Sam Bass - A Dead Man's Hand, Aces and Eights: Texas Outlaw Series, #1

By Sidney St. James

$5,000 REWARD. Wanted Dead or Alive. Notorious Badman. SAM BASS, alias Sam Bushon, and Honest Eph. If sighted, immediately call the nearest U. S. Marshall's Office.

After a month of moving BeeBop Publishing Group to Georgetown, Texas from Brenham, Texas, I took a ride south on IH-35 from Georgetown to Austin. I couldn't help but notice a large green and white highway sign that said Sam Bass Road. I became interested where this road went, exited, and followed it to a road sign for A. W. Grimes Boulevard.

I'm not sure why, but I needed to find out who these people were just like I did when I wrote a story about the Runaway Scrape in Texas and discovered Three-Legged Willie's statue on the town square in Georgetown.

As a legend, as is with all folklore, the account of Sam Bass' life is as varied as there are books written about him and his exploits in the late 1800s.

Sam Bass and his gang held up two stagecoaches while in Deadwood, South Dakota in 1877. Sam had a fling with Calamity Jane and sat in the same chair Wild Bill Hickok sat before being shot in a poker game holding a Dead Man's Hand, Aces and Eights. Such a hand was said to have been held by Wild Bill Hickok, a lawman, and gunfighter and good friend of Sam Bass.

In the fall of 1877, Sam Bass and his Horse Marines robbed the eastbound Union Pacific passenger train and came away with over $60,000 in twenty-dollar gold pieces. After a successful robbery, they split up into pairs and went in all directions. Some were caught. Bass was an excellent transformist and disguised himself as a poor farmer and made his way back to Denton County, Texas, with his share of the gold.

In the springtime of 1878, Sam and his gang robbed four trains within twenty miles of Dallas. Word was sent to Governor Hubbard that something needed to be done. The bandits became the object of a spirited chase across North Texas by reward-seeking citizens and a specialized company of Texas Rangers headed by Junius Peak.

Follow the life story of Sam Bass from his childhood days to his last days in Round Rock, Texas, on July 21, 1878. Even though this notorious outlaw spent less than a week in this small community, his short visit put the town on world atlases. He also had a major street named after him.

It wasn't only a few years ago the community got together and named a boulevard after Deputy A. W. Grimes, the man Sam Bass was accused of killing in 1878. Unlike John Wesley Hardin, Bass had no notches on his gun handle and once joked about selling his revolver for money.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BeeBop Publishing Group
• Release date: Sep 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393698609

Sidney St. James

Sidney St. James is an extraordinary author who has made his mark in the world of science fiction suspense. With a creative mind that knows no bounds, St. James weaves captivating tales that transport readers to thrilling and otherworldly realms. His unique ability to blend the elements of science fiction with heart-pounding suspense has garnered him a dedicated following of readers eager to embark on their next exhilarating adventure. Born with an insatiable curiosity and a love for all things speculative, St. James found his calling in the realm of science fiction. From a young age, he was drawn to the limitless possibilities and unexplored frontiers of the genre. Influenced by literary greats and inspired by the wonders of the cosmos, St. James embarked on a writing journey that would push the boundaries of imagination and captivate readers with their visionary tales. St. James' science fiction novels are a testament to their boundless creativity and meticulous attention to detail. With each page, readers are transported to intricate and fully realized worlds, where technological advancements, extraterrestrial encounters, and moral dilemmas abound. His skillful storytelling keeps readers on the edge of their seats, as they navigate through a maze of suspense, intrigue, and thought-provoking concepts. In addition to his literary accomplishments, St. James is an avid pickleball player. This dynamic sport, which combines elements of tennis, badminton, and table tennis, serves as a source of balance and inspiration for St. James. The strategic gameplay and the camaraderie of the pickleball community provide a welcome respite from the boundless realms of science fiction that occupies his mind. As St. James continues to push the boundaries of the science fiction suspense genre, his unique blend of imagination, suspense, and pickleball prowess sets him apart as a true force to be reckoned with. With each new novel, readers eagerly anticipate the next thrilling journey that St. James will take them on, whether it's unraveling the mysteries of distant galaxies or engaging in a high-stakes match on the pickleball court. Sidney St. James is a true visionary and an author whose stories and pickleball skills will leave readers and opponents alike in awe.

Book preview

SAM BASS

The Dead Man’s Hand

Aces and Eights

John Wesley Hardin

Wild Bill Hickok

Calamity Jane

Emmanuel Clements

The True Story About

The

Robinhood of Texas

Sidney St. James

Published by BeeBop Publishing Group

Character names are from names found in history. Historical events depict what occurred during the 1870s portraying scenes built from these events in creative nonfiction style by the author.

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, come from the King James Version (KJV) of the Bible in the public domain.

All lyrics shown throughout this novel are from songs written before 1923 and are in the public domain.

Copyright © 2019 by Sidney St. James

SECOND EDITION

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from Sidney St. James, except where permitted by law.

Published simultaneously in Canada and the United States by Sidney St. James and the BeeBop Publishing Group.

The jacket format and design of this book are protected trade dresses and trademarks of Sidney St. James.

PAPERBACK

ISBN-13: 978-1976372537

ISBN-10: 1976372534

Find James at www.sidneystjames.com

Or

On Instagram at sidneyst.james

DEDICATION

This novel is dedicated to my mother, who worked in her rose garden all afternoon the day before bringing me into this world. Thanks, Mom for the green thumb and your loving support all my life!

PROLOGUE

The sun sank lower in the sky, the light of day drained away, giving way to what soon would be the velvety purple darkness of night. The dusky colors subdued in the fading light, and there was the first buzz of mosquitoes.

The shadows of each passing cedar tree were now twice as long as themselves. The heat of the day ebbed to a comforting warmth.

James Surrey and his horse stumbled down a steep path where there was a stream that was slow-flowing, languid in pace, and lax by nature. This same stream, known as Brushy Creek, could quickly turn into a mighty divulge after a simple one-inch rain.  

A light rain began to fall over the next hour, and Surrey stopped his horse and pictured the Creek with torrents of water passing its meandering path with rapids flicking up against a large white boulder in the middle. The massive rock rose out of the center, partly submerged as Surrey listened and could hear the hiss of far off waterfalls which were the screams of previous travelers caught in a flash flood.

Those who traveled this path outside Round Rock, Texas find that this stream was a reminder to all that witness its majesty the ignorance of presumption, and the existence of exemption.  We can hear the thoughts, We thought the gentle stream an easy conquest, and then you hear the drowned travelers who passed before him say, we were wrong!

The newspaper reporter continued following a set of hoof prints, not knowing for sure if they belonged to the most notorious outlaw in Texas or just another weary traveler.

He and his horse were wearied from being in the saddle all day. He stopped and tied his horse to a long-hanging live oak branch. The journalist camped for the evening, taking the time to build a fire from the dry mesquite branches lying under an oak tree which luckily remained dry.

Thank goodness. The light rain left as quickly as it arrived, but behind it was a chill of the northerly winds. The heat from the campfire seemed to be sucked into the frigid air before ever reaching the reporter’s chilled hands. He added more wood and poked it with a long stick found propped up by the nearby oak tree.

James sat close to the flickering flames adding warmth to an evening chill. Nothing was stirring. The night was at rest and tranquil, with a vast canopy of blue overhead. A sliver of the moon appears in the heavens.

The flames seemed to die a little as if unsure of itself. After continuing to stir the sticks in the fire, the blaze found its confidence and grew until the heat warmed his cold body. He sat and watched the orange and red flames celebrate with their wild flickering dancing.

The next morning the sound of crows departing their roost to go find morning rations woke James. The sun climbed high in the morning sky. Again, the correspondent worries if he is on the right track. What a glorious summer morning, not a cloud overhead.

James saddled up his horse and stares across a nearby field where there were thousands upon thousands of bluebonnets, their petals holding hundreds of beads of water, each one a perfect sphere, brilliant in the morning rays.

The reporter grew more alarmed with each passing hour of his search. Every time a sound was made in the underbrush, he stopped his horse and glanced around him.

The horse’s hooves split the silence as the lone stallion walked through the cedar infested landscape. He was a flame-colored chestnut. Sugar was his name. His muscles rippled from under his shining coat.

James continued his trek, trying to find a man his editor assigned him to interview for the local newspaper in his hometown of Galveston.

He continued to ride bit by bit, stumbling over the broken limestone rocks along the creek bottom. Surrey lost track of the previously made hoof prints. Some were washed away from the previous night’s light rainfall.

He and his horse meandered across the irregular paths alongside the brook searching for signs of an exit. The shade from one of the Live Oaks overhanging the creek was a comforting shield from the scorching heat bearing down on him, getting hotter each minute as the sun lifted higher and higher.

He refused to let his imagination linger on the dangers ahead.  He couldn’t help it. I wonder what I will do if I find him. Am I stupid for journeying deeper into the creek? The outlaws might all show up at one time, and my life will be snuffed out for sure.

Continuing to tread his horse down the side of the rivulet, he stopped for a moment, squinted his eyes and turned his ear in the direction of a snort. The sound of a horse’s bray echoed through the mesquite branches.  Continuing on the path around a bend in the creek bottom, he came to an abrupt stop.

Whoa, Shit! Oh, sorry. Hello, sir, you startled me.

A man was propped up against a massive mesquite tree with crooked limbs spread halfway across the creek. He was holding a six-shooter in his left hand, lying across his chest.  His right hand, bandaged up with a handkerchief, was gripping his side where his shirt was drenched with blood.

The man held his handkerchief over the wound in his chest. The blood oozed between the spaces in his fingers while the cowboy kept it covered with his shaky hand. His vision became blurrier, and all he could see was the scarlet blood that once flowed in his veins. Each drop of blood slowly took away the life in him, leaving the outlaw pale and weak, yet defying death.

James stopped and stared at him, holding his revolver. He was not sure if he should pull his gun or remain calm and still.

Hello, Mister, the man leaning against the tree said in a weak and trembling voice. His wounded body appeared drained, hollow, and lifeless.

Hello. I’m James Surrey, a journalist with the Galveston News. He stirred uneasily in his saddle.

The stranger took a deep, shuddering breath and gazed up at him. Well, James Surrey, no need to ride any further. You caught up to me. I assume you’re looking for me, or my men, right? His hands were shaking so badly, the gun slipped right out of them and fell along his side.

Yes, sir. He paused. No, sir. I mean, sorry I am not sure who you are. The boy, not much older than fifteen years, continued to fumble over his words. A warning voice whispered in his head. Are you Mister Bass? The young lad couldn’t breathe. It felt as if someone was choking him. His heart was racing. All he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and wait for the posse to come and save him.

"My goodness boy, you’re a journalist, right? My wanted poster hangs in every town between here and Galveston. You know the one, Sam Bass, Wanted Dead or Alive. Reward of $10,000." A faint light twinkled in the depth of his dark eyes.

Yes sir, Mister Bass. I didn’t know what to say with you holding your six-shooter there and all. Are you going to open fire on me?

I am not going to shoot you, Jimmy boy. Not unless you call me Mister Bass again. Call me, Sam. He raised his revolver up and pointed it in his direction. The boy could forget about the sheriff’s men arriving. It wasn’t going to happen. It seemed as if this was the end of the road for him!

My God, he is going to shoot me for sure.  I suppose I should draw my gun and shoot first. Nope, not a good idea. He is notorious for always getting the first shot off. I will be dead for sure. Jim took a long deep breath and knew his end was in sight. He stood frozen in his tracks with beads of sweat rolling down the side of his forehead.

Sam Bass could no longer hold the gun up and pointed at the boy. He sat it down next to him.  He tired of clasping it up and was glad to relinquish his protection in front of the young journalist.

He laid in the mesquite brush, his body stiff and aching, trying to remember where he was. The loss of so much blood didn’t help matters. Boy, tie your filly up over there by mine near the tree.  Come. Come over here and sit down. I’m not going anywhere. The pain in his chest once burning like fire faded away to an icy numbness. Blackness began to fill the edges of his vision. His breath came in ragged and shallow gasps.

James tied the reins of his horse to a nearby branch and walked over to Sam Bass, weakened from the loss of so much blood.

Mister Bass, is there, he hesitated a moment with a frightened look on his face, Oh, sorry, Sam, is there anything I can do for you? He asked, wanting to put all the pieces together.

Boy, I did a lot of things wrong in my lifetime.  I’m getting weaker, and I know I can’t stop the bleeding.  It’s only a matter of time before the curtains close on my stage.  I see your pencil is sharpened and you’re holding your writing pad. Here, he patted the ground next to him, come and sit. There’s much to talk about.

Mister Bass-

Sam Bass began to raise his revolver. Okay, first thing young fella, you will address me as Sam if we are going to get through this interview. He started back and forth on the sloping hillside of the creek, trying to find a more comfortable position.

Okay, Sam, thanks for allowing me to write your memoirs and last recollections. His face clouded with uneasiness. Sorry Mister uh, sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to say last recollections. Drops of moisture clung to his damp forehead.

It’s alright boy. History books will make all sorts of mistakes after I’m gone.  I will give you the complete story before I die. You must promise to print it all, word for word after I am gone. His smile widened, his teeth bright white in his tanned face.

I sure will, Sam! James rolled out a blanket next to Sam.  Before I begin asking questions, Sam, is there anything I can do for you?  Do you need some water? Whiskey?

You know something, James? I think a good shot of hooch will do me good. The pain is almost unbearable. He bit his lower lip and tried to control the agony.

The journalist pulled out a small bottle of whiskey from his saddlebag and brought it to Sam.

Before beginning, Sam gazed out over the far-stretching creek and the oak trees alongside the narrow brook. With his eyes, half-closed, he stared at the glow of the late afternoon sunlight breaking through the leaf-covered branches. A slight smile tipped the corners of his mouth.

James, with a pencil in hand, began to sketch Sam Bass as he first saw him when he came around the bend of the creek. What a memorable day!  This interview will be a remarkable story. It will give the world a lasting view of the General!

James, there’s one more thing before we begin. Will you get my Bible out of the saddlebag on my horse?  I would like to hold it instead of my revolver while you carry on with your interview. He spoke in an odd yet gentle tone.

The young boy walked over to the horse and pulled out of the saddlebag a dog-eared yellow-stained Bible. It was apparent Sam, on many occasions, turned to the scriptures by the appearance of the wrinkled pages.

James, stay the evening with me. I gave my rifle, my other pistol, and pocketbook to Frank Jackson. I know I will never need them again.

The youngster sat down and leaned against his saddle. He prepared to write in his journal.

Okay, James, let’s see, where shall we begin? Sam lowered his voice after taking a long sigh, realizing his loss of blood made him too weak to move. His voice faded, losing its steely edge.

Sam Bass, during the long weary hours of the night, laid in the silent woods alone with his new young friend. They were joined by the sound of a nighttime screech owl. With his body wracked by pain and his mind harassed with the hopelessness of escape, Sam slumbered off into a lasting sleep not knowing if he would ever wake again.

Chapter ONE

The Early Days

It was July twenty -first at four o’clock in the afternoon on the farm outside of Mitchell, Indiana. The skies were overcast, and it was the fifth day in a row, the heavens unfolded, and the rain fell like cats and dogs.

Though the grass outside the porch steps looked normal, one step forward told a different story. After several days of rainfall, any pressure would bring up the water, soaking the feet. To keep the feet from getting wet, one must wear boots.

Elizabeth was in the bedroom, the door closed, with her sister and mother, about to deliver her fifth child. Daniel, her loving husband of eleven years, paced back and forth outside on the wooden front porch.

When the labor began, the pain was more intense than anything she experienced before. Or, was it her imagination? Nothing could be more brutal, no whips or chains. The room was only the bed and four walls, her mother and sister melted into the background as if they weren’t even there.

Then, a loud cry was heard, a child was born, and it was as if only sunshine existed in the world, and the earth was ushered into harmony!

She looked into those big brown eyes, a new consciousness, perfect and reaching out for her love. In one split instant, she knew she would do anything to protect her newborn baby boy. She was a mother and would always be!

The door swung open. Daniel, no doubt, couldn’t miss the sound of a baby crying. He rushed through the opening but was stopped short of entering by Lizzie’s mother. Now, Daniel, you need to wait a bit longer. The baby is fine, but we need to clean up a bit before you come in.

He turned away from the door, afraid of what he might see. He waited a moment until another invitation was extended to him.

Hun, you can come in now. There was a gentle softness in her voice.

He ambled in and gazed over at Lizzie on the bed. A wide grin crossed her face. She was holding their newest bundle of joy. Sweetheart, we are the parents of a baby boy!

Daniel walked up to Lizzie’s bedside and bent down to give her a kiss on her forehead. He reached over and pulled the bedspread from around the baby’s face.

What are you doing, Dan? You don’t need to remove the blanket to find out you are the proud father of another bouncing baby boy!

The warmth of Lizzie’s smile echoed in her voice. What are we going to call him?

Well, I thought of several names, but what name would you like to give the boy?

Daniel reached up and rubbed his chin and contemplated his answer. Well dear, unless you mind, I think I want to call him Frank. Are you okay with that? The warmth in his grin echoed in his voice.

Frank, it is!

Lizzie glanced to the other side of the room. Sitting in the corner were George, Euphemia, and Clarissa with anxious expressions on their faces awaiting their turn to welcome their new brother to the family.  Lizzie’s sister was holding Solomon since he was learning how to crawl, trying to keep him out of trouble.

Daniel and Lizzie continued to live outside of Mitchell, Indiana and raised their family. Over the years that passed by, Lizzie gave birth to two girls, Bessie and Sarah.

It was June third, 1861, Lizzie’s sister Sarah was invited to stay over with Daniel and Lizzie. They were expecting their tenth child.

Sarah dipped a cloth rag into a bowl of water and wrung out the excess. She reached up and rubbed Lizzie’s forehead.  Beads of moisture flowed down the side of her head. Lizzie honey, your skin is so pale. You are burning up. Are you okay? Can I do something for you? A short moment of silence followed. Sarah walked over to the window and returned to Lizzie’s bedside.

Lizzie began to respond. Ahhhh! Dang, it hurts!

You can do this. Stare right at me, Liz. Try to concentrate on me, nothing else.

Sarah, this is it. I am going to stop hanging Daniel’s pants on the clothesline from this day forward-

Before she could finish what she wanted to say, another contraction came. Sarah, I don’t think something is right. I didn’t undergo this much pain with all the other children. Ten. That’s right! Ten boys and girls.  I think-. Owwwww! She bit her lip and glanced away.

Sarah again wiped the perspiration from her brow and rubbed her shoulders back and forth, wanting to comfort her as best as possible. Lizzie, I am going to go and get some more wash rags. I’ll be right back. Her face clouded with uneasiness.

Sarah left the room and went into the living room and found Daniel and all the other children waiting in anticipation. Daniel, will you walk with me to the front porch?

What is it, Sarah? A suffocating sensation tightened in his throat.

For several hours, Liz has been experiencing one contraction after another. I still do not see any sign of the baby coming. I am worried the baby is breached.

Breached?

Yes, Daniel. There’s not a doctor for miles. I am afraid we need to go and get the baby, or it will not survive. Neither will, Liz.

Go and get the baby! You’re not talking about what I think you are talking about, are you Sarah? His eyebrows raised in response to the confusion.

Yes, I’m Daniel. She swallowed hard trying to manage a feeble answer.

Oh, Sarah, I don’t think I can-.  I...I just don’t-

It’s okay, Daniel. Will you run up the road and get Maggie to come and be of assistance? We two can try and save the baby together. Hurry!

Daniel, with haste, hurried up the road to search out his neighbor Maggie for assistance.  She agreed and came right away.

Maggie wasted no time and rushed into the room on her arrival. Lizzie’s eyes were half-closed. Her skin was as pale as a ghost. Sarah, what do you want me to do?

Maggie, I never delivered a breech baby before, have you?

No, I’m afraid not. I don’t suppose it is any different than pulling a calf, except it will hurt a whole lot more.

Whoa, girls, what are y’all talking about? Lizzie experienced increasing uneasiness under their scrutiny.

Hi, Liz. We thought you fell asleep.

Sarah, you must be out of your mind. How can I go to sleep now? Her breasts lifted and fell with her labored breathing.

You’re right. I suppose I am stupid to even think such a thing. Sorry. Sarah held her tears in check.

No, you are doing fine.  Hello, Maggie. I see Sarah drug you into this mess. A light laugh came from Lizzie trying to find some humor in what was happening.

Lizzie, Maggie agrees with me. The baby’s butt appears to want to come out, but the child is turned around.

And...

Well, we need your call on this.  We can try to deliver the breech baby and save his life, or let you continue to work and have the baby-.

I want my baby delivered. If we need to do this to save my child’s life, we need to do it. She closed her eyes, bit her lower right lip and lets out a loud moan. With each contraction came a pain that dominated Lizzie’s entire being. At this moment, for these seconds that passed, there was nothing else.

Okay. Sarah pressed both hands over her eyes. They burned with weariness.

Maggie rolled up a washrag. Lizzie, I know your labor is agonizing right now, but this might be even more painful. Here, put this wash rag in your mouth and bite down hard. When you give us the nod, we will deliver the baby.

One more thing, I need to go let Daniel know what we are doing. Give me one minute.

One minute, are you-! Lizzie’s eyes were wide open as she watched her sister leave the room.

Sarah rushed out the door and up to Daniel. We are getting ready to deliver the baby. He or she was breech, and Liz gave us the go-ahead.  Maggie and I wanted to let you know.

Okay, we’ll be here waiting.

Sarah returned to the bedroom, stopped and gazed over at her sister. She took a deep breath and walked up next to the bed. Well, my darling sister, did you ever think I would be the one to help deliver your tenth baby?  Remember during our younger years when we played house? We both said we could not wait to get old so we could each give birth to twenty babies.  Well, you are halfway there.

Oh, God, Sis, you got too good of a memory. I think ten is enough! Pain seared through her abdomen like that of a branding iron. Her mind conceded to the torment, unable to bring a thought to completion.

Sarah, my goodness, you said it right, back then. Playing house and real life, now that’s two different things. But, yes, I can recollect. I am older, and my poor ole body cannot handle any more of this. This is the last one! I mean it. This is the last! You two girls go for it. I’m ready! Liz took the washrag, pushed her head down into her pillow, and nodded her head.

Sarah began by first trying to spin the baby around. The screams, even though muffled by her biting down on the washrag, heighten beyond all expectation.

Sarah was unable to turn the baby around and pushed the baby up and was able to straighten the legs.  The legs were coming out first. Liz, hang in there. I know it hurts, but we are almost there. Sarah continued to pull.

What can I do, Sarah? Maggie fought hard against the tears she refused to let fall.

Here, quick, you grab one of the feet. I will grasp the other. We will pull at the same time.

Sarah and Maggie tugged together. The baby, slow as molasses on pancakes, began to move. In an instant, the newborn decided to turn itself loose and slid right out.

Oh, Liz, my goodness...

Liz was weak but was more than aware the pressure was over. What do you mean my goodness? Her heavy lashes shadowing her cheeks flew up. Her courage and determination were like a rock inside her.

No problem, Liz, there’s no doubt. Well now, congratulations, you are the mother of a handsome baby boy. Sarah and Maggie began laughing. The baby boy was well endowed.

They clean up the mess, wrap the baby in a blanket and go out and gather the family to come and greet their new baby brother.

After the brothers and sisters came and welcomed their newest member of the family, they left the room.  Sam didn’t go with the others and walked over and held his mother’s hand. Mamma, are you alright? You’re white as a ghost. Sam found it impossible to steady his erratic pulse.

I am weak honey from having the little one. I will be fine. Liz looked over at Daniel and moved her head left and right.

Sam boy, run along now and join your brothers and sisters? We will finish doctoring on your mother? Sarah began to tremble as fearful images built in her mind.

Okay, Daddy. Mamma, can I name our new baby brother? He leaned close to the newborn baby, and his bright blue-green eyes found his. The baby’s little face glowed from a light within, and his tiny fingers grasped Sam’s little finger and held tight.

Daniel and Lizzie glimpsed at each other. A smile crossed their faces. Why, of course, Sam. What name would you like to give your new baby brother?

John Denton Bass.

Well, it’s settled, John Denton it shall be. Now run along Sam and let our friends help your mother. She spoke in a broken whisper.

A few weeks passed. Neither Lizzie nor John Denton was doing any better. They get weaker and weaker. It is difficult to stop the internal bleeding after the delivery.

Daniel watched Lizzie and John Denton in bed, both deep in ten shades of agony