Warner Law

By JL ‘Doc’ Pendland

J.L. Doc Pendland was born in Northern Oklahoma,
just a short 36 years after the former Indian Territory
gained statehood. After graduating high school
(nowhere near the honor roll) his work took him to
North Texas, where he still lives with Carolyn, his
wife of 49 years. Fifteen years after retirement, he
began writing The Wagons of Perro Loco and other
short stories. Much of the humor in his stories is readily
supplied by friends and relatives, telling tales of their
ancestors experiences, which he likes to enhance and
incorporate. Doc is currently working on a sequel to
Warner Law.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477123300

JL ‘Doc’ Pendland

J.L. ‘Doc’ Pendland was born in Northern Oklahoma, just a short 36 years after the former Indian Territory gained statehood. After graduating high school (nowhere near the honor roll) his work took him to North Texas, where he still lives with Carolyn, his wife of 49 years. Fifteen years after retirement, he began writing “The Wagons of Perro Loco and other short stories.” Much of the humor in his stories is readily supplied by friends and relatives, telling tales of their ancestors’ experiences, which he likes to ‘enhance’ and incorporate. Doc is currently working on a sequel to Warner Law.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by JL ‘Doc’ Pendland.

Library of Congress Control Number:           2012910006

ISBN:                    Hardcover                      978-1-4771-2329-4

ISBN:                    Softcover                       978-1-4771-2328-7

ISBN:                    Ebook                            978-1-4771-2330-0

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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Contents

Dedication

Warner Law

Introduction

PART ONE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

PART TWO

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

PART 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Dedication

I want to dedicate the book to my children and grandchildren.

Also I want to give credit for the drawings to my wife, Carolyn, and my grand-daughter, Sarah.

Warner Law

The last half of the nineteenth century was a turbulent time in the growth of the United States as thousands of settlers moved west.

The 1850’s saw many Native American Indians massacred or imprisoned by the U.S. Army, religious groups, state governments, and by settlers… whether out of fear, prejudice, or self-defense.

Greed, enhanced by gold and silver discoveries in the Rocky Mountains and west to California, made the problems worse.

The most tragic event in American history was the barbarous ‘Civil War’ during the 1860’s.

As the nation begins the rebuilding process, the Warner sons, Amos and Rafe, return home from the war to Pine Valley, Colorado. Their mother, Olivia ‘Liv’vie’ Warner, has acquired additional land holdings making Brandon Ranch one of the largest in the state.

Both Amos and Rafe find love in the fiery, red haired, Simpson girls, Bobbie and Veronica (Ronnie).

When gold is discovered on the ranch, an unlikely partnership develops between the Warners and a smart, old prospector who loves telling tall tales almost as much as finding gold. The wacky old T.W. White eventually is accepted as a family member. Claim jumping, torture and rape lead to frontier justice, which quickly becomes known wide and far as the first example of Warner Law.

Whether administered by the U.S. Marshal’s Service, or a woman rancher with greying hair, Warner Law eventually reaches as far as South Texas and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

Introduction

As I held my sons tight in my arms, I thought of the last time I saw them. Four years ago, they had left the high country for a five-year hitch in the Union Army. The year had been 1863, and the southern states had decided to withdraw from the Union, to form their own country.

It had been a terrible conflict, with both sides losing so many fine young men to a senseless war. Untold property losses resulted in even more deaths, due to poverty, greed, disease, suicide and numerous other reasons.

Although no battles were fought here, in the mountains of Colorado, the effects of the war had been felt in many ways.

Food and supplies, from the east and the south, were hard to get because the troops were in need, and were a priority. Freight companies and stagecoach lines lost the bulk of their assets, due to seizure from one side or the other. The supplies that did reach this area commanded a premium price, which caused many people to leave, usually traveling farther west. Nobody wished to get more entangled in the country’s problems being caused by the war.

Many people’s sons left for the war, only to never be seen, nor heard from, again. I bowed my head between my sons and thanked the Lord for delivering them home, safely.

Westward bound wagon trains were leaving Denver each week, heading for California, Washington, and Oregon. The rich, fertile farm lands, combined with warm climate and good rainfall, were attracting hundreds of new settlers every month.

Quite often, those who left the mountains would sell, or even give, their property to the ones who were able to stay. As a result of the migration, my holdings had grown to more than eight hundred thousand acres, nearly thirteen hundred square miles, from the Panhandle Mountains to Witch Peak, and everything south of Misha River. Duke’s Canyon was the southern border. The widest point of Pine Valley was about seventy-five miles across and some places were less than five. The shortest route from the river, to the canyon, was a winding trail, of about one hundred forty miles.

The heights of the surrounding mountains held the most dangerous weather away from Brandon Ranch. The summer days seldom reached more than eighty-five degrees. The winters were cold, but heavy snowfall had a hard time getting high enough to cross the Panhandles. The spring-fed streams were full of trout, and rarely froze enough to stop flowing.

My valley was full of wild game and mustangs, who could find shelter when needed, amongst one of the several stands of timber. As beautiful and wonderful as it was, it was a lonely place for the last four years.

Because of the high danger assignment they had performed for the army, my sons were released from their military obligations ten months early. Now, both my boys were home.

Pine Valley was a beautiful place again.

Amos, now twenty-three, is an even six feet tall, with his father’s slim build and handsome face. He always was the first to recognize the need for anything, that would make our ranching easier or better. He can draw a sketch of a better catch pen, for the horses, more practical handles, wheels, draft harness, gear ratios, gate latches, and so on.

Anything Amos can think of, Rafe can build.

Rafe is one year and nine days younger than his brother. He stands six feet, three inches tall and outweighs Amos by thirty pounds. I guess he got his size and skills from my father, who Rafe idolized. When he was a child, everywhere Pap went, Rafe was on his heels or in his way. Pap took the time to answer every question the boy would ask, and gave him instructions on many things, even some which weren’t questioned.

Rafe is a carpenter, blacksmith, mason, and there is no one within a hundred miles, who can do better leather work. His term of service, with the Union Army, was spent as a sharpshooter.

He was shooting field mice off barn rafters when he was only five years old.

I was only twenty-one when Rafe was born, a big, happy, smiling baby, who rarely cried. He always laughed when Amos would toddle around his crib, making the jabbering noises of a one-year old. My boys have a special bond that nobody understands but them. I’ve never seen them fight, nor argue, like most brothers will at least occasionally do.

Amos is usually the first to make a suggestion, or even a comment. Rafe quickly agrees most of the time. On the rare occasion Rafe doesn’t think the same way, there’s no disagreement, just a different suggestion. Either way, the job gets done, the game gets played, or the idea gets passed along to me for approval.

Now, my wonderful boys are home. The war is over, and my boys are home.

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PART ONE

Liv’vie Warner

Chapter 1

You! Both! Get yourselves a bath, but first kill me two chickens! I’ll pick ’em and get some fire going in the stove. It’ll take about an hour to get ’em fried and the taters to get boiled and mashed. First one out of the tub, get me some milk. It’s hanging in the well on the horsehair rope, don’t bother the linen one. Your ma’s fixin’ you the best damn supper you’ve had in four years, As I smiled at my sons, another round of joyful tears began to make their way across my cheekbones. Best supper I’ve had in four years, too.

I can’t ever remember chicken smellin’ that good, Ma, Amos told me. It was exactly what I had been waiting to hear. Here’s the milk. You gonna make some gravy from the drippin’s? He hugged me and gave a little peck on the cheek. Rafe’ll sure be disappointed if there’s no gravy for the taters.

"Rafe will be disappointed? I asked. What about the old man in the family? Won’t you be disappointed, too?"

Well, he answered, grinning. It always upsets me to see the little guy whine, so I guess I’ll help him eat it, too. Looks like there’s gonna be enough grease there to make a good sized pan full. We may even share it with you. Cort, too, if there’s enough.

I had cooked the same meal hundreds of times, but that August evening in 1867, the fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, mixed greens and creamed corn never tasted better. If the Lord decided to take me that very night, I would go with the knowledge… ‘my boys are okay, and they love their ma.’

Three weeks after my sons returned, Amos suggested the three of us tour the ranch, for a few days. We’d camp at night, and discuss needs and future projects during the day. Now that the Brandon Ranch was almost four times the size it was when the boys went to war, they’d never seen about half of it.

’Sides, Ma, Rafe told me, It’s been nearly a month since Amos and me’s got to sleep on the ground. I’ve missed it so bad, I ain’t been able to sleep in my own bedroom. Well, not more’n about ten or twelve hours a night, anyway. I figure if we camp out, I can sleep far enough away from Amos’s snoring that I can get some good rest, for a change.

Yeah, listen to you, Amos countered, Ma and me, neither one, has been able to rest at night, ’cause we keep hearing some kind of wild animal making racket in your room. We’ve even thought about opening your door to check on you, ’cept we’re too scared. Whatever it is makes all that noise is gonna wake you up some night. When it sees your face, it’ll probably die from fright. At least maybe we’ll get some sleep, then.

Okay, you two knock it off. I stood from the table, picked up the coffee pot, and spoke to our foreman, Cort, you can look after things around here for a few days. The boys and I will leave this afternoon.

The dish water on the stove was boiling, so I set it off onto the counter. "I’m going to get these dishes cleaned up, so you boys start getting things packed. I’m not sleeping on the ground, so be sure you put a cot on one of the pack horses… . along with the tent. If you want to deal with fog, dew, bugs and no telling what else, then fine. But not me. I’m forty-three years old, and I’m sleeping in a tent, and on a cot."

Cort seemed as old as the hills surrounding Pine Valley. He was working for my father before I was even born. After we found Pap dead in the barn, I inherited the ranch, but there’s no way I could have handled it without Cort’s help. ‘Help’ doesn’t even start to describe what the man has done for me, my late husband, Stan, and for my sons.

Stan knew ranching like the back of his hand, but when a green bronc threw him into the corral fence, something inside him was damaged badly. Poor Stan went through more than a year and a half of pain, before he finally couldn’t take it anymore.

The boys and I were at church on a Sunday morning. Cort heard the shot come from behind the wood shed.

The undertaker, the marshal, and the preacher, who beat me home, were all at the house when we got there. Cort had even retrieved my cousin Sara to help with Amos and Rafe, who were twelve and eleven at the time.

Without Cort around, I’m not sure I would have been able to survive. It was he who convinced me that my sons needed me more than I needed Stan.

Yer a good woman, Livvie, he told me, Yer as strong as any woman I know. Lots’a women go on and live a good life without their man. But Liv’vie, not many kids turn out good without their mama. Amos and Rafe needs ya even more now. With yer Pap gone, and now Stan, yer gonna run this here damn ranch better’n anyone ever has. I’ll be here to hep you, sweetheart. Ya ain’t never gonna lose ol’ Cort.

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Y’all take Butch with ya, Cort told Rafe. He cain’t run as fast as he used to, but y’all ain’t gonna be in no hurry, no how. ’Sides that, he kin keep watch at night. Y’all boys is gonna be plumb wore out, by the time ya git through with all the chores, yer ma wants done each eve’nin. Butch kin still see, an’ smell, an’ hear better’n any of ya kin. Liv’vie’ll sleep better too, knowin’ he’s around.

Butch was a medium sized dog, with markings like a border collie. He had been given to the boys several years ago by a traveling trader. The man had four pups with him, which he had taken in trade for a dutch oven. When he put them on the ground for the boys to see, Butch was the first to run to them. I always told them that Butch had picked them out instead of the other way around. He turned out to be a strong, loyal, protective friend to my family. Now he was about eight years old, and not as active as he once was, but he still insisted on being involved in everything going on.

There was only one other family still in Pine Valley. It was about a two and one half hour ride, to where the Simpsons lived at the south end, close to the canyon. They operated a small, successful horse ranch of about sixteen hundred acres. However, Ike Simpson had cleared a trail down the canyon wall and had access to more than two thousand additional acres on the canyon floor. Their oldest child was Wilt, a son very close to the same age as Amos and Rafe. Then there were three girls who were between three and six years younger than Wilt.

The youngest, Barbara, (who got upset if she was called anything except, ‘Bobbie’) was pure tomboy. She was only sixteen now, but she could break broncs to ride better than anyone in the country. From the time she was only five or six, she swore she would marry my Amos some day. I couldn’t help but grin at the thought. Amos hadn’t seen her in four years, she certainly wasn’t a twelve year old any more. I planned for us to stop by their place in a few days, before we headed back home.

Excuse me, Queen Olivia, Amos called to me, "Are you planning to go with us today, or are you gonna stay in your tent and sleep? Rafe and me have been up for more’n two hours, drank two pots of coffee, watered the horses, washed the cows, curried the hogs, and milked the chickens. Even Butch has already scouted all the ground we’re gonna cover today, and come back hungry. Nothin’ left for you to do unless you’d like to cook breakfast. Only thing Rafe can cook is coffee, and I can’t even do that. We can just have jerky though, if you want to stay out of the sun today. We wouldn’t want it to bleach out your hair.

Tell you what, Ma. If me and Rafe ride hard, we can get to Stinky’s place, get us some whiskey, and be back here in time for you to turn in tonight. Ain’t seen ol’ Stinky for a long time. Reckon us boys are old enough now he’ll sell us the good stuff?

I was so happy that Amos was picking on me. I missed that so much while they were gone.

I slept good that first night away from home. I guess the night air, the talking we had done around the campfire, and the smiles on my sons’ faces, made me feel so secure that I slept like a baby.

Well, young man, I told Amos, as I came from the tent. "If you’re expecting me to fix your breakfast, you better get busy packing this tent. Soon as we eat, I’m heading north, and you better be ready or you’ll be catching up. That’ll be enough talk about my grey hair, too… . and do not call me Olivia!"

Besides my Brandon Ranch and the Simpson spread, there were four other homes in Pine Valley. Three of those four stood vacant since I had acquired the properties over the last two years. Two of the homes were built of stone, two of log construction, with shake shingles. The smallest of the log homes, which was located very close to the center of the valley, served as housing for three of my best hands. From that location, they could reach any point of the ranch quickly.

We stopped by the cabin on the way to our next campsite, so my sons could meet the two new hands. Billy Boston had been a gangly teenager when he hired on six years ago, so the boys enjoyed a short reunion with him. They met Jelly Gibson and Hoot Lockhart, and we were off toward the Misha River. I wanted Amos and Rafe to look over the two rock homes as possible homes for themselves someday. If Bobbie Simpson still had her cap set for Amos, he just might have a family started by the time he’s twenty-five.

I’d keep both of them at home forever if I could, but sooner or later, I knew I’d have young women calling me ‘Ma Warner’.

What’s Butch barkin’ at? Rafe asked, looking toward the foothills, I don’t see… . His sentence was interrupted by a rumble, just as I spotted a cloud of smoke and dust rise from two places on the mountain side.

Amos asked how far up the Panhandles our property went.

All the way to the timber line, son. I answered, "In fact, there should be a surveyor’s marker not far from that blast, on the left. The Popes’ claim specifies all the timber was part of their property. I paid the government over six hundred dollars for a good survey on this place.

It’ll take all afternoon to get over there, but we need to see who’s trespassing. Amos, your horse is faster. You go back and get Billy, Jelly and Hoot. If all of them aren’t there, just bring who you can. Head straight for that scar on the side of the mountain, there’s a stand of aspens not far up the right side. We’ll meet you there. Lets go.

Full dark had just settled in when Amos, Jelly and Hoot made their way into camp. Butch barked once, alerting Rafe and I. But, as soon as he recognized Hoot’s voice calling to him, he was excited to see his friend.

Billy had left for the main house for a load of horse feed soon after the boys and I had stopped by.

Jelly and Hoot, who were already mounted, were prepared to ride several miles of fence when Amos rode in. They had transferred his saddle to a fresh mount, while Amos relieved his bladder and grabbed extra ammunition from the house.

Well, Ma, Amos asked, You two got a plan figured out yet? Hoot says he can just have a talk with ol’ Butch and send him up the mountain. We can just wait here and catch the rascals when he chases them down the hill.

As he looked across the campfire, he saw Hoot scratching the old dog’s back. A chuckle escaped his lips as he continued, As much as Butch seems to like him, the ol’ mutt just might do it, too.

Rafe thinks there might be less problem, if only one of us go up to their camp. He wants to be the one to go and I think he’s right. He’s young, he’s big, he’s smart and won’t come across as a threat to them. We’ll all go up, part of the way. We’ll be close in case there’s any trouble. I’d like for him to bring whoever it is that’s up there back to our camp, so we can get things straightened out. What do you think, son?

I could see that Amos was pleased that I had asked his opinion. He felt like his brother’s plan was a good one, with the exception of my comment about Rafe being smart. I do think we should wait until daylight though, widdle bubba could get hurt out there in the dark.

I shook my finger at Amos and told him, "Actually, big bubba, that’s exactly the same words he said. Now then, lets get some sleep.. after you set up my tent, please."

Rafe said he had called to the lone prospector, just as the man was setting another charge of dynamite.

You jist scared th’ shit outta me, boy! the man exclaimed, wiping his brow. When ya hollered, I done thought that charge blowed up in my damn face. Whut are ya doin’ here, anyway? Ya ain’t fixin’ to jump my claim, are ya?

He told the man that we were down the hill a little way, and that his mother wanted to talk with him about a mix-up in property boundaries. This part of the mountain was supposed to be part of our ranch, but nobody was going to get out of hand. When the scrawny old-timer told Rafe he held a deed, Rafe asked him to bring it along.

I’m awful sorry, lady, Teddy White apologized to me, I knowed damn well I shoulda’ checked these here papers out with the land office in Angel Flat. I was jist so excited to get th’ property, fer a hunnerd and fifty dollars, I spent all my money on gear and dynamite and hauled ass out here. Guess I’ll jist go get my mules, and what’s left of my gear, and head out. Do ya mind if I cross yer place? I think I’ll head east fer a while. I sure was hopin’ to hit some pay dirt up there.

I’ll be going to Angel Flat next week, I told him, When I see the county sheriff, I’ll tell him about the slicker that sold you the fake deed. What kind of work can you do, Mr. White?

He asked us not to call him anything, but ‘T.W.’ He told us that he figured was in his late fifties, Mebbe sixties, hell, I cain’t remember, and could do just about anything short of being a doctor. He had been in a partnership with a man he’d considered to be a friend. They had excavated a small gold mine about fifty miles north of Pine Valley, not far from the Wyoming border.

Unknown to T.W, his partner had filed all the paperwork in only his own name. When the mine showed promise of being a good producer, his partner sold it to a mining corporation, took all the money, and left T.W. with nothing but his mules and what money he had in his pocket. The mining company’s lawyers refused to recognize T.W.’s portion of the claim and evicted him.

"Then, I wuz stupid ’nuff to believe that city dude in Angel Flat. He even brung me out here and showed me where th’ place wuz, Miz Warner. After scratchin’ around fer ’bout a week, I found a rock formation that’s a whole lot like th’ other place we dug out, up ’round Battville.

I guess I’m jist a sucker fer a good deal. I gotta quit dreamin’ and start worryin’ ’bout people bein’ honest with me.

When I asked him how much work he’d done on the mountain, T.W. told us he’d cut more than forty timbers and opened a ‘mouth’ in the side of the mountain more than fifty feet deep. He’d also found a small piece of ‘color’ about eighty feet from the mouth of the mine. If I’d found it ’fore I started, I’da moved my hole over there. Th’ angle it’s goin’ in though, it’ll meet in th’ same place in ’bout another forty or fifty feet anyway. I been settin’ an extra charge in both places, the last cupple days. It ain’t gonna take much to have a second openin’ and ya never kin tell, they might be more color in th’ rock that comes outta that other hole. Oh well, guess I kin fergit ’bout that now. The place ain’t mine anyway. Take my word fer it lady, if ya decide to do some diggin’, that’s gonna be a good place to start.

About the middle of the afternoon, I sent Jelly and Hoot back to their own jobs, while Amos asked T.W. more about the mine. The two of them discussed dynamite, drilling, support timbers, jacks and other aspects of the operation.

While they talked, I could tell the miner was a likeable but gullible person. Once in a while he’d come up with a comment that would make all of us laugh.

Jelly rode back into camp, about twenty minutes after we heard a rifle shot. When he and Hoot had left, they told us they’d keep an eye out for some fresh game. So it was no surprise to us that a young whitetail doe was tied behind his saddle.

T.W. let out a whoop and told us, Wow!, I been seein’ a few deer, but they’s always been too far away or my rifle wasn’t close ’nuff. If ya don’t mind, I’d be happy to dress her out and cook us some steaks and stew. I make th’ best venison stew you never did eat. I’ll hafta make a quick run to my camp fer some fixins, but I promise it’ll make yer mouth water.

I told T.W. to do whatever he wanted, and he left for his camp. Rafe skinned the deer, quartered it, and hung the backstrap and shoulder meat over the smoking campfire. He trimmed chunks of meat from the ribs, back and neck, putting them in a pot of water. It surprised us when T.W. returned within twenty minutes, and started seasoning the stew. He brought potatos, plus wild onions and some wild greens he’d gathered along the climb and back. Some dried peppers, salt and other unknown ingredients went into the mix.

Let me show ya somethin’, son, he told Rafe, Cut yer steaks ’bout this thick. Cut th’ first one at an angle, that’ll leave a wedge of meat in yer hand, ya kin chop it up and throw in th’ stew. Th’ rest of th’ steaks, ya cut at an angle, too. Believe me, boy, they’ll be lots more tender that way.

It was a little humorous, watching the scrawny old man calling my two hundred-thirty pound son a boy. But, an hour or so later, we were eating the best venison steaks and stew I’d tasted in my life. I was enjoying a particularly wonderful mouthful, when T.W. livened up the meal. I ain’t et this good in weeks, he said, "I cain’t even remember th’ last time I had steak, or enything else this good. Shoot, I been eatin’ so many squirrels and ‘coons that ever’ time I take a shit, it takes off and runs up a tree."

Amos choked on a piece of potato, he was chewing. I spit my half chewed mouthful all over Rafe, and T.W. just sat there grinning. What? he asked innocently, Believe me, it’s true.

You old fart, I scolded him. I’ll never believe another thing you tell me. I raised up and started for the horses, I’m heading back down to my tent. It’ll be getting dark in a couple hours or so. Rafe, soon as you get full you come on back, too. Amos, you can stay here overnight, help this crazy man smoke the meat, then both of you come on in tomorrow. Leave your gear on the mountain, T.W, but bring your mules down to camp, too. We’ll talk more then. G’night.

Yer purty damn sassy there, lady, T.W. said with a grin, but, I learned a long time ago, when a woman tells ya to do sumthin’, jist do it. See ya in th’ mornin’.

Chapter 2

The next day, we made a deal with T.W. to finance the mine he’d started. Amos was very interested in the venture and wanted to stay at the mining camp with him. For some reason, I felt completely comfortable with the idea. I was convinced T.W. knew what he was doing. Learn everything you can from him, I told Amos, "except how to tell wild stories and sick jokes.

Rafe and I will tour the rest of the ranch and check back here in a few days. You two make a list of any more tools, supplies, whatever you need. We’ll see you get it. We’ll give this venture a couple of months, then see how we stand.

Amos helped his brother pack up our camp, while T.W. gave his mules a ration of grain. I agreed to have a lawyer draw up a legal agreement, making a four way partnership in the mine. T.W. would have a full fifty percent, Amos and Rafe would have fifteen percent each, and I would own twenty.

Rafe, Butch and I left again, headed north, across land which was previously owned by my former neighbors. We checked on the other, unoccupied, ranch houses in our valley, but camped outdoors each night.

If I ever decide to leave home, Ma, Rafe spoke excitedly, pointing at the two bedroom, rock home, This place jist might be a good place to hole up. The other place has more rooms, but these are bigger. It wouldn’t take nuthin’ to add on more rooms if I need ’em. He looked at me, grinned, and