to keep a keen eye out for Luke's ma, Walter and Bessie. Angus felt that somebody should be moving about. He was concerned that Uncle Walter would be someplace within the kitchen or living room. His past experiences made it seem possible that Uncle Walter was tied up in a kitchen chair. He told Wichita to do what he did best. Happy hunting.

Once Angus got close enough, he saw that those candles and the fireplace lit up the downstairs. The spare bedroom was aglow. Angus signaled for me to get to the corral and release the Andersons' means of traveling. Wichita slipped into the barn and made his way to the loft while Angus moved into position on the front porch.

Angus got up on the porch and got a view of inside the kitchen. He was able to see Walter tied up. He was bound to a chair as he had predicted. Uncle Walter was blindfolded and appeared to be alive. Luke's ma, Laura, was not in the kitchen. Bessie was seated at the kitchen table and had her head on Walter's shoulder.

Three of the Anderson brothers were moving about the kitchen. Angus recognized Shorty, G.T and Shane. G.T. waved at Shorty and sent him to the spare bedroom. When the door opened, a big strapping fellow came out with Luke's ma. Laura's dress was torn off the shoulder and she had a look of panic. She wiped away her tears. Angus sensed that things were much worse than he had expected.

Angus raised his right hand and waved in my direction. I locked on to him. He nodded to me. I nodded back. He held up three fingers and then four fingers and waved his clenched fist. This meant he had seen three but that I should be prepared for more and a big fight was in our immediate future.

Outlaws

Angus got a big break when the Andersons went into the back bedroom. With the kitchen clear, Angus was able to eye Aunt Bessie and Laura and gesture for them to get under the table. Aunt Bessie and Laura were able to slide Walter off his chair and onto the floor and Bessie cradled his bleeding scalp in her hands.

Angus moved to the front door and lifted the latch, freeing the lock. He went in the doorway low with his eyes on the bedroom door. The bedroom door swung open and gun fire erupted. Angus returned fire and lunged toward Laura and Aunt Bessie. He heard the bedroom door slam close. Then it was quiet. Aunt Bessie and Laura felt the thump-thump of their heartbeats. Uncle Walter laid motionless, and his breathing was shallow.

Angus whispered, "You need to go out the back door, Houston is in the outhouse, he will get you away. I will take care of Uncle Walter."

Hell is Too Good for Them

Angus could hear the bedroom window being opened by the rattle of the bedroom door. They were planning their getaway. Angus pushed open the front porch door and signed Wichita that they were trying to escape toward the side corral. Houston got Laura and Aunt Bessie into the two-seater, and he entered the thickets and started moving towards the corral.

Wichita climbed up the barn ladder to the upper loft doorway and took a laid down position with his Henry. He cocked the hammer and checked his sight for distance and visibility. With the pitch-black skyline of pale clouds and a slight moon glow, he had enough light to see the corral's far corners. Angus took up his position at the end of the porch in case they came back towards the front of the house. He had both his pistols cocked and ready.

The corral was empty. Andersons' horses had been scattered. Shorty directed G.T and Shane towards the front of the house and indicated they needed to get to the barn. Shorty figured their horses are tied up somewhere. Or in the barn. He told his brothers when they saw anyone moving about to kill 'em all.

No Trials, No Remorse

Angus was unaware that the Anderson brothers had Weston MacDonald with them. MacDonald was a former double-barrel bounty hunter who took no prisoners. He was known to have killed women and children to get his prey. MacDonald had been outside all night guarding the house from the knoll overlooking the outhouse and rear porch. He watched as Houston hid the women in the outhouse and moved into the woods by the corral. MacDonald saw his chance to move down and behind the outhouse. He opens the door and butted Bessie in the face and took Laura by the arm and told her, "If you make a sound, I will kill you both and the old man."

Wichita saw movement in the rear of the house. It appeared as if the women were moving towards the corral. MacDonald, with Laura in hand, made his way to Shorty and his brothers. Shorty decided to use Laura to trade for horses and escape from the lawmen. Shorty fired two shots skyward and waited for a response. Nothing.

"Lawman, we got the women, and we will kill them if you don't do as we say."

Angus replied, "Shorty, show your hand."

Shorty pushed Laura into the moonlit path towards the right of the front porch. She was 30 feet from Angus. Behind her was Shorty and MacDonald. MacDonald had his shotgun aimed in Angus's direction.

"Put your pistols on the porch and plant your face on the floor", said Shorty, "no second chances, no more discussion".

Wichita had both Shorty and Laura visible from his position. But patience was now needed. Next to appear was both G.T. and Shane Anderson with Aunt Bessie in tow. Bessie was bleeding from the mouth and sobbing. Everyone was now in the front of the homestead porch as Angus laid on his belly watching out of the corner of his eye. He had not yet made himself available to the game ahead.

The Anderson brothers made their way to the barn and untied the lawmen's horses and mounted up as MacDonald kept the women at his feet and his shotgun pointed at Angus who was still lying face down on the porch. Angus had been able to get his boot knife into his right hand and out of the view of MacDonald.

Shane Anderson came out of the barn with a horse for MacDonald. Shorty said to Angus, "Not sure, lawman, why you chose to die alone here tonight. These old folks ain't worth the price of a can of beans."

"You'll all burn in hell tonight," said Angus.

"MacDonald, kill 'em all, including the old man in the kitchen and meet us at the end of Pine Box canyon", said Shorty. "Now let's ride".

Just as Shorty turned his stead a Henry rifle shot took him off his horse. Angus planted his knife in MacDonald's chest, and I fired two shotgun blasts. One each into G.T and Shane. And within those 10 seconds the Anderson Gang was down and dead.

Tip of My Hat

"If I took everyone for their word, I would have been dead long ago", I said to Dimsdale. Dimsdale was drinking black coffee spiked with brandy, and I was resting in a warm tub bath water.

"Houston, after your bath we need to resume our conversation about the Virginia City Vigilantes and Sheriff Henry Plummer and his band of renegades."

"Dimsdale, you should get caught up on the end of the 'worst of the worst'. The notorious Anderson Gang."

"I want to do a feature story to go along with my photo of the Andersons in their pine boxes."

A Closing Surprise

Dimsdale sat down and offered the three lawmen some fine cigars. Wichita poured four glasses of Kentucky whiskey to get things started. What followed was a colorful rendering by Angus on the Anderson Gang shootout and demise. Dimsdale was dumbfounded. Wichita kept the drinks coming and Houston chipped in his opinions while taking his annual bath. By the shitty grin on Dimsdale's face you knew he had a dime store novel best seller.

"Dimsdale, I need to find a new pointer. My bird dog nose seems to be lacking in scent. I am having trouble trying to locate Amy," I said.

"What does she look like?"

"She's a woman that any man would stop and tip his hat to. Amy fills out a dress with the best of 'em. Her Irish red hair grazes her shoulders. Her frame is slender with a small waist. She can cast a spell on a man. You better never look into her dark green eyes. She'll haunt you. That is who Amy Weston MacDonald is."

"Houston has taken his first bath in a year," Angus chided, "for a young and pretty Irish lass."

"Her dress will have a high collar with a dark feather boa that encircles her long neck," I said.

"And she will toss him into the horse trough first chance she gets."

"Why, dare I ask?" said Dimsdale.

"When she finds out we killed her father, bounty hunter  . . .  Weston MacDonald," said Angus.