Timpson

By Tom Reed

In 1886 a murder occurred in the little town of Timpson, Texas; a murder that immersed much of East Texas in the effort to bring the killer to justice. A sheriff from nearby Nacogdoches and the family of a Justice of the Peace in the little community of Rainsville were among those who, for more than forty years, were engulfed in the pursuit of the murderer. Along the way both the murderer and a scion of the family learned a new meaning of the word justice and just what was meant by the fifth commandment.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Apr 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462011421

Tom Reed

Tom Reed lives and writes on a small farm with his wife, Judy, in rural West Tennessee, shared with an abundance of critters. Prior to writing, he retired from a career in health care management and was active in community organizations. This is his tenth book. [Use photo from previous two books published by you.]

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PART ONE

A SHORT HISTORY OF A SMALL PART OF EAST TEXAS

CHAPTER 1

THE LEGEND OF BUCKSNORT

 (

OR HOW A SMALL TEXAS TOWN GOT ITS NAME)

(East Texas, early 1830’s)It was in the time of the pioneers in a small field; a tiny opening in the piney woods. It was an organizational meeting Richards had told them. The purpose of the meeting was to put their new community together but the settlers figured that it was also a good excuse for a party. The Tennesseans, who were the new immigrants to the area, brought pies and cakes and fried chicken and lots and lots of corn liquor. The Mexicans, many of whom had lived in the area since before Mexican independence from Spain, brought tortillas and tamales and enchiladas and frijoles with bacon, and frijoles with chicken, and frijoles with goat and frijoles fixed about every way a body could possibly think to fix them -- lots and lots of frijoles.

It was a feast. Every body ate and drank their fill and as the late summer sun started to fade lanterns were hung from posts and fiddles appeared and the dancing began. The Mexicans demonstrated their Fandangos and got the Tennesseans to try their hand, and the Tennesseans got the Mexicans to line up for Virginia Reels.

Everyone was having a great time, but eventually the festivities had to be interrupted to get down to the serious business of the gathering. The Mexicans looked on, waiting patiently for the music and dancing to return. This organizing business was something of interest only to the Tennesseans. The Mexicans knew they were in the Tenaha District of the Nacogdoches Municipality, of the state of Coahuila y Tejas of the Republic of Mexico. That was government and organization enough for them, but if the Anglos wanted more government, that was fine; if it was the excuse for a fiesta the Mexicans were all for it.

John Richards took a seat behind a packing crate, he was presiding. It was only right that he should as it was his land grant they were settling on and it was Granny Richards, his grandmother, who, out of her parcel of land, was providing the site for the town. The settlers seated themselves in semicircular rows facing Richards. They sat on stumps, or logs, or beat up old chairs drug from the back of their covered wagons, or just the ground itself; some leaning up against some the big oak and pine trees that had been there long before either Tennesseans or Mexican had considered moving to the area.

Richards looked down at the wooden maul that was given to him to use as a gavel. One whack of that gavel on his packing crate desk would collapse the whole thing.

Ben Lang, he said pointing his gavel at a settler in the first row. Bring me that log you’ve been sitting on and put it up-right by my desk. It’ll be solid enough for me to pound on and You’re young enough to sit on the ground without it hurtin’ you

When that was done, with a ‘whomp’ of the gavel on the log he called the meeting to order. Now that we’ve all decided to live close to each other we need to figure out how we’re going to do all the things that have to be done, and what we are gonna name our new town.

We don’t need much government, a voice from the audience said. The speaker stood. I’m a thinking that we could have more meetings like this, especially if we had more of them frijoles beans, they’re real tasty, especially them that had the goat meat with em.

Another settler rose. I agree we could meet here once a year and make all the decisions we need to make.

But how are we going to pay for it? Someone asked.

It won’t take much money. Most of what would has to be done we could get volunteers for. If we have to come up with cash, well then we can just pass the hat.

It has been moved and seconded that we have an annual meeting and fiestee, Richards said. All those in favor signify by saying, ‘Aye.’

A few voices answered ‘Aye’ and gradually a more and more ‘ayes’ joined in, until most of the audience had cast their votes.

Those opposed signify with ‘nay.’ Richards said.

There was no response.

The motion carries and we will hold an annual meeting and fiestee to make decisions. He brought his maul down on the stump with authority.

Now we need to decide what to call ourselves. What are we going to name our new community? Richards said.

Before he had finished the sentence Will Tebbets

was on his feet. Mr. Chairman, he said.

The chair recognizes Will Tebbets to speak.

Mr. Chairman, In recognition of your felicific sponsorship of this endeavor, I move that the community be named Richardsberg.

Tebbets had been a newspaper editor back in Tennessee; Richards thought that that was why he talked fancier than he needed to.

I always liked ‘alia’ on the end of town names, another settler said. How about ‘Richardsalia?’

Technically its Granny Richards that is providing the land for the town, someone else said. How about ‘Grannysburg?

Or ‘Grannyalia,’ another voice chimed in.

The Chairman brought down his gavel. Mr. Tebbets you are out of order, he said. No Town is going to be named for me or for my Grandmother, besides which, it’s not going to save you any money. Richards reckoned that that was the true reason for his motion. What land you buy will still be a dollar and twenty-five cents an acre, just like everybody else.

Others rose and sought to name the town after a favorite town in Tennessee, Memphis, Nashville and Winchester were all proposed. But in each case the motions died for lack of a second; though it could be argued that the Chairman had not allowed enough time for anyone who wanted to second the motions to get to his feet and take such action.

Mr. Chairman, it was Rodney Gatewood that now sought recognition. Gatewood had been a politician back in Tennessee. He was not successful enough to have remained behind, but was just successful enough to be annoying.

The Chair recognizes Mr. Rodney Gatewood. Richards cringes just a bit in apprehension of giving Gatewood the floor.

Mr. Chairman, I rise to make the motion that we name our community after a great American and a great Tennessean. I speak of course of the noble victor of New Orleans, the man who stands up to the Bank of the United States, that great leader the President of the United States, the Honorable Andrew Jackson.

Richards looked around at the attendees, and saw some signs of agitation among the Mexican’s in the audience. They had enjoyed the dinner, they had enjoyed the whisky and the dancing, they had even enjoyed the exercise in grass roots democracy, but the thought of naming a town in a Mexican Texas after the sitting President of the United States, might be carrying neighborliness just a bit far. In their minds Gatewood’s motion fed the rumors that had been circulating in the Mexicans community that these immigrants were really agents of the United States government and that their real intent was to steal the land from Mexico. Richards thought that Gatewood was a fool; he had to do something to shut him up but was at a loss as to how to do it.

Then, just as Gatewood took a dramatic pause in his oratory one of the Tenesseans’ lack of gastric accommodation to Mexican cuisine came to fore and a subtle rumble rose from amid the assembly. A Buckskin clad settler a few rows away spoke without rising. I think I just heard a Bucksnort.

Heared it another answered from nearer the point of the sound’s emanation, I was close enough that I smelt it.

By chance at that moment a second rumble, similar to the first, occurred in the audience. There it goes again, someone said.

Richards read in the titters of laughter that the majority of the settlers did not want to make their Mexican neighbors uncomfortable with the name of their new town and neither did they take the task of deciding on a town name as seriously as those, like Gatewood, who were intent on foisting their name choices on assemblage.

Richards didn’t give Gatewood time to continue. Bucksnort has been moved and Seconded as the name of our community, he said in the most official voice he could muster, all those in favor signify by saying ‘aye.’

A substantial portion of the settlers answered, AYE!

Those opposed respond nay, he said. Then without giving time for any negative response; The ayes, have it, the motion carries the name of our new town is ‘Bucksnort.’

A cheer went up from all those who were gathered, with the exception, of course, of Rodney Gatewood.

The years would turn into a decade and then a few more years would be added. Even though the rumors about the Tennesseans stealing Texas were not true, they were prescient. Texas won her independence from Mexico and then became part of the United States. Through it all Bucksnort grew and prospered. Then in 1848 the people of Bucksnort decided to ask for a post office.

But there was the problem of the name. Most folks weren’t familiar with the euphemism Bucksnort, it was sort of a frontier thing, but there just might be somebody at the Post Office Department, in Washington D.C. that might have heard the term and would take offence. To be sure that the bureaucrats in the far off national Capital would approve their request they decided that they had to change the town’s name. So they had another meeting and in honor of one of General Zachery Taylor’s victorious battle in the recent war with Mexico they chose to rename the town Buena Vista.

They got their post office.

More years passed and most of the original settlers passed on as well but the town’s original name was kept alive in collective memory of those who lived there. Finally a big city newspaper man came to the little community and interviewed an old man who was the town’s last surviving founding settler.

Why, the reporter asked, did those immigrants, so many years ago, chosen to name their town ‘Bucksnort?’

The old man thought a minute, rubbing a crooked finger across the stubble on his chin, then he looked the reporter in the eye.

Etiquette, the old man said.

Etiquette? the reporter asked.

Etiquette, the old man answered, it seemed a lot more polite than naming the town ‘Fart.’

CHAPTER 2

SHELBY COUNTY

The Tenaha District of the Nacogdoches Municipality got a new designation as the Tenaha Municipality in 1835. With Texas independence in 1836 the political designation changed again. The new republic called it Shelby County. The first county seat was, briefly, called Nashville, yielding to the sentiments of some citizens to name Texas places after their former Tennessee home towns. But the same wisdom that had led John Richards away from a similar folly in the naming of his community in the North West corner of the county prevailed here too; the name was soon changes to Shelbyville.

Some folks said that Shelby County was lawless in the early days, that it was filled with the roughest and rowdiest folks in Texas, but that wasn’t true, at least not altogether true. Law came early to Shelby County in the form of a paragon of justice with three legs.

His name was Robert McAlpin Williamson. A childhood disease had permanently bent his right leg at the knee, but it didn’t slow him down much; a wooden peg was fixed to the knee of the bent leg. He did have to have his trousers specially made with three legs however; one for the working leg, one for the paralyzed leg and a third for his prosthetic limb.

When he came to Shelby County he was already a famous throughout Texas as a hero of the revolution. Among other distinctions he had been with Sam Houston at the battle of San Jacinto. Shelby County would add to his fame and mark him as a tough minded judge. When he was presiding in court he was your Honor or Judge Williamson, honorifics earned on the bench and enforced by a brace of long barreled pistols he always carried; but behind his back he was better known as Three Legged Willie.

The story is told that on his first day as a judge in Shelby County the court room was crowded and before the Judge could gavel the room to order a grizzled miscreant rose and shouted that they didn’t need or want a judge. Without invitation he strode up to the bench. Here is the law in Shelby County, he said pulling a Bowie knife from it’s sheath and slamming it down on the bench, and we like it that way.

Williamson didn’t miss a beat; a long barreled pistol appeared from beneath his coat. He used it to sweep the Bowie knife off the bench and then poked into the Rowdy’s face.

And, here is the Constitution of Texas the Judge said, and your law if found unconstitutional. Now sit down and shut up! From then on Three Legged Willie was in control.

But that period of sound justice and relative peace didn’t last long enough; by 1840 Judge Williamson was gone. He’d moved on to Austin to serve in the Texas Congress, and it was once again hard to distinguish the good guys form the bad guys in Shelby County. This was primarily because of the scarcity of good guys in residence in those days. An example of this was found in the famous feud that engulfed Shelby and other some other Counties in east Texas in the early 1840s.

There were two factions at odds with each other. The Regulators were vigilantes that were formed to quell the land swindles and cattle rustling that were rampant in Shelby County in those days. In reality they were the bad guys. The other faction was called the Moderators. This faction was formed to soften the hard edges of the vigilante justice espoused by the Regulators. In reality they were the even worse guys.

Sadly, the whole thing started with that bulwark of democracy; an election. Al George was running for county Sheriff. He was a reformer running on a reform platform, but the trouble was that there weren’t enough reformers to run for all the offices that were up for election. To alleviate that problem George asked a guy named Charlie Jackson to come over from Louisiana and join him on the Reform ticket as a candidate for a seat in the Texas Congress. Despite not living in Texas he thought running for office in Texas was a good idea.

Today, we think that our elections are pretty dirty, but in reality the times haven’t changed that much; In the 1840’s, just as now, if you ran for public office you had better be prepared to be spattered with mud. Al George could take it, he didn’t mind the name calling and false accusations, but Charlie Jackson had somewhat thinner skin. It might have had something to do with the fact that George won and even though it was a close race, Jackson didn’t.

Jackson believed that the seat in Congress had been stolen from him and he blamed a fellow named Sam Todd. In early Texas the rules were that you had to own land to vote, and as Sam Todd dealt in phony land certificates and had opposed him, the answer seemed obvious to Jackson, Sam Todd had stolen the election from him.

Jackson was not shy about sharing his accusations against Todd with everybody who would listen; but Todd had his champion. Joe Goodbread’s wife was related to Todd, and perhaps, to maintain peace in his household, Goodbread wrote Jackson a letter. History doesn’t record the details of what was in the letter; perhaps Goodbread accused Jackson of being a bad sport and outlined the proper rules of sportsmanship; or, perhaps he brought up those nasty rumors that had been spread during the election about Jackson being a fugitive from Louisiana justice. What is known is that Goodbread told Jackson in no uncertain terms to mind his own business.

Jackson didn’t like that letter. He felt that the whole thing had to do with the election and as he had been a candidate in that election, it was very much his business. Now in Europe, or even just across the Sabine River in Louisiana, a gentleman would ask his second to deliver a note to the person that was the offender challenging him to a duel. But this wasn’t Europe, or for that matter, it wasn’t even Louisiana, this was Texas, and in those days nobody ever accused any citizens of Shelby County of being gentlemen. Jackson grabbed his rifle and went to town.

He found Goodbread on the main street of Shelbyville, leaning up against a hitching post. Jackson pulled out the letter and threw it on the ground between them, then raised the rifle and pointed it at Goodbread.

Here’s your reply! he said.

Now, I was angry when I sent you that letter, Charley, Goodbread said. Besides, I’m unarmed.

The first part seemed irrelevant to Jackson and the second part, if anything, was a convenience. Jackson fired his rifle and Goodbread became the first victim of a feud that would soon engulf a good part of East Texas.

Jackson knew he would be indicted, and they would probably get a change of venue, due to his friendship with the Sheriff. But Jackson figured that the best defense was a good offence; so, he organized. That’s how the Regulators came to be.

He organized the good people of Shelby County who wanted an end to the crime, graft and corruption that was so prevalent. Well, maybe it wasn’t the good people; it might have been merely the folks who thought they were not getting their fair share of the crime, graft and corruption. Perhaps they were the folks who wanted to throw the bums out and put their own bums in; bums that would treat them right, that would give them a bigger piece of the pie. On the other side, the bums that were in decided they needed to organize too, and the Moderators came into being to counteract the Regulators.

In either case, when Jackson finally went to court in Harrison County in July of 1841 he took some friends with him - a hundred and fifty of his friends. Three Legged Willie was gone, and there weren’t many of his ilk. Judge Hanson was a friend of the Moderators, and had been a friend of Goodbread, but he didn’t think those friendships were worth his life. He looked around at the packed court room, at the men and at their rifles and pistols, at their Bowie knives and hatchets; then he cleared his throat and spoke.

Court adjourned! he said.

Now many of the Regulators were disappointed, they had come all the way from Shelby County for a trial that was over even before it was begun. So they took the opportunity to burn the houses of some folks named McFadden who were prominent Harrison County moderators.

The house burnings may not have been such a good idea after all. It wasn’t long after his day in court that Jackson was out riding when he ran into some of the McFadden family. The McFaddens promptly did unto Jackson what he had done unto Joe Goodbread.

But Jackson’s death didn’t end the feuding in Shelby County. Watt Moorman was another recent immigrant who had joined the Regulators. By sheer force of personality he took over as their leader. As it had been with Jackson, it wasn’t long before the rumors of Moorman’s shady past began to circulate. It was said that he was wanted for forgery in his home state of Mississippi.

Moorman’s first coup as leader of the Regulators was to track down the murderers of Charley Jackson and bring them back to Shelbyville for trial. The trial was conducted before the whole town, or at least the part of it that sided with the Regulators, which, it must be noted, was most of the population of Shelbyville. There were three McFadden brothers that were accused of Jackson’s murder. Such trifles as the motive of avenging the burning of their homes wasn’t even thought worthy of consideration by this Shelbyville kangaroo court and the two older brothers were convicted and hung. The youngest brother for some reason earned the town’s sympathy, and was turned loose.

For a time Moorman was considered a hero. The Regulators controlled the town and in Shelbyville Moorman’s word was pretty much law. But Moorman’s power proved to be short lived. The Regulators were vigilantes and vigilantes were by their nature power hungry. Before long the people got tired of ambush killings and began to fear that they might themselves be accused of violating some unwritten vigilante code. In addition, their enemies, the Moderators, were often down but never quite defeated. Every time the Regulators overstepped their bounds the Moderators would rebound in strength.

John Bradley was head of the Moderators and as such was Watt Moorman’s arch enemy. In reality Bradley didn’t have to do much to inflict damage on the Regulators, the Regulators were perfectly capable of hurting themselves.

The next flare up in the feud started because of a fellow named Stanfield. Stanfield, who boarded with a Regulator named Runnels, accused another Regulator of being a hog thief. The accused man was named Hall and the accusation against him, that he was a pig thief, may have been as insulting as it could possible to be; at least for that time and place. Not only did Stanfield besmirch Hall’s name but in what was becoming a typical Shelby County fashion he shot and killed him to boot.

Even though both the shooter and victim were Regulators, the Moderators didn’t have enough sense to stay out of this boondoggle. When the dead man’s friends asked the Moderators for help, the Moderators jumped in with both feet. When Stanfield escaped from the Shelbyville jail the Moderators were hot on his trail. Suspiciously, the