The Legend of Sweetwater

By Ted Stetson

Longview, a cattle baron, has hired gunfighters to kill Martha's husband, Jeremy Goodman. He's even hired Gentry's gang, but Will Gentry on seeing how good they are to his son can't allow them to be hurt. To save them he must fight Longview's gunfighters and the cattle baron himself and even his old gang.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ted Stetson
• Release date: Oct 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452491936

Ted Stetson

Ted Stetson is a member of SFWA. He was born in Brooklyn and raised on Long Island and went to Seton Hall and Hofstra. He graduated from the University of St. Thomas, Houston, Texas. He was awarded First Place by the Florida Literary Arts Council and First Place in the Lucy B. McIntire contest of the Poetry Society of Georgia. His short fiction has appeared in Twisted Tongue, MysteryAuthors.com, Future Orbits, State Street Review, and the anthologies; One Evening a Year, Mota: Truth, Ruins Extraterrestrial Terra, Ruins Terra and Barren Worlds. His books include: Night Beasts, The Computer Song Book.

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The Legend of Sweetwater

By Ted Stetson

*****

Copyright © 2011 Ted Stetson

All rights reserved.

Published by Three Door Publishing

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Smashwords 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 use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Cover art by Roger Kirby

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This is dedicated to Gail.

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 - Fast Draw

Chapter 2 - Reward

Chapter 3 - My Pa

Chapter 4 - Wanted Posters

Chapter 5 - Sneaking Out

Chapter 6 - Bittercreek Kid

Chapter 7 - Spyglass

Chapter 8 - Soiled Doves

Chapter 9 - Two Against One

Chapter 10 - I Ride Alone

Chapter 11 - Before the Storm

Chapter 12 - Into the Sunset

Chapter 13 - Warning

Chapter 14 - Wild Man

Chapter 15 - Tiger, Tiger

Chapter 16 - Rainy Day

Chapter 17 - Eavesdropping

Chapter 18 - Busted hands

Chapter 19 - Secret Message

Chapter 20 - Tell Ma and Pa

Chapter 21 - Shot in the Back

Chapter 22 - Lumpy Lies

Chapter 23 - Break-in

Chapter 24 - Discovered

Chapter 25 - Sin Twister

Chapter 26 - Coyotin’ the Rim

Chapter 27 - Stagecoach

Chapter 28 - Dead Sheriff

Chapter 29 - Dust Devils

Chapter 30 - New Gun

Chapter 31 - A Ghost

Chapter 32 - Ma and Me

Chapter 33 - Recon

Chapter 34 - Toller Arrives

Chapter 35 - Spectators

Chapter 36 - Gunfight

Chapter 37 - Standoff

Chapter 38 - Contest

Chapter 39 - Come and Gone

Chapter 40 - Longview

Chapter 41 - Davy Crockett

Chapter 42 - Plans

Chapter 43 - Bell Tower

Chapter 44 - Tide of Battle

Chapter 45 - Bittercreek Massacre

Chapter 46 - Aftermath

Chapter 47 - Surprises

Chapter 48 - Mail Order

Chapter 49 - Bank Robbers

Chapter 50 - Throwing Lead

Chapter 51 - Will Gentry’s Death

Chapter 52 - Ambush

About the Author

*****

Prologue:

The Pennsylvania landscape was quiet. The soldiers were gone. The war had been over for years.

An old barn riddled with bullet holes stood next to the ruins of a burned house, only the red brick chimney still upright. Wagons and soldiers had trampled the unplanted fields. Ruts cut the ground where crops once flourished. A battle had been fought near here and the land had not yet recovered.

A bearded man in tattered clothes limped down the dirt road.

Hello, he called.

Go away, a man inside the barn shouted and the barrel of gun was thrust out one of the holes.

Uncle Will, the man said. It’s me, Bill Miller, come home from the war.

There was a sound of wood moving inside the barn. The rickety door swung open and a gaunt white haired man, wearing torn, ragged clothes, hobbled out into the sunlight. The odor of sickness and death drifted out the door with him. Flies buzzed in the sunlight.

Bill? Uncle Will squinted at the bearded man.

Looking for Marty. Went by her place; it’s burned down.

Where you been? She heard you was dead. We all did. War Department said you died over a year ago.

Was wounded and put in a hell hole of a prison. When the war ended, I got out, but was too sick to make it home. Taken in by strangers, southerners nursed me back to health.

Martha re-married, Will said with traces of a New England accent. He’s a nice man; Jeremy Goodman.

Yeah, I heard. He looked down at the ground, then over at the road.

Headed west. His watery eyes swept over the devastation that used to be his beautiful farm. Too much destruction here. Too many bad memories.

Thought you might be able to point me in the right direction.

Said she’d write when she got to St. Louie. Ain’t never got a letter. Worried about her.

Me too. Bill turned to leave.

One thing. Will coughed and spat blood on the ground. She had a baby, your son.

Bill Miller stared at him. I didn’t know.

Had him after you left. Her new husband has been real good to her and your boy. If Jeremy hadn’t helped, she might’ve wound up in the poor house or with me, which would’ve been worse.

Much obliged. Bill Miller’s blue eyes gazed into the distance as if trying to see his wife and son.

Wait. Uncle Will shuffled into the barn. Minutes later he returned with a young appaloosa. He’d saddled the horse and hung his old gun belt over the horn.

Named her Abbey. Was going to give her to Marty. She’s yours to help you on your way.

I can’t take her from you. He patted the horse’s side.

My time’s run out. He coughed, blood spattered his mouth. She’s yours if you make sure Marty’s okay.

I’ll be beholding to you.

One thing, Uncle Will said. She’s got it set in her mind that you’re dead. Even visited your grave. If she hears Bill Miller is looking for her, she probably won’t think it’s you. Might figure it’s a carpetbagger or a scalawag up to some chicanery and try to avoid you.

Bill climbed carefully into the saddle. The young horse looked back at him.

Give her my love, Uncle Will said.

Bill waved as he rode away.

*****

Chapter 1 – Fast Draw

The most important time in my life was the summer of '75. We had moved around after the Civil War, but for the last five years, we lived in Bittercreek, Texas. The town was just beginning to grow and not everyone still believed in the Legend, but I did. I still do.

After school, I usually helped in my father's store, Goodman's General Store. Ma said if I didn't put on weight, they were going to rent me out as a weathervane. The day it started, I was standing on the ladder putting O'Donalds canned peaches on the shelf when I heard a horse coming, someone riding hard.

It was a quiet spring afternoon when I heard this horse galloping from a long way off; clopping across the bridge over the North Bittercreek and then hooves thudding hard on Main Street. Then it got quiet again. I found out later the rider had stopped at Blackburn's Barn to ask directions.

A few minutes later a stranger walked into Pa's store, dusty pants and a dirty gray shirt, smelling like a sweaty horse. The stranger was covered with dust like he’d been riding hard for days. Only he wasn't a stranger. He was Clay Parsons. I recognized him from one of my wanted posters. Mean looking with a knife scar across his right eye, wearing a side mount holster on his belt. Parsons was wanted for murder and robbery. He wasn't wanted where we lived, but he was wanted just about every place else. The Dodge City Post said he was a hired gun.

My hobby was collecting wanted posters. Other kids collected stamps or colored marbles or like Lumpy, different bullets. Me, I had this fascination with wanted posters. I'd put them in a scrapbook and record what the desperado did, and when he was captured or killed, I’d put the date and details. I had Turkey Creek Jack Johnson, Indian Joe, Bob and Cole Younger, Bill Longley, Clay Allison and Jesse and Frank James. I even had a torn poster for John Wilkes Booth. And lots of newspaper clippings about Wild Bill Hickok mostly when he was the Marshall of Abilene.

Sheriff Moses Danberry would mail lawmen in other cities to get me new posters so I could put them in my scrapbook. That was when Danberry was still my friend, before I found out about him.

Parsons stopped in the doorway and his dark eyes swung around the store like a mean dog looking for someone to bite.

Pa! I said, trying to warn him.

Later, Billy.

But Pa.

Not now. Pa was waiting on old Mrs. Adams, standing there in a black dress. She put on too much perfume water; Lumpy said you could smell her coming five minutes 'fore she got there. Pa always went out of his way to be nice to his customers even before Longview opened his store across the street.

Parsons was staring at Pa. The hired gun was a big man, over six feet tall and my Pa was short and wiry. Everyone said I was going to be a lot bigger.

Mrs. Adams paid for her coffee and marched out of the store like she always did, like she'd been overcharged.

Pa, I said dreading what was about to happen.

Billy, NOT NOW.

I looked for a weapon, I was on the side of the L shaped counter, but the guns were in the glass topped counter and the rifles were on the racks on the wall and even if I could somehow unlock the chain and load one, I knew if what I'd read about the gunman was true, Parsons would draw and shoot me before I could fire. I tried to warn Pa, but my throat got dry. I gagged and coughed as I watched with fearful fascination, my heart beating faster and faster, my body trembling on the ladder. One thing I knew for sure, Parsons wasn't going to buy a pound of flour. I saw it in his cold-blooded killer's eyes.

Parsons strutted up to the counter, his spurs chinking as he walked.

Can I help you? Pa said without the slightest bit of fear in his voice.

Pa had to know for sure something was going to happen, because I could feel it in the air. But maybe not. Pa and violence didn't see eye to eye.

Southern Gent plug, Parsons said.

Pa turned and reached behind the counter. I find Union Leader to be milder, but don't get me wrong; Southern Gent is my biggest seller. He picked up a small tin. You know, just because it's called Union doesn't mean it's -- and came face to face with Parsons’ .41 caliber Colt Thunder. It had a nickel-plated barrel with a blue-black cylinder and a wooden grip with notches cut in it.

Pa dropped the package of plug on the counter and put his hands up. Watch where you point that. Pa's hands were shaking, but the gun was perfectly still. Only a real gunman could hold a gun that still. You might accidentally pull the trigger and shoot someone.

I shook so bad I'd like to fall off the ladder and had to grip it real tight just to hold on. Tears started to fill my eyes, I didn’t want my Pa to get killed.

I only have, Pa pulled the handle on the shiny brass cash register and the drawer opened, a few dollars.

Parsons’ gravel voice said, You Jeremy Goodman?

Pa nodded up and down.

Parsons cocked his gun. Not another word. He just cocked that big mean gun, cold and deadly a sound as you'll ever hear. Parsons meant to kill Pa and there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing. Just stand there and watch. I tried to call out, but I was so scared my throat got tight and I could barely breathe. My heart was racing, beating in my ears like a big loud drum. I felt like a horse run to ground.

Pa, his voice shaking nervous, said, Take the money, it's all yours.

Parsons smiled a mouth of broken yellow teeth. I’d never seen a smile so cruel and savage. Parsons didn't want the money. He wanted Pa dead.

Suddenly the floorboard by the door creaked. Through the window, I’d caught a glimpse of another horse. I'd heard it coming, but paid it no mind. Now an appaloosa stood at the rail next to Parsons’ lathered roan.

Another stranger had come inside. With the afternoon sunlight streaming in the open door behind him, I couldn't see his face. All I could see was black pants, white shirt, and black vest. He was wearing a brown leather one-loop holster with a plain-looking Model 3 Smith & Wesson.

Parsons glanced behind him and whirled round to shoot, but before he could fire, the stranger drew his gun and blasted him.

Parsons was slammed back against the counter, almost knocking the shiny brass register to the floor. The big glass jar of jawbreakers cracked and the red, yellow and green candy rolled along the counter and dropped to the floor.

Parsons slid to the floor, blood pumping out of his chest. His eyes rose to the newcomer and he went to say something, but I couldn't hear it, my ears were still ringing from the gunshot.

It looked like he was trying to say, You going to collect --

You could see he was wounded bad, probably be dead before long, and was no threat now. Still the stranger shot him again. Parsons shuddered and his head dropped to his chest. Clay Parsons, one of the fastest guns in the west, wanted for murder and robbery, was dead.

Who could this stranger be to outshoot the likes of Clay Parsons? Parsons had his gun out, but this stranger drew and fired before he could shoot. So many pots and pans hung from the beam I couldn't see his face.

Then the stranger stepped forward and I nearly fell off the ladder. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was none other than Will Gentry.

Will Gentry, one of the most wanted gunfighters in the west. I had so many posters on him; I had to ask Ma for a new scrapbook just to put Gentry's wanted posters in it. For years he’d been the most wanted gunfighter in the whole world and here he was in Pa's store.

I wanted to shout at Pa to run and hide. Clay Parsons was a killer, but next to Will Gentry, he was nothing special. I couldn't speak. Fear had grabbed my throat again.

Pa came around the counter like he was greeting a friend. I reached out, but there was no stopping him. Right in front of my eyes Pa was grabbing Gentry's hand, shaking and shaking and shaking it.

Gentry put away his gun and looked at Pa. They were talking, but my ears were still ringing from the shooting. It looked like Pa was thanking him and Gentry was telling Pa it were nothing.

Then Ma came running in. I don’t know what I expected her to do. She'd seen men shot before, and Pa was held up last summer and all the time she was so strong she didn't blink an eye. That day she looked at Pa, then at the stranger, then at the dead man. Then back up at the stranger. Her eyes fixed like she recognized the face from my wanted posters. Her mouth opened like she was going to say something. Then she fainted.

My Ma, who helped Doc patch the wounded after the Indian raid, who'd seen broken bones, scalped men, and Lord knows what, fainted. She just fell out. I guess she must have been reading my scrapbook.

Pa always said girls are impossible to figure and he was right.

*****

Chapter 2 - Reward

Word spread like wildfire: Will Gentry had shot a man in Goodman's General Store. Every kid in town was asking me about it. I told it so many times I was hoarse from talking. But that wasn't the strangest part of it. Not by a long shot.

Some men carried Parsons to Flynn's barbershop and laid him on the wood sidewalk. Lumpy’s dad measured him and quickly hammered together a pine box. People stood around watching Mr. Flynn make the long box, a few offering advice. They helped Mr. Flynn place Parsons in it and propped it on display in the store window where everyone could see him.

Two of Colonel Longview's wranglers riding herd on Longview's general store strolled across the street to watch. They talked lowly. No telling what those low life pig rustlers were saying.

A few of the kids didn't believe it was Gentry. Didn't even believe Sheriff Danberry.

Lumpy said, Billy, can you get me one of his bullets?

Whose bullets, Lumpy? I said knowing what he wanted. Lumpy was busy telling it like he was the one who saw the whole thing; I was angry at him.

You know who.

You mean one of Will Gentry's bullets?

Aw, it ain't him, Bobby Blackburn said. He's in Kansas.

Nope, Lumpy said. He's inside Billy's Pa's store.

If he was, Bobby said, Billy would be afraid to get a bullet.

No, he ain't, Lumpy said and gave me a push.

I sidled back into the store. Pa had mopped up the bloody trail from when Parsons was carried out and the floor was still wet. I jumped over the wet place, afraid it would give me bad luck if I touched it.

Pa and Sheriff Danberry and Gentry were talking.

I tell you if he hadn’t shot him when he did, I'd be dead, Pa said. He'd probably’ve shot Billy too. What's a cold blooded killer like that doing in our little town? Something Ma had asked the sheriff a bunch of times before she went back to our little house behind the store.

There's a reward on Parsons, Sheriff Danberry said like this was secret information only he knew. Just last week he was telling me he could be a rich if he dropped his sheriff job and just went out and collected the bounty on reward posters. But, he said, he’d be leaving the town unprotected and who knows what would happen without him around to be sheriff. A tidy sum.

Is there? Gentry said kind of tight-lipped like he knew that and a lot more.

Reckon 'bout five hundred dollars.

Five hundred dollars? Pa said. The school committee should start rounding up gunmen so we can buy books. That's a lot of money for someone who was going to shoot me over chewing tobacco.

Gentry's blue eyes came to rest on me. His face was stern, but his eyes were smiling.

You have to fill out the paperwork and have the body positively identified as Parsons and, well, you see ... it takes time

I couldn't believe my ears. What paperwork? Danberry had told me many times how easy it was. Why'd he say that?

Gentry said, How about you do that and you take, he glanced at me again, ten percent.

Sheriff Danberry chewed on his lower lip while he tried to figure how much that was. After school, I had to do his books, adding his numbers. Might take a while.

Gentry grinned, a cold expression.

Want me to put your share in the bank? Safest place in town.

Why'd the Sheriff say that when he was always telling me how unsafe banks were? When they weren't being robbed by desperadoes, they were pilfered by the bank employees.

Give my share to the local school.

What? Sheriff Danberry said.

Even Pa stopped smoking his pipe to listen.

Give four hundred and fifty dollars to the school.

The school? Sheriff Danberry asked like he didn't hear him right. You sure about that?

Okay then, give it to Mr. Goodman here and he can make sure the school gets it.

Gentry’s cold blue eyes stared at him, not angry, just steady, like holding a rifle bead on a snake weaving through the grass.

Sheriff Danberry looked at my Pa and nodded. Jeremy. Then feeling Gentry’s eyes on him he stiffened and was quick to leave.

That's some gesture, Pa said. We’ll be able to buy new books for next year.

Gentry leaned against the counter. Likely keep it all for himself.

I couldn't believe he'd say that about the Sheriff, but a minute ago I wouldn't've believed Danberry would make up a story about paperwork.

Pa said, I'll see the school gets their share.

Gentry turned to me.

What? he said.

I saw those eyes looking at me and I got all nervous and choked up. I was wondering ... My throat was dry and closed up. I coughed, said, Can I have one of your bullets?

Bullets? Gentry said.

Pa shook his head. You can give Lumpy one tomorrow. Right now, we're going to have dinner. Pa turned to Gentry. Lumpy's got a hobby. Kids these days. Pa coughed like he did when he got nervous. Collects bullets. You ever hear such a thing? Pa walked to the front door and closed it.

But, Pa.

Come on, young man.

Pa.

Not another word. Pa locked the front door and pulled down the shades on the setting sun. Now the store was in deep shadows. It got cooler real fast.

I turned and Gentry was still in the store, his horse no longer out front. What was going on?

Pa led the way out the back of the store. Our house was behind the store. We used to live in the back of the store. Then business got good and Ma complained until Pa did something. Now we had our own little house at the back of the lot. Ma planted a garden on the side. In the yard between the house and the store were things that couldn't fit inside; plows, nail barrels, and a few other things.

The house didn't face Main Street. The front was on First Street, but we mostly used the back door by the kitchen. We walked along the rocky path to the porch.

As I followed Pa out back, I petted Gabriel, our watchdog, and then I realized Gentry was following me. I turned and he grinned at me.

I wanted to say something to Pa, but I didn't exactly know how to say it and be polite. Ma was always yelling at me to watch my manners.

That's when I smelled fried chicken. Ma made the best-fried chicken in Texas, but only on special occasions like a church social or having company. Who was coming to eat?

Then I smelled the apple pie. Ma must've gotten it from Lizabeth Milton’s mom; it had a cinnamon smell. Fried chicken and apple pie on a regular school night?

We were nearing the back porch when I noticed a worn saddle and dusty bedroll on the side.

Whose is that?

Why, Mr. Gentry's. Who'd you think it was?

I can stay at the hotel, Gentry said.

Up the street, across from Blackburn’s Barn was the Prairie Palace Saloon, alongside it was Jackson's old house, now converted into the only hotel in town.

Won't hear of it, Pa said. You'll be staying with us.

My knees got weak. Will Gentry, the most dangerous gun west of the Mississippi was going to spend the night. Wait till everyone found out. Won't they be jealous.

A bucket of water sat outside for us to wash up. Pa let Mr. Gentry go first and he motioned me to go ahead of him.

I got a week's worth of dust on me, Gentry said. You should let me wash up last.

Time for that later, Pa said. First get something good to eat. Feed those tired bones.

You've been riding for a week? I said.

Yep.

Chasing Parsons?

He had a fast horse.

You chased him all the way here?

You might want to buy that horse and when he recovers from this, resell him.

Sam Blackburn’s probably already done that.

You knew he was going to rob my Pa and you were after him to stop him?

Something like that.

That didn't sit right with me so I had to ask, How come?

Will? Pa said, like he does when I get too nosy and ask embarrassing questions.

No, it's all right, Gentry said.

Pa turned to him.

I was in the war--

The Civil War?

Yep.

Billy.

-- and got shot. Your father worked in a field hospital and saved my life.

I don't remember you, Pa said.

I do, Gentry said.

You did? I said to Pa. Pa shrugged like he wasn't so sure. He'd said he remembered everyone he ever worked on, but I always thought that couldn't be so. He had helped so many wounded men, how could he remember them all?

A course I wasn't a gunfighter back then, Gentry said.

I could see Pa helping this stranger, then this stranger turning out years later to be Will Gentry and when Parsons said he was riding to Texas to rob Goodman's General Store and kill Jeremy Goodman, all of a sudden Gentry remembered that Jeremy Goodman had saved his life in the war.

I could see it in my mind. Parsons riding fast on the big roan and Gentry chasing him on the appaloosa. Parsons riding for miles and miles to rob my Pa? But he didn't want the money. What did Parsons say to him? It had slipped away like I was trying to lasso smoke. I was about to remember when Pa opened the door and we went in and sat down to dinner.

I couldn't believe it. I was actually sitting across the table from Will Gentry. Boy, what a way to start the summer. The guys would ask me about this all summer. Even the bullies probably wouldn’t pick on me because I had sat down to dinner with Will Gentry.

There was a sound outside. I recognized it when I heard it. Some of the guys were hiding in the bushes watching. Through the open window I could see Lumpy and Bobby.

Pa said, You boys go on home.

Yes sir, Lumpy said.

Billy, Ma said, and I bowed my head.

We joined hands and Mr. Gentry said grace just like us regular folks.

Dear Lord, we thank you for this blessing--

I opened my eyes and Will Gentry was talking to the Lord, but he was looking at Ma.

*****

Chapter 3 – My Pa

After we said grace we passed the food. My mouth was watering from the great smells; fried chicken, pie and corn bread. Mr. Gentry picked up a glass of water and Ma was quick to speak.

You may want to flavor it with a bit of sugar, Ma said. The water comes from Bittercreek.

Pa said, The first people through here thought the water was almost undrinkable. The Indians had a name for it. Pa garbled some strange words. Excuse me, my Apache is not very good, but the short version is water so unpleasant no one stays long.

Gentry started to taste the water and I rushed to tell him. That's because --

Billy, Ma said. Stop shouting at our guest.

I just wanted to say--

Billy! Pa said.

But Pa.

Billy not now.

Yes sir.

When settlers passed through this part of Texas, Pa said, they drank the water and found it bitter and moved on. A few found it sweet and stayed and built ranches up and down the river. Longview is the last old timer. He calls it wild west water.

Gentry took another drink as if he couldn't make up his mind about the water.

That's because of--

Billy, Ma said. Eat your dinner.

Yes, Ma'am. I picked up a chicken leg and chewed on it. Ma gave me a look and I tried to chew quieter.

Where you from? Pa asked.

Pennsylvania, Gentry said.

Why, Martha's from Pennsylvania.

Jeremy, stop bothering Mr. Gentry, Ma said. He probably doesn't want to talk about his past.

It's no bother, Ma’am, Gentry said and Ma’s mouth hardened. She didn't like talk about war and violence, but she didn't say a word. She just sat there with her head lowered, nibbling at her food, like she did when she was upset. With Pa almost being shot, I could understand why she'd be put out.

Gentry took a bite of chicken leg. This is real good, Ma'am. Haven't had home cooking since I left home. Nothing this fine since 'fore the war.

Ma lowered her eyes. Her fork shook a little. Guess she was nervous, having a notorious gunfighter in the house and him saving Pa's life and all.

Whereabouts in Pennsylvania? Pa asked quietly like he was afraid Ma would get upset if he asked too much.

My eyes bounced back and forth watching them, but mostly watching Will Gentry.

Chambersburg, he said.

Ma dropped her fork. She looked kind of funny, like she wasn't feeling too good. She chewed on her lower lip so I knew this was painful to her.

Why, Martha's from Chambersburg.

She is? Gentry turned to her. Ma was staring at her plate. I was afraid she was going to cry. Sometimes when she talked about her home, she cried. She’d lost so much family and friends in the war.

Whereabout in Chambersburg? Pa said.

Actually outside of town. West of Chambersburg.

Ma was from south of town, Pa said. She was burned out by rebs.

I left before that, Gentry said. I was with the Twelfth Pennsylvania Infantry, wounded at Gettysburg.

Well, I'll be, Pa said. "Martha's first husband, Bill Miller, was with the