Halloran: United States Marshal

By Clayton Hobart Fox

Halloran begins on a cattle ranch near a small cluster of buildings
located in a mostly isolated area of early northwestern New Mexico
where young Barney Halloran grew up helping his father on the
family ranch. In his middle teens Barney began to practice his fast
draw with a burning desire to be the fastest, and to be a United States
Marshal. Both of these goals were realized. The story also tells of
his close friendship with another fast gun who shared his pursuit of
the lawless. I feel sure you will enjoy this story!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 1, 2008
• ISBN: 9781469121819

Clayton Hobart Fox

Mr. Fox has certainly led a most interesting life. He has been a policeman, a fireman, a logger, a newspaper reporter, a short story writer, a novelist and other ventures into the journalistic field. But during those days the urge to write poetry never left him and for several years his verses were distributed in wall hanging scroll form in freeway restaurants and gift shops and were very well received. Mr. Fox’s favorite form of poetry is Quatrain although he admits to a weakness for Limericks and the particular style of humor they express. His book of poetry, Poetic Escape, was published recently. Mr. Fox was born on July 20, 1920, and grew up in the great Willamette Valley of Oregon and lived there all of his life with the exception of a few brief stays in other states. Mr. Clayton Hobart Fox died on October 28, 2008, one day after he gave his final approval for the cover design and the inside format of this book.

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Copyright © 2009 by Clayton Hobart Fox.

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 the copyright owner.

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

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Dedication

for Uldine Arnold White, Holly Nelson, Bob Moore, and Jack Fox

Treasured Friends

Contents

CHAPTER 1 

CHAPTER 2 

CHAPTER 3 

CHAPTER 4 

CHAPTER 5 

CHAPTER 6 

CHAPTER 7 

CHAPTER 8 

Note from the editor 

CHAPTER 1

 

HIS PA HAD always told him that he didn’t care how much time young Barney Halloran spent practicing his fast draw out back of the tool shed so long as he always got his chores done first. The six shooter that he practiced with was a beautiful bone handled Colt forty four that had once belonged to his Uncle Brant, the uncle he had been so fond of and had always wanted to be like. But Uncle Brant who had a reputation for being fast had finally met the gunny who was faster than he was and young Barney had vowed to become so fast that there would never be anyone who could even equal his speed much less outdraw him! Seventeen year old Barney had always wanted to be a United States Marshal and wear one of those shiny badges on his chest just like the marshal he had once seen in the closest prairie town called ‘Short’. This was the goal he had set for himself.

His Ma’s grave marked with a crude wooden cross made of mesquite limbs was a hundred feet behind the two room shack that they called home. She was buried there with the tiny baby girl in her arms that she had tried to give life to. Young Barney remembered her well although it had been more than ten years since she died. He remembered how pretty she was and how safe and secure he always felt when she gathered him in her arms and gave him a hug and a kiss. He thought of her often and sometimes felt resentment because she had been so unfairly taken from him.

The prairie town where they went to buy supplies someone once said was named ‘Short’ because it was always short of everything except dirt, heat and had the worst home made hooch in this untamed West. Young Barney had begun to show considerable improvement on his fast draw and was gaining more confidence with each practice session until one day when they had gone to town for flour, sugar and a roll of barbed wire to extend a fence, he saw the gunman wearing two tied down six guns standing on the wooden porch in front of the general store. No matter how hard he tried he could hardly take his eyes off those beautifully matched guns and the way they hung with the butts turned slightly outwards.

See somethin’ you like kid? the gunman asked.

Young Barney, almost overcome with embarrassment, stammered Yes sir, I couldn’t help lookin’ at your beautiful guns.

Yeah, I can understand that. They are the finest that Sam Colt ever produced.

Boy, I’ll bet you’re sure fast! Barney blurted impulsively.

Tol’able fast, he laughed. But not as fast as I need to be to stay alive in this business and I like stayin’ alive so I’ve decided to hang up my guns before it’s too late and go back to punchin’ cattle.

You could become a lawman like I’m goin’ to do some day, Barney suggested.

That ain’t a whole lot different than hirin’ your gun out, he stated. By the way, what’s your name kid?

I’m Barney Halloran, sir

Well, you don’t need to be so formal with me. I’m Dirk Bradshaw and I’m ready to hang up these guns and go back to punchin’ cattle. Do you know of anyone around here hirin’? he asked.

Yes, sir, Barney eagerly responded. I think my Pa wants to hire someone.

Oh yeah? Where is your Pa?

He’s right here in the store. You want me to go get him?

No, let him finish what he’s doin’ and then I’ll ask him for a job.

Dirk Bradshaw began as a cowhand on the Halloran spread that same day. Barney’s Pa had been impressed by his forthrightness and his intent to hang up his guns forever. They found a comfortable cot in the general store and by rearranging things in the storage shed behind the house they made comfortable sleeping quarters for him. The Halloran spread was small but growing rapidly so they planned to build a bunkhouse soon in preparation for the day when more cowhands and a place for them to bunk would be needed.

There was always much to be done. Fences to be mended, strays to be rounded up, and calves and mavericks to be branded with the Halloran brand, a capital H with a diagonal capital I through it that was nearly impossible to alter. Then when they had some time free of ranch duties they worked at building the new bunkhouse. It was to be large enough to accommodate six bunks attesting to George Halloran’s optimistic plans for the Halloran spread.

Young Barney practiced his fast draw faithfully at least two hours every day mostly in the evening at twilight after the chores were done. One evening as he started his practice session just a couple of days after Dirk Bradshaw started working for them, Dirk came out to watch and stood there watching Barney practice without comment until Barney asked him, Am I doing alright?

Well, he began hesitantly, You’re reachin’ for the gun alright but the way you’re doin’ it you would lose in a real fight!

I would? a surprised Barney asked. Why?

Because in the time it would take you to pull back the hammer and cock the gun the other guy would blow you away!

How should I do it? He asked.

Keep your thumb straight out from your hand and then as you feel your hand touch the gun draw your thumb in and pull back the hammer as you draw the gun out of the holster, then as you finish the draw your gun is cocked and ready to fire.

Wow! I would never have thought of that. Gee, thanks a lot!

That’s okay kid. Just keep practicin’ like I told you and then later on I’ll show you somethin’ else.

Oh boy with you learnin’ me I’m goin’ to be the fastest gun in the whole world!

Whoa now kid. You keep that up and I’ll get the big head for sure.

The days passed swiftly with Barney practicing his fast draw regularly and growing ever faster and better coordinated. His friendship with Dirk Bradshaw had developed into a strong bond in spite of the difference in their ages.

Several weeks after he told Barney about how to hold his thumb extended to cock the weapon one evening as Barney was preparing to start practicing Dirk brought him one of his matched holsters and told him, This is a gift. I’ll never need it again and it can help your fast draw.

Oh gosh, Barney began, suddenly overcome with emotion. You don’t really want to give this away do you?

I’m not just givin’ it away. I’m givin’ it to you because you’re my friend and it just might help you stay alive. The holster you’re usin’ is just a little too deep and could interfere with your draw when you’re up against someone really fast.

It belonged to my uncle and he was pretty fast, young Barney observed.

Yeah, and he’s dead too isn’t he! Aw, I’m sorry kid, I didn’t mean that.

Oh that’s alright. You’re probably right, he said as he unbuckled his gun belt to change holsters. Here, you take mine, he said as he slipped Dirk’s holster onto his belt. I don’t have anythin’ to give to you.

You don’t need to kid. You’re the reason I’ve got this great job!

In the weeks to come Barney’s fast draw became so incredibly fast that it was just a blur and too fast for the human eye to register. His friend Dirk was just as pleased and proud as he could be. Hey kid, he told him one evening, You’re faster than I ever thought of being. You’re really good!

Gee thanks Dirk, comin’ from you that makes me feel real good but now I have to start workin’ on my aim. It ain’t very good.

Wait just a minute, Barney, while I go put my guns on and I’ll practice with you.

That’s great. Go ahead I’ll wait, Barney replied.

With a tin can for each of them sitting on a fence post fifty feet away, side by side they prepared to draw and fire. Barney’s gun was drawn much faster than Dirk’s but Barney missed the target while Dirk’s can went flying with a bullet hole in it. See what I mean, Barney said with a note of disgust in his voice.

Aw hell kid, don’t let that bother you. It takes a lot of practice so now I’m goin’ to show you somethin’ that might help. Point your finger at that can.

Point my finger?

Yeah, point your finger.

What good will that do?

Never mind, just do it. When he pointed his finger at the can Dirk told him, Alright now, put your hand down at your side.

When he did this Dirk said, Now pretend that you’re drawin’ your gun and point your finger again just like it was a gun. Always keep in mind that aimin’ a gun is just like pointin’ your finger. A lot of people have learned good shootin’ by just practicin’ pointin’ their finger.

I’ll do it, Barney agreed, But I’ll probably feel foolish.

Don’t worry about that, Dirk reassured him. It’s the results that count most so draw and fire once in a while instead of just pointin’ your finger. The finger pointin’ helps your eye find the target faster and teaches you to aim the gun just like you were pointin’ your finger.

The following few weeks saw a dramatic improvement in young Barney’s shooting. Often he and Dirk would practice together and now the tables were turned. Barney was outshooting his friend Dirk regularly.

See! I told you so didn’t I? Dirk remarked one time after one of their practice sessions. You paid attention and boy, oh boy, did it ever pay off!

Yes, it did, thanks to you. Barney replied.

Aw come on kid, don’t be givin’ me all the credit. You’re the one who did all the hard work.

Just the same, if it hadn’t been for you showin’ me how, maybe I wouldn’t ever have learned.

Oh yes you would. You’re a smart guy and you would have figured it out.

Maybe so but it sure would have taken me a lot longer.

CHAPTER 2

 

THE NEW BUNKHOUSE had been completed for some months and already had two occupants besides Dirk. They had been hired to bring in many of the longhorn cattle that had roamed these parts free for years. As they were brought in they were branded and added to the Halloran herd. It was said that the ancestors of these cattle had been brought to the New World from Spain by Spanish conquerors like Cortez and then simply turned loose when they returned to Spain. In addition to branding, in many cases the enormous span of their horns had to be sawed off to keep them from hurting themselves or other animals in the herd.

Barney was no longer a teenager. It had been close to four years since he and Dirk Bradshaw had become friends and in those four years there had been many changes. A good sturdy bunkhouse, two extra cowpunchers, the cattle herd doubled several times, Dirk promoted to ranch foreman and it was Barney’s twenty-first birthday. Not only that, in addition to the two new cowhands they had also hired a cook. He was a crotchety old coot but an excellent cook so he could be forgiven for his poor disposition. In those years they had added two new rooms to what was now called the west wing on this one time two room shack! The place was starting to take on the look of a fine ranch house. The cook had a room of his own in this newly added space