Bluestone

Bluestone

A Tale of Bonny Lou Baker, Sheriff

Bryan Blake

Bold Venture Press

Copyright Info

Bluestone © 2019 Brian Cox. All Rights Reserved.

Published by Bold Venture Press

Electronic Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

1

Patrick O’Kelly set up glasses for the three strangers that had just entered the Copper Town Saloon — they waited patiently while the bartender poured the whiskey. However, when Patrick turned to replace the bottle on the back bar one of the men growled with a gravelly voice, Leave the bottle, we got lots of dust to settle. He had the physique of a sack of cow feed, a heavy man with a red face and straggly beard.

Patrick obliged, then asked, Where you men from?

It don’t matter where we’re from. We’re here and we aim to stay, another man answered. He was boney of frame and narrow faced, resembling a fish.

Welcome to Bluestone. I’m Patrick O’Kelly, What’re your names? the bartender said, still trying to be friendly.

I’m M. R. Quinn, I’m sure you’ve heard of me, one said. These are my men. You’ll get to know ’em in time. Quinn was larger in stature than the other two and ruggedly handsome. He carried some Indian blood in his veins, not enough to be called a breed but enough to show in his complexion, dark eyes and soft voice.

Are you looking for work in the mines? Patrick said. I hear the Bluestone Copper Mine is lookin’ for good men. I can’t imagine you not liking Bluestone. It’s a nice peaceful little town.

Did ya hear that, men? He asked if we’s lookin’ for work, Fish Face said.

The men laughed and downed their drinks.

Work in a mine? Gravel voice said, to the other two in a low voice. I want a bank job.

Yeah, I like bank work, that’s where all the money is, Then with a loud laugh. Easy money.

You boy’s hobble your lips, Quinn said. Don’t let that liquor loosen yer tongues.

Patrick hadn’t been open long when the strangers came in. The only others in the saloon were the four men that Patrick referred to as the Four Aces, who gathered every morning for coffee and a friendly hand of poker.

Patrick started a fire in the wood stove, put coffee grounds and water in the coffee pot, and placed it where it would boil, but not too vigorously. He couldn’t wait to watch it — there were other chores to do. He retrieved a broom from the back room and began sweeping the floor, wiping tabletops, and adjusting chairs.

O’Kelly, Quinn called. Set up another bottle. I told you my men needed to settle the dust. I’m not accustomed to being neglected.

Yes, Mr. Quinn. I didn’t mean to ignore you. Patrick immediately propped his broom on a nearby table, returned to the bar, and set up another bottle.

Worthless Irishmen, rats. Quinn said, in a loud voice. The country would be better off rid of ’em.

Mister Quinn is it? The sheriff inquired, standing in the doorway with the sun at her back.

She had noticed the three unfamiliar horses tied at the hitching post as she turned onto Main Street going to her office at the jail. As was her custom when strangers were in town, she made it a point to meet them, size them up, and determine if they warranted further surveillance. She crossed the street, paused, looked at the horses, and then greeted Sam and Ben, two domino players that spent their days competing on the porch of the Copper Town Saloon. After exchanging good morning, she stepped up onto the boardwalk and cautiously approached the swinging entrance doors of the saloon.

Quinn turned, faced the entrance, saw a silhouette between the batwings, a tall figure with a six-shooter on each hip. He squinted, tried to make out the image but the sun was too bright. That’s right, he said. — M. R. Quinn. And who might you be? He cocked his head high.

The sheriff stepped to her right, out of the sunlight, and stood next to a table. The men followed her with their eyes out of curiosity, unsure of what would follow. She held her stare as she placed her long fingers on the table and began to tap, studied the three men, and then answered. I’m Sheriff Bonny Lou Baker. I’ve been listening to you and your men and I don’t much like the sound of what I’m hearing.

Well now, I’ve seen everything, Quinn said, turning to his men. A woman sheriff, you men ever see anything like this? He sat on the bar stool and leaned back against the bar — relaxed, as though he were watching a stage performance.

I’m skerit to death, Boss, said Gravel Voice.

Me too, added Fish Face. I ain’t never in my life seen a woman sheriff. He spit tobacco juice into the nearby spittoon.

They laughed and threw up their hands.

I give up Sheriff, arrest me, said Fish Face, surrendering by throwing both his hands into the air.

Yeah, you got me shakin’ too, Quinn said. My, my — ain’t she pretty, though? Say you ought to go over to Tombstone. They sure nuff need a tough sheriff over there. I think Wyatt Earp could use yer help.

Boss, can we take her with us? Gravel Voice spouted off. Law is me — I could snuggle up mighty cozy and warm with her.

Go ahead, have your fun, Bonny Lou said, with a wry smile, as she continued to tap her fingers.

Forget it, boys, she’s mine. I could sure have me some fun with you, Miss Bonny Lou, ooh, ooh, ooh. Quinn said, and then looked at his men to see their expressions.

You’re not man enough, Bonny Lou said. This is a tree you could never climb.

Bonny Lou stood tall and dropped her hands to her sides. Now, before you fantasize anymore, let’s come to an understanding. You and your boys have wet your whistles, and now it’s time to ride on. Pay for your drinks and get out of town.

Oh, Sheriff — it ain’t that simple, Quinn, said in a soft voice. You see, we rode a long way to get here, and we need to rest up for a few days. Why, we even thought about makin’ this our town, our new home, so to speak.

Mister Quinn, I thought I was clear about what I expected of you, but I guess not. She shook her head from side to side, in disgust. Let me try again. I have a jail down the street. You may have seen it when you rode in …

Oh, there she goes again, Quinn, said. Trying to scare us out-a here.

Mister Quinn, Patrick O’Kelly said, somewhat sheepishly and apologetically, if I was you, I’d ride on outta here, like the sheriff suggested.

Shut up, Irishman! No one tells me what to do. A crease showed between Quinn’s eyes and he sat back on the barstool.

Patrick backed away and entered the back room, leaving the door ajar behind him.

As for you, Missy Sheriff, Quinn continued. No woman’s gonna cow me. I go where I want to go and do what I want to do. You hear? Now get outta here and leave us alone, you’re starting to grate on me.

Bonny Lou tilted her head to one side, took a deep breath, shrugged her shoulders, and dropped them in exasperation. Well now, I guess I’ll just stay put. I’d like to see how a bully acts when he’s been grated on. Do your men stand behind you, or do they cower back and let you do the killing? Then gather around to make you feel important, and tell you how great you performed?

My men do what I tell ’em to do, and do what I say they’ll do.

Bonny Lou’s eyes fixed hard on Quinn’s and nodded as though she were agreeing with him.

Quinn, I’ve served you notice and now your time is up. I’m putting you under arrest — and — I see you’re resisting.

You ain’t arrestin’ no one, you’re getting’ to be a bad joke. Why don’t you go on home and play with your baby dolls?

Bonny Lou’s countenance fell. Her lips tightened and her eyes of blue steel bore into the one called Quinn, but she spoke to the others.

Stand back men, Bonny Lou motioned to the two men on Quinn’s right. My fight is with your boss, so stand clear. There’s no need in you getting hurt.

The men slowly moved a few feet away but kept their eyes on the sheriff, still in disbelief. As they did, they dropped their hands to their sides. It was clear to Bonny Lou that she was up against three armed men who would risk their lives rather than take orders from a woman sheriff.

I ain’t never killed a woman, Quinn said. But, you ain’t running me out of town and I ain’t going to your jail — looks like your hell bent …

Bonny Lou held her stare as Quinn slid off the bar stool and stood to face her. His moves were now slow and deliberate, calculated as a cat stalking its prey.

She moved slowly to her right, clear of the table, stopped, and waited for Quinn to make the first move.

He’ll draw first, then the other two. It makes no difference. Make your play tough guy. These times try men’s souls and skills. Texas Blacky Hazard prepared me for just such a time …

Quinn smiled confidently, winked at Bonny Lou, and went for his gun. The other two men followed suit.

The first hint of movement triggered a reflex in Bonny Lou. Her agile hands and long fingers moved in unison without thought or effort. Before Quinn cleared his holster, Bonny Lou’s Colt’s pointed at him and the other two. They froze, their eyes fixed on the muzzles of Bonny Lou’s Colt’s. It was clear that they were outmatched. Quinn eased his gun back into its holster and turned his palms outward. The others did the same. They stood bewildered, it showed on their faces, the tables were upside down, and they didn’t understand how it was possible.

Bonny Lou raised her chin, held her stare, and gave the men time to realize that she held the aces, all the aces, time to think, time to regret. She could only imagine what must have gone through the minds of the three men, especially Quinn’s.

Never having seen a woman sheriff, and then to be outdrawn by one, must be the most humiliating thing he’s ever faced.

Silence fell over the Copper Town Saloon, nothing moved. Hearts seemed to stop, the air thickened and the foul smell of beer and whiskey accentuated its heaviness.

The Four poker players in the alcove watched in awe, mouths agape, they waited to see what Bonny Lou’s next move would be.

She was in no hurry. Practice she had — with her pistols every day, without fail. Fascinated with her new double action .41 caliber long Colt’s, she handled them, twirled them, and repeatedly drew pointed and pulled on an empty chamber, every private moment. It was as though she were obsessed with them, as some are to playing poker, or dominoes, or an alcoholic drawn to liquor.

This was her way of staying busy even as she might be thinking of an evening at the theater or whom she might someday marry or any number of things. She learned to draw point and shoot without thinking about the subject, even while her mind was on something else. Often, she rode out of town alone to do her target practice. While forcing her mind to stay on her childhood days in Ohio, she would shoot whiskey bottles placed at five, ten, and twenty yards apart, never breaking her concentration. Blacky Hazard, her dear friend in Texas had been a good teacher, and she, a student with a knack.

As a young child, she and her older brother would get into fights, as most children do. Of course, the brother would inevitably get the best of her and she would end up crying. Their father would scold the brother and then admonish Bonny Lou for starting the fight. You just don’t know when to stop do you, young lady? You know he’s bigger than you are and he’ll end up making you cry. When will you learn to back down and find something else to do?

Bonny Lou thought of those times with her brother, whom she dearly loved but could never remember backing down from a fight. It was one of those things that she had fought with all her life but had been unable to change. Her Papa always said, Bonny Lou, you’re good to a fault.

***

Her steely blue eyes dissected each man in turn, and then back to Quinn, never lowering her six shooters or blinking an eye.

Let them die a thousand deaths. Let time stand still. They deserve it.

Finally, Bonny Lou broke the silence. Quinn — take a good look at me, and remember. I’ll give you a choice. You can ride out of Bluestone and never return, or you can die right here where you stand. Everyone saw you go for your guns first. She held her aim and her stare. You’re dead men standing. What will it be?

We didn’t mean anything Ma’am, Quinn said, nervously. We was just having a little fun, I reckon we had a little too much to drink.

What will it be? Bonny Lou demanded. Make your choice.

We’ll be going now Ma’am, Quinn sheepishly answered. We’re going right now. Come on men let’s ride. We got no further use for this town.

Don’t look back, Bonny Lou said, as she followed the men with her aim.

The men made haste to their horses, and as the bat-wings swung closed behind them, she eased her pistols back into their holsters but kept her eyes on the doors.

2

In 1882, a new copper mine began operation bringing new interest and miners to Bluestone. The Kinnear Express offered daily stage service to and from Bisbee and Tombstone. Even a theater with nightly shows was in the planning. The town buzzed with excitement.

The population of Bluestone had doubled in the three years Bonny Lou had been sheriff.

The town’s expansion brought shady characters, unruly miners, cardsharps, drunks, and prostitutes. The town’s spirit had changed.

Although Bonny Lou’s no-nonsense attitude kept the petty criminals at bay, of late, she sensed that a more sinister element had moved in.

Locals were hesitant to gather in town, fearing trouble. The good, local women stayed in their homes or only went into town with their men. When Bonny Lou made her rounds, she met as many strangers as friends. The Copper Town Saloon stayed busy all day, every day of the week.

Tombstone had discovered mountains of silver and some said, The town is growing so fast it will soon be bigger than San Francisco. The fast growth and easy money drew every shady character that could ride a horse or had the price of a stage ticket. Many migrated to Bluestone, where the boarding houses were cheaper, as well as the whiskey.

***

Mayor, what do you know about, Thaddeus Dorsett? Bonny Lou asked.

Very little, the Mayor replied, leaning back in his swivel chair. Holds up over at the Royal Palace Hotel. I’ve seen him in the Copper Town Saloon a few times. He always speaks but never holds a conversation. Usually disappears soon after.

That’s the same answer I get from others I’ve talked to, Bonny Lou said. I’ve been doing some snooping and it appears he has an abundance of friends and money. People come and go, but none stays around. They ride in, go up to his room, and a little while later they leave … leave town.

Seems odd alright, The Mayor said. He did show up about the time the town began to change. Course, that doesn’t mean anything.

No — could be a coincidence. Nevertheless, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going over to Tombstone and ask around. Earp might know something, he, and I get along.

Miss Baker, I’m glad you stopped in, I’ve been meaning to have a talk with you, The Mayor said. Take a seat.

Bonny Lou took a chair in front of the mayor’s desk and removed her hat. Yes, Mayor.

"You’ve been our sheriff now for three years and you’ve done a good job. I have no complaints with your work. However, the population is growing and you’re right, with the growth there’s a great number of undesirables. We can’t just tell them to leave. I’m afraid we’re stuck with them.

That’s why I want to talk to Wyatt, Bonny Lou said. I need to know more about this Dorsett fellow.

I can appreciate that, but I believe that the town has outgrown a woman sheriff. It’s become too dangerous. I’ve sent for a U. S. Marshall until we can find a man that will take the job.

Bonny Lou’s eyes fixed on the Mayor but she stayed quiet.

I don’t know how long it will be before he arrives but I wanted to give you some notice,

Bonny Lou stood — eyes still fixed on the Mayor, I’ll be on tomorrow’s stage to Tombstone. She said nothing more, replaced her hat, turned and left.

3

The Kinnear Express Stagecoach Line had operated for several years between Tombstone and Bisbee. It was only within the last year that they had extended service to Bluestone, which was not far out of the way, and offered rest, food, and rooms between the two towns. There were transfer stations between Tombstone and Bluestone, and Bluestone and Bisbee.

The roads were smooth, and Bonny Lou rocked with the Concord Stage as if in a cradle. She had not dressed in her usual outfit, the one she called her Sheriff’s Uniform, the buckskins, felt hat, and boots, nor did she wear her Colts.

Anytime she left her jurisdiction, she dressed like an Eastern Victorian lady. This day she chose her black soft kid, side-laced boots, a close-fitting damask skirt, and white muslin blouse with puffed shoulders and embroidery at the neck. To give her the finished look she wore a hat of purple grackle feathers, a net veil, and covered her hands with white gloves. She chose hats that were easy to pack in her carpetbag. She would not wear the same hat two days in a row. She owned hatboxes but they were too cumbersome for stage travel.

She could have slept all the way to Tombstone, if not for the two men sitting opposite her.

Each tried to outdo the other with flirtatious remarks.

They introduced themselves as Albert Thompson and Winston Shirley, as soon as they had seated. She, in turn, introduced herself.

The young woman that sat next to her was either a bit snobbish or smart. Upon entering the stage, she pulled her bonnet down, covered her eyes, and pretended to sleep. Whether she really did or not, Bonny Lou couldn’t tell.

Mr. Thompson, from where do you hail? Bonny Lou asked.

I’m from Indianapolis, Indiana.

And you Mr. Shirley?

Springfield, Illinois.

President Lincoln’s hometown. What brings you to the southwest?

We’re geologists. Working on a survey for the Copper Queen Mine, in Bisbee, Albert Thompson answered.

And you, Ma’am? I wouldn’t guess that you’re from these parts. You don’t fit the western landscape.

Cherokee Nick held six in hand and cracked his whip. The stage moved at a fast gait.

Nick must be running late, Bonny Lou, said. He seems to be in a hurry.

I said you don’t fit the western landscape, Albert Thompson repeated.

Hardly. Bonny Lou answered. I grew up in Ohio, near Cleveland.

And what brought you to Bluestone? Winston added.

"Adventure, I got tired of college, grew restless, and decided to find out what lay over the horizon. I dropped out of school and caught a stage west.

Why’d you choose the west, why not East, New York City, or Boston? Winston asked.

Bonny Lou laughed. "Big cities have never excited me. They’re big and dirty and unfriendly, not so the west. Just look out across this country. It’s wild and rugged, and it