JIMMY DOSS - OUTLAW

A steady rumble rolled from cloud-shrouded peaks following the storm, creating a mesmerizing feeling that caused a man’s shoulders to shudder with the chill in the air over the high desert town of Silver City, New Mexico Territory. A serpentine wisp of fog wound along the stand of cottonwoods at the edge of Elk Creek. It was the kind of morning a man wanted to pull up a quilt and linger in the comfort of a soft featherbed, not to wander out where the cool mist would reprimand a morning ambition. A bronze-faced man in his late twenties was loading supplies at Muellers’ Mercantile. Water dripped from the back of his hat as he looked up at the trio of men riding past. Silently noting no acquaintances among them, he hitched his chin in a lazy gesture of welcome without giving it any real thought. The three men pulled rein at the hitch out front of the White Mustang saloon. A wide shouldered, stubby-necked man, by the name of Squeek, slid from the saddle and pulled back the wet duster, exposing a dark handled six-shooter under his belt. A slender, very tall man, the apparent leader, by the name of Slats McClary, threw a rake-handle leg over the rump of the dapple-gray and set his long toed boot on the moist, sandy soil as he spoke, “Rest for the wet and weary.” The third man was young, eighteen or nineteen. He swung down slow, shook wet tangled tassels of long blond hair from his troubled eyes and followed the other two into the saloon. “Let’s get to it, boys.” The whiskey was doing its job. An overhang sign swung inappreciably with the urging of a newfound breeze as they gazed at the black and gold lettering, SILVER CITY BANK. “Hold em head-out and stay ready like I told you. Any shooting and you don’t mount until after me and Squeek, ya got it?” Wallace Higgins, the bank owner opened the walk-in vault. His poor judgment to shoot at the robbers caused the two employees to be killed. Sheriff Matt Ragle’s .45 slug caught Squeek in the neck. His horse reared as Squeek jerked the reins and Jimmy immediately yanked the saddlebags full of money from the dying man’s arm. Slats’ shot caught the young man who’d been uploading supplies, an inch above his right eye and the angel of death didn’t hesitate. “I’ve got to be the one to tell Hank Darcy about his brother,” the lawman said. “Hank’s my best friend; he took me in back in Dumas and taught me the ropes. I rode with him when he was with the Rangers back in Texas. Scoot, as my deputy, you get a posse together, Hank and I will catch up, likely tomorrow.” “You know I’ll have to hunt ‘em down and kill ‘em, don’t you, Matt. You being the law, you got any trouble with that?” Hank, his wife, Kate, and the two youngsters buried Josh Darcy under the big sycamore, the spot on the Box D where Josh had always liked to stand and watch the sun set. “Up there,” Slats stretched his neck to look up the mountainside. ”That’s the shortcut, will save us ten to twelve hours between here and Globe.” Young Jimmy didn’t like the idea at all, not until the tall, slender man told him about three years ago when he and his cousin, Pete Murray made the trip and visited with the mountain man that lived in the cabin down the other side of the peak. He was prospecting for gold, had a young squaw wife and a four or five year old son. “I reckon if if they found gold they’ll still be there, but if not, likely the cabin will be empty.” “You didn’t tell me how pretty she was.” Jimmy scowled at Slats. She offered them food but they wanted more! “I told you to hold her! Boy, you ain’t gonna be of no use to me when I’m needin’ you to cover my back,” Slats scolded. “Now look, she’s cut ya, got lose and rang that damn bell, and I had to notch her good.” The slender Irishman screamed at Jimmy, “Get to looking for that gold before that ol’ coot and his boy come to answer that bell.” Hank drew a hand up to shade his eyes. “Their tracks are as plain as a bull tramping through a fresh plowed garden. They went up that mess of scrabble rocks and we will too.” Hank flew out of the saddle before the sound of the long barrel Sharps reached them. Globe had grown into a full-fledge town. Jimmy and Slats took a room together, Slats saw to it! “You’re getting just two thousand of your cut for now,” Slats took Jimmy down a notch, “and don’t go spending it all on the first frilly dressed saloon gal you find.” Slats found his cousin, Pete. He found him next door to the Royal Saloon, where he ran a rough-shod loan office, but mostly lived high on his skills at poker. The three lawmen were forced to set out seven days at the Worham cabin until the bees quit buzzing in Hank Darcy’s head and he could ride again. “Sorry, I shot ya,” Isaiah Worsham said, “didn’t know ya’all was the law. Hope you fellas can catch onto them men what killed Nato-tama-chee. My boy’s Shoshone blood is broodin’ for revenge and he won’t be happy until he knows his ma’s death is put even.” “Well Cousin Kendrick…err, Slats, I got me an ownership in a silver mine. With your seed-money and my wits, we’re going to sell it to the most powerful and richest man in these parts.” The Irish cousins, keeping their relationship secret, put on a nightly show at the poker tables. They draw high dollar players and jovial spectators with their wit and humor…and build a reputation in Globe. Once Hank Darcy, Matt and Scoot get to Globe, Hank knows he’s got to get his two lawmen friends out of his way. A reckless shooting and a useless town marshal help resolve that problem, leaving Hank alone to get the revenge he demands of himself. Slats pulls ten thousand dollars from a vest pocket while engaged in poker with several of Globe’s successful business men, “Here’s the down payment on that mine, Mr. Murray.” Carlton Claypool, the cousins’ target is shocked. He’s not accustomed to being second fiddle in money matters where most everything, including the town marshal, feeds from his hand. Pete has set it up! He asked if Claypool would have his engineer and chemist make an analysis at his mine in a day or two, just to be sure he’s not selling out to McClary in a less than beneficial manner. Claypool arrives at the mine where Pete Murray has made some special arrangements. The rich man drops a hundred and fifty thousand cash in Pete’s lap…and promises that much more at the closing of the sale, twenty thousand to satisfy Slats. The closing takes place in the bank owner’s office. Claypool brought the paperwork, and his lawyer. Tempers flare but good judgment alters things and the sale is closed. Slats and Pete leave the bank with eighty thousand dollars but fifty thousand cash is placed in Bradleys’ bank, in escrow for thirty days! Hank finally sets eyes on Slats McClary, knows him to be the one who fired the fatal shot killing his brother…but he must wait for a better time to exact his justice. A killing in anger, in public, could bring hardships on his wife and children – he couldn’t allow that. Jimmy and his lover, Lilly, are carted out of town. Arrangements were made by Linda Russell, owner of the Gem Saloon and Dance Hall, and dear friend of Lilly. Slats paid for the services! Russell made it happen. But they didn’t stay gone! Pete and Slats had a plan to get out of Globe. But Slats couldn’t just leave without the other fifty thousand from the bank! He pulled Jimmy from bed, consoled him with partner talk, and set out to lift the money from escrow. A very unusual, Globe shaped piece of rich silver ore gave name to the town. And Globe was the setting for an equally unique set of events that brought about justice in such a manner that it was discussed in length throughout the western frontier for years. It became known as the legend of Jimmy Doss – Outlaw.