Tate and Carla

By Richard M Beloin MD

Like his other publications, this book follows a story line that ranges from the early years, the lawman or bounty hunting years, finding a soulmate, and settling down after they hang-up their guns.

A dynamic couple goes on the trail to rescue kidnapped victims in the Colorado mining districts. After putting an end to organized abduction of rich miner’s wives, they settle down and follow their lifelong dream—establishing a crop farm and a gold mine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664142718

Richard M Beloin MD

The author is a retired physician who now spends his winters in South Texas with his wife of 50 years. After fifteen years as an accomplished Cowboy Action Shooter and a lifelong enthusiast of American Western History, he has returned to writing in 2016. He has been writing western fiction circa 1880’s since 2018 and has now accumulated four books in this series. They are: Wayne’s Calling, Cal’s Mission, Sylvia’s Dream, and this latest production called Paladin Duos.

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Copyright © 2020 by Richard M Beloin MD.

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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 11/20/2020

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Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1—The Early Years

Chapter 2—The Lawman

Chapter 3—Finding Carla

Chapter 4—The Partnership

Chapter 5—Setting up Shop

Chapter 6—Transitioning Times

Chapter 7—Establishing a Reputation

Chapter 8—A Rash of Kidnappings

Chapter 9—Back Home Again

Chapter 10—Learning the Trade

Chapter 11—Doing the Work

Chapter 12—Wedding, Present and Future

Epilogue

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to several of my friends who, like ourselves, are old enough to have lived in the old ways as we all transitioned into modern times.

CHAPTER 1

The Early Years

Tate was born on Jan 8, 1866 in Animas City, Colorado. His father, Wilbur Lane, was a carpenter working for a busy construction company in town. Although he was a general worker, his specialty was finishing concrete details. His mother, Stella, was a stay home mom raising the three kids, of which Tate was the oldest. Belinda was his younger sister and Julia was the baby.

Tate had a good beginning with loving parents and plenty of friends to play with. At an early age in the town school, Tate was a precocious young lad that was twice the size of his classmates. Along with the size discrepancy, Tate was way ahead of his classmates’ studies, and by the end of his sixth grade in middle school, his teacher bypassed the seventh grade, and sent him to high school next door.

As a young 11-year old eighth grader in a school with 14-year old’s in 10th grade, Tate found himself befriend a small and short stature boy by the name of Toby McKnight. As it was not rare, the older and bigger boys liked to taunt and goad Toby. Tate was not happy with the way the upper classmen were laughing at Toby, and he convinced him to start talking up to the boys acting as bullies. With Toby talking back, it was only a matter of time that things would get physical.

One day during recess, three of the 10th grade bullies started pushing Toby around, but Tate exploded when he saw Toby being thrown in a muddy puddle. Tate stepped up and pushed the three bullies away from Toby. That is when the fight started, the apparent leader punched Tate in the nose as Tate punched back. The bully landed on his back with his nose bent sideways and bleeding. When the other two bullies saw their leader on the ground crying and bleeding, they quickly ran away.

Mister Merriweather saw the fight and came running. First, he helped Toby out of the muddy puddle, then helped the bully stop his nosebleed. After things quieted down, he sent the boy home with the crooked nose, thinking that he needed some medical care—hoping that the issue was resolved.

When school let out an hour later, the bully with a bandaged nose showed up with his father—Nathaniel Turner, the ‘Third.’ The man was incensed that the teacher could not prevent such damage to his son. Mister Merriweather was so disturbed with the man’s accusation that he said,

Sir, I saw the whole thing, your son threw a smaller boy in the mud, then attacked Tate with a punch to his face. Tate, in self-defense, punched back and put your son down.

I don’t care, as a council member, I demand that you expel that ‘son of a whore’ who beat my son—or risk losing your job. Mister Merriweather was horrified to hear such words in front of the other students. Without warning, Tate attacked this bad mouth councilman with a solid punch to the face, and put the loudmouth down. The next time you call my mother a whore, I’ll more than punch you out, I’ll break your jaw. You better hope my dad doesn’t hear what you said, cause he’ll likely give you the thrashing you deserve. Merriweather put an end to the event by demanding that both students return by 7PM with their dads to close the issue.

Arriving a bit late, Wilbur started the meeting by saying, I hear that Tate defended a young boy from three bullies, is that true Mister Merriweather? Yes, it is true. Then, I can see why the boy has a bandaged nose, but why does councilman Turner have a black eye Because he called Tate the ‘son of a whore.’ Wilbur arm tightened up and smacked his fist in Turner’s nose. Turner did a complete head over heels, and landed with his face in the mud. Wilbur then added, You must have ‘she-et’ for brains to say something like that in front of the high school students. So, listen to me carefully, the next time you mouth off like that about my wife, you’ll find yourself in a coma for days." At the end of the day, the Turner boy was expelled for two weeks, as both father and son walked around for weeks with bandages to their broken noses.

For the next three years, Tate and Toby became inseparable friends. Come graduation time, the friends had to break up since the Lane family moved to the developing town of Durango. Toby stayed in Animas City and went to work for his father as a telegraph trainee. The Lane family moved south two miles to the new town of Durango, established in 1880 by the D&RG railroad, to serve the lumber and mining industries in the San Juan Mountains to the north. The railroad also served the hundreds of ranchers to the east, west, and south of town as a railhead for their cattle to market.

The attraction for the Lane’s move was the construction of a smelter and stamping mill in town. With concrete experience, Wilbur was offered a great salary with housing included. Tate was out of school, but his sisters benefited from a new school and newer teaching methods. Meanwhile, Tate had a dilemma, he had no friends in town and so went to work at the smelter as his dad’s helper. Earning a dollar a day, he managed to put away some $25 a month. Six months later he had $150 in the bank and made the comment to his parents, money to spend and no interests worth spending it on!

*

One fine evening, with nothing to do, Tate was walking about town when he heard a lot of laughing and shooting. Walking over to a shooting range, Tate sat there for two hours watching men practice fast draw, point and shoot, long distance rifle shooting, and shotguns on airborne targets.

The next day after work, Tate walked into the Whitman Gun Shop. Rudy himself asked the new customer, what can I do for you, son? I just found out what I want to do with my life, as a start, I want to be proficient in the use of firearms for self-defense. Rudy was impressed with a young man wanting to use firearms for an honorable purpose, and decided he would become Tate’s mentor—share his own knowledge by teaching the proper use and handling of firearms. That night Tate left with a new Ideal reloader, all the components for reloading a thousand rounds, a holstered Colt Peacemaker in 44-40, a Winchester 1873 in the same caliber, and a Remington 12-gauge double barrel shotgun. The shotgun was the new model with a single trigger, self cocking, tang safety, and auto ejecting. Rudy had cut the barrels to 16-inches and added a pistol grip—all holstered in a backpack. With two trips to his home, and $96 poorer, Tate agreed to meet Rudy the next night after work at Rudy’s private range behind the gun shop.

The first night was spent on melting lead, pouring it into bullet molds, adding primers and powder and operating the reloading press. The second session was in the proper pistol draw. The third night was on learning how to point and shoot a pistol or shotgun without aiming. The fourth night was on rifle speed and accurate shooting. The fifth night was on how to draw a pistol like shotgun from a backpack and point and shoot it accurately.

The sixth night was the last night of training—that being a Saturday, Tate had practiced shooting all day. When night came, Rudy sat down and watched Tate put on a demonstration of his abilities. At the end, Tate walked up to Rudy and gave him a hug, as he added, for the rest of my days, I will never forget what you’ve done for me, and one day, I know that time will allow me to repay your kindness.

For the next year, Tate continued working on the smelter, and spent every night and Saturdays either reloading or practicing his shooting. When the smelter went on-line, Tate was out of a job. His father had been offered a good job in the stamping mill, but Tate at 16, was not old enough to work in the smelter or stamp mill. So Tate went looking for a job.

Walking the town’s boardwalk, Tate had no interest working for the railroad, post office, telegraph, town clerk, bank, or the many mercantiles. When he walked by Campbell’s Seed and Feed, he decided to check it out. Walking in, he saw two divisions to the business. One portion was the sale of seeds, and feed for horses and cattle. The other portion of the store was the sale of agricultural implements. Tate was looking about and saw a brute of a man handling 100-pound bags of grain or seeds, as well as an older gentleman putting together what looked like a plow. Tate walked up to the man at the elevated customer counter and read the sign, Porter Campbell, owner. The man looked down and said, what can I do for you, young man?

I just spent a year building that concrete smelter and now that it’s done, I need a job. As you can see, I’m 6 feet tall and weigh 190, and can handle your 100-pound bags or bales of hay. I especially want to learn about those implements and how to build them—and besides that older gentleman needs help. That older gentleman is my dad, and where have I seen you? I’ve seen you at the range, Sir. That’s right, and you can do some fine shooting, son. I bet you need this job to buy all that ammo you put downrange, heh? Maybe! But I also need to work to support myself—you know!

The owner simply looked at Tate as he finally spoke, I’m going to try you out for two weeks--$1 a day, 8-5, six days a week, bring your own lunch and water, starting tomorrow morning. Yes Sir, I’ll be on time.

*

Arriving at work, Porter introduced Tate to the two workers. This is Amos Sweeney, he’s the warehouse worker and your job is to help him out unloading freight wagons and loading customers’ wagons—and if you can’t work under a negro, then you need to go home now? Not a problem, I can work with men of color. Great, now this is my dad, he goes by the name of ‘Old Man’ or ‘Gramps’ but he won’t tell you his real name cause he don’t like his given name, hah!

By the time the first week went by, Tate had developed a routine. When a freight wagon or a customer arrived, he would automatically leave Gramps and help Amos. If Amos ever needed help that Tate did not recognize, Amos would come to get him. On the average, Tate would spend 60% of his time with Gramps.

One day Amos asked Tate a poignant question, I do appreciate your help, but how is it that an educated white boy is taking orders from an uneducated black man and doing a simpleton’s work? Amos, any job well done is honorable, and it is you who makes this job such—and that makes it my pleasure to work with you. The boss usually didn’t bother listening to these two’s banter, but this time, he heard them clearly.

Gramps warmed up quickly to Tate, especially when he offered to do the more heavy or messy jobs. In return, Gramps volunteered info on how the implements worked, and which parts were often needing replacement. Gramps explained that these implements were rather pricey for homesteaders that cultivated/harvested 100 acres a year. So to keep the prices down, Winslow Implements in Denver would send partial implements with a finishing kit that required some assembly. The money saved was passed on to the homesteaders and provided a profit for the business.

Over the weeks, Tate finally asked Gramps who was growing forage crops locally vs the business importing hay and grain from a distributor in Pueblo. Gramps said, most homesteaders in the area live on 160 acres which is the quarter section the government offered them free of charge as long as they improved the land within five years. So today, the lucky homesteader has a 100-acre crop for sale, some ten acres for buildings, a small tree area for firewood, a garden, a chicken coop, a paddock for a cow and calf, and a pig or two. The 100 acres of unimproved native grass may produce 50 tons of unbaled hay, and even at $15 a ton, that’s $750 of income for their survival and independence. The homesteaders will sell their loose hay, and deliver it, to the neighboring ranchers. Very few sell it to us, so we have to buy baled hay and straw, as well as bagged oats from Henderson Distributors in Pueblo some 270 miles away—and that raises the prices for our ranchers.

I can understand why homesteaders are limited since they started on 160 acres, and they can’t afford to add more land. But what I don’t understand is why a rancher doesn’t see the need for ‘crop farming’ to supply the hundreds of ranchers around Durango? Well, it is very clear to me. You see, for the past hundred years, the ranch owners and their ancestors were ‘ranchers’ and not ‘sodbusters.’ In short, not a one of today’s ranchers would ever consider becoming farmers. And that is why we don’t have a commercial crop farmer in the area. The nearest such crop farmer is in Cañon, some 250 miles away—yet he ships all his excess production to Henderson’s anyways. So, there is a need for a commercial sodbuster, heh? Absolutely, but the correct word is a ‘commercial crop grower!’

Tate let that info sit for a while, but came back with, is there any money in growing crops for a living? Without going into specifics, use the old adage, ‘one third for labor, one third for expenses (include implements), and one third for profit—assuming you fertilize the land with horse or chicken manure. Now let’s say baled hay sells for $25 a ton, then 100 acres of fertilized land will produce a ton of hay per acre. After you do the ciphering, 100 tons of hay comes to $2,500, or $800 in your pocket. Now, since you fertilized the land, you can get two crops, or now an income of $1,600 a year. For a part-time job two months a year, as long as you invest in implements—and if you can’t see that, then you are brainless, don’t you think? For sure.

After another elapsed time, Tate asks, ‘so why don’t the homesteaders invest in implements and improve their lot? Two reasons, because the banks won’t lend money to small homesteaders, and because they are too busy feeding their families and can’t save money to make the investments. And that’s a ridiculous circle! And can only be broken by money—it takes money to make money!"

Tate continued his employment and learned every aspect of all the agricultural equipment sold today. The four machines that impressed Tate were the thresher, reaper/binder, baler, and mower. Fortunately, these four implements needed a lot of assembly, which allowed Tate time to pick Gramps brain about these tools.

*

One fine day, two gruffy individuals showed up. They needed two 100-pound bags of oats and a ton of hay. Porter asked the boys to load their order. When Amos arrived with a bag on his shoulder, one of the men smacked him on his back with a riding quirt. I don’t want a negro touching my grain, so white boy, you load up the wagon. Tate was disgusted, but to keep the customer happy, he loaded the grain and hay himself. After the two men stepped up to the wagon seat, Porter yells out, excuse me, but that comes to $25 for the hay and $9 for the oats, plus you owe me for two old orders—the three orders comes to $96. Yeah, right, well put it on our credit account. As they were about to leave one of the men wantonly spit a huge chewing tobacco plug full of juice at Amos and hit him in the face.

Tate just couldn’t take such bad manners and abuse. He stepped up to the wagon, grabbed the nearest miscreant, pulled him by his shirt and planted a roundhouse punch to the man’s mouth as he yanked him off the wagon and catapulted him onto the warehouse floor. Meanwhile, the other no-good pulled his pistol as Tate grabbed the pistol and twisted it out of his hand—as his trigger finger got caught, and a nice snap was heard. The same dude also got a massive fist in the teeth, and then became airborne like his buddy. Tate did not stop there; he again pummeled each one by alternating his attack from one to the other. When both were overcome, he then tied their hands and ankles. Porter then sent Amos to get the sheriff.

While waiting for the sheriff, Tate went thru the presumed outlaws’ pockets and collected $100 to pay for their bill. As soon as Sheriff Buford Hicks arrived, he took a look at the victims and said, those are two of the four men that have commandeered old man Grant’s hunting camp—who has not been seen since then. They are a tough bunch of bums that had a habit of not paying their bills, till they suddenly started showing off a lot of paper money—at the same time that the Merchant’s bank was robbed of $5,000 by four masked men. Plus they are wanted men dead or alive for murder and robbery.

Tate looked at the sheriff and asked, then, why are they not in jail? Well son, it’s because I am 66 years old, the only lawman in town, and have been waiting for the US Marshal for three weeks to help with the arrest. I see and can certainly understand. If you want, I will go with you to that hunting camp and we’ll bring back those two as we look for that Mister Grant and the bank money. "That would be great since I suspect they killed him, and if they have the money, I have the serial numbers of every $100 bill since they were new bank