Blue Blood Revenge

By R.R. Woodruff

Pull the reins tight and cinch down your Stetson. This one will take your silver-belly Stetson for a whirlwind ride. Brace up for some multiplot fast-paced intrigue. It’s not often, but what fun it is when the sequel surpasses the authentic composition. You’ll enjoy that rarefied air of continued company with some of the unique diverse cast you grew close to in the first novel. You’ll be drawn in to some new characters as they battle the legions of new and old enemies. The authors imagination will entice you in then immerse you in this creative tale. Travel with the early Native American Nez Perce as they interact with the mountain men of the time on this coast-to-coast action adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781640275836

Book preview

Chapter 1

Deep in the bowels of the damp dungeon in the isolated wing of the Boston penitentiary, a man sat on a narrow steel bench. Archibald Stanfield had been in this room for sixteen months.

The only light that showed in the 8' × 6' room came in through the 6 × 12 barred opening on the 1" steel door. Opening the folded note, he read it again. Now he had an idea why his execution had been postponed numerous times.

Archie, as his malevolent followers chose to call him, had been caught coming out of a Boston bank during a daring daylight bank robbery. They had killed the bank president and numerous bank employees who were unable to open the vault. The only person who had known the combination was the dead bank president.

In the frustration of the moment, Archie and his gang of cutthroats had attempted to blow up the safe. This did nothing more than cause the explosion to blow outward, killing four of the innocent patrons, including one woman and her four-year-old daughter. Two of the gang had escaped, while the other three were justifiably rotting in the caverns of this rat-infested prison.

Archie, being in isolation, was to have no contact with the outside world. With few exceptions, the vast sums of money behind the note easily bought off the chain of prison officials. That money even filtered to the guards who were manning the wing Archie and his blood-lust accomplices were segregated in. The slant block letter note gave Archie a brief glimmer of hope each time he read it.

Your purpose is known to us. The appeal and your subsequent freedoms have been arranged—this will all take place soon. At the time of your release, you will receive your instructions. Be ready. BBBS

At the same time, Archie and his two iniquitous followers were gathering bravado from the notes they had received. Similar notes had been delivered in the deepest confines of nine different prisons. Those messages were sent to the most abominably detestable criminal elements in the known world.

These brutal perverse lowlifes were not hard to locate, whether incarcerated or free; they were prowling the docks, roads, and streets of the entire eastern seaboard.

The attitude of the defeated British was that of the boy who could not have the sandbox to himself. He decided to take a world class crap in it so no one could enjoy it. They had decided through their parliament to use colonial North America in the same manner as they were using the Australian continent. It was to them nothing more than a dumping ground for their worst criminals.

The British intent was that of setting up penal colonies to be used as a system of indentured servitude; this did not work but, in fact, failed miserably. Without supervision, the minute these lifetime criminals hit the shores, it became a tidal wave of crime and death. Ideally, the theory was, dissenting colonial merchants would transport the convicts and auction them off to various forms of slave labor, including plantation owners upon their arrival in the colonies.

It is estimated that some fifty thousand British convicts were sent to colonial America, representing an estimated quarter of all British emigrants during the mid eighteenth century.

The vast riches behind the Bingham Needham fortune, combined with his conspiratorial relationship to the British Crown, had availed his agents to prior knowledge of who was the worst of the most despicable.

Bingham Needham had not forgotten the inscrutable events he had been subjected to many years earlier at the hands of the Denver magistrate.

Needham’s vast army of Boston blue-blood legal power had been forced to travel to the Denver jurisdiction to financially arrange his release from the Denver jail system.

Needham’s bail for an early out still infuriated him. By the time he had boarded the chain of trains back to the Boston center of his criminal enterprise, his fines and legal fees had exceeded eighty-five thousand dollars.

The Denver cattleman’s association had received twenty thousand dollars of that money to fund the numerous new stock and brand inspectors. The stock yards used twenty thousand to rebuild and expand the dilapidated holding corrals and auction yards. Twenty thousand was used to expand a portion of the jail facilities. Twenty thousand was used to assist in the continued running of the children’s orphanage in Denver.

What chapped his pampered, overly plump, blue-blooded behind the worst was the five thousand dollars in bank drafts set aside to be released to the Macovey Ranches/Nimiipuu Appaloosa enhancement trust fund.

Bingham Needham had now become obsessed with not only the power that had come with his inherent riches but also, through that power, the ruination of the Macovey family.

Once he had learned of the dispersion of his money through the Denver court system, his grand new scheme was going to be an all-out assault on not only the Macovey family but also anyone related to them, friends with them, or dear to their hearts.

Knowing now that a portion of his fine money was going to protect the Appaloosa bloodline, and that the originating source of the bloodline was the Nez Perce native people, he now had what he felt would be a four-way assault in his quest for vengeance and destruction.

During the course of his conspiring scheme of greed and vengeance, he had sent a generous bank draft to one Horace Berkley, the editor of the closest newspaper in the closest town in the region of the Macovey ranch.

His request was for all past copies in the last five-year circulation of the paper. Of particular interest would be any articles remotely related to the Macovey Ranch or family name.

Needham’s bank of researchers had gone through the vast array of newspapers from the Silver Bow Weekly Independent. Upon completion, they brought in a fat folder of articles related to or mentioning the Macovey name.

He started placing the priority interest articles in a strategic order. Numerous lesser articles were related to Jacob and Sublette. Some were of the Denver sojourns as well as the minor mentioned relationship of the Bonner/Vanderpot opening of the mercantile.

Needham was in a frenzy now as he found some things he could sink his teeth into. He read of the visit of a Miss Charee Amie McClain from Denver; she was spending the summer at the Vanderpot ranch. The sudden appearance of Cameron Macovey as a guest of the Vanderpot family, after a reported theft of the Vanderpot horses.

He read with further interest the combined camaraderie between Ned and Cameron in the defeat of two gunmen, named Dante LaChapell and Kuster Darnell, a dramatic account of the blazing gun battle in the streets of Silver Bow.

The next article was about a thrilling horse race that involved a US marshal, Zeek Nelson, with his steed, and Cameron with his appaloosa stallion Doozy. There were some other minor articles on the collaborate union of the Macovey family and the nation of the Nez Perce.

The article involving the later purchase of the hotel by a group of single women was lacking in detail on the background of the ladies. The article hinted at the ladies’ miraculous escape from a group of Danite Avenging Angels.

A brief mention was made that they had also been pursued by the now-demised Butcher Bill Bradley. A related article gave mention of the ladies being brief guests of the Vanderpot ranch. Another article made mention of an investigation by Zeek Nelson into numerous southern businesses having done cannibalistic business practices with Butcher Bill Bradley.

With shrewd, evil, calculating strategy, Needham would put his four-part plan into action. Using an army of well-supplied men, he would infiltrate and attack on four fronts. The targets for annihilation would be the Macovey Ranch, the Vanderpot Ranch, the town of Silver Bow, and lastly, the nation of the Nez Perce.

The numbers of the blooded appaloosa kept by the Nez Perce and the Macovey ranch he had no idea of, but he was obsessed with the idea of possessing them all. The riches from his British co-conspirators, as well as these planned conquests, would by far surpass the inconvenience of his capital outlay in financing the vengeance he sought.

Chapter 2

Ezekiel Zeek Nelson, the United States marshal, on assignment from Washington, had just returned to Silver Bow, a small community in Montana. Having been gone for the last two weeks, he was completing his presidential assignment: detailing the populace, value, and potential of a portion of the area the United States was considering for acquisition. This area he was assigned to was a small part of the vast land mass that would later become known as the Louisiana purchase.

As he entered the hotel, he was surprised at the amount of work that had been accomplished during his absence. To his relief, the entry and reception had been cordoned off from the bar. Zeek was greeted by two attractive and sharply dressed young ladies, who upon reading his name signed on the register addressed him as Marshal Nelson.

They welcomed him, telling him he was expected. As he was producing a voucher for the room, Delilah Buren, with an attractive smile, introduced herself.

She informed him, Mr. Nelson, as part of the expectation of your arrival, we have been instructed to tell you that your stay here has been covered financially. You are a guest of Violet and Ned Vanderpot for as long as you choose to stay. You’ll find that you can now receive room service by pulling the velvet rope handle next to the new bed in the same room you had before. The documents that were in your room were covered and put under armed security while your room was being remodeled.

Zeek asked if the communication of the rope went both ways and was told that it did. He thanked them, asking to be alerted only in the case of emergencies as he took his bags and satchel up the stairs.

Zeek’s only thought at the moment was to gain a horizontal position on the feather tick mattress. He was weary from the long days in the saddle. As he entered the room, he was in awe at the transformation—what had formerly been a dingy hovel was now a spacious luxury suite.

The previous adjoining room had been combined to make this capacious carpeted area an inviting accommodation. When Zeek took off his gun belt, the relief of the weight removed from his hips put some spring in his steps as he made his way over to open the window.

Leaning on the sill with his eyes closed, the cool breeze drifted in, feeling good on his face. The calming effect was short-lived as he was jolted out of his trance by the noise of a rather stern argument below.

Looking down, he could see that it was between Horace Berkley and Miss Molly Clarke. She was tugging on his arm, pulling the rotund Horace across the street, in the direction of the front entry to the hotel. He was able to overhear her tell Horace that she insisted that he tell the marshal.

At the same time, he could hear a galloping horse. As it came into sight on the Main Street, the rider skidded to a stop in front of the mercantile.

All the street commotion had brought both Aaron and Dorothy Bonner out of their store. Zeek overheard the out-of-breath rider request the location of United States Marshal Ezekiel Nelson. Zeek breathed a heavy sigh and resigned himself to the fact that he may not get his needed nap.

The bell above the luxurious ox-blood drapes jingled. Zeek went over and, in response, pulled the velvet rope while he rebuckled and tied down his revolver. Out of habit, he checked the cylinder as he opened his room door.

Calculating the arrival and the hurried approach of the stranger on horseback, Zeek figured his arrival would precede that of Horace and Molly. Zeek stepped back to a position of cover, partially concealed by a solid oak chest of drawers. Many years of experience in dealing with the underbelly of humanity kicked in his impulsive survival patterns of behavior.

The yammering noise between Horace and Molly was faint as he listened to the sound of hastened footsteps approaching from the hallway. The steps stopped prior to any visible appearance of the man Zeek waited for.

A calm voice from the hallway hailed the room. Ezekiel Nelson! My name is Lester Davis, US marshal out of Denver. I am going to show both of my hands clear of the door frame, and one of them will be holding my badge.

Slowly, Lester held the circular silver-framed badge in plain view. Come on in and pull up a chair, Lester. I’ve got room service coming up, Zeek proclaimed.

Martha Buren unfolded the wooden tray stand, placing the silver serving tray squarely on the stand. She stared at the door in thought. The knuckles on both of her hands were bruised and sore from the continuous knocking she had been doing on the hotel doors. She thought of the design she had come up with using old horse shoes.

The open end of the shoe would be fastened and mounted to the door on a swivel axel pin, while the caulk protrusion at the crown would be downturned in facing the door and used to hit a mounted striking plate.

I really must remember to send word to Violet’s blacksmith so we can meet and get some knockers on the doors. I do hope there are enough old discarded horseshoes around to do the job. Taking out the ring of pass keys, she used the blunt end to knock on the door.

Zeek answered the door to the smiling face of Martha as she introduced herself, adding, Mr. Nelson, I’ve come up to take your order, and just knowing that you’ve had no respite from your labors, I took the liberty to bring up fresh coffee. I’ve brought enough cups for the two of you as well as the two at the front desk. They seem to be in a contentious dispute over the validity of an immediate audience with you.

Zeek replied, Very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Buren. I distinctly remember you from your arrival at the ranch. At the time I thought it best to wait for another instance to greet you formally. Please allow my condolences for your entire family’s loss.

Seeing her discomfort, he paused then continued. My congratulations on the acquisition of this hotel and the splendid improvements you have made since my last stay, very impressive. Please be seated and take the liberty to call me Zeek, and this gentleman is Lester Davis, also an employee of the marshal’s office.

Martha had remained standing and responded without delay. "Normally, Mr. Nelson, I would not pass this opportunity, but I will defer as duty prevails. I’ll be needing three things from you. First, your order for the room service ring. Secondly, will Mr. Davis be staying with us? Third but not least, what would you have me do with the quarrelsome duo from the Weekly Independent waiting to see you in the lobby?"

Zeek chuckled, flashing his white teeth and bright-eyed smile, saying, Martha, I am at present clueless as to the intent of this onslaught forthcoming. While I believe that it will end peacefully, when and if it does, I will bring the entire swarm down to eat at your fine restaurant. We will decide shortly on Lester’s lodging needs. As for Miss Clarke and Horace Berkley, please inform them that I will be down to collect them within a few minutes.

Thank you, Marshall, Martha said as she turned in her stately upright posture leaving the room. Lester eyed her departure then turned to Zeek, stating, It is indeed refreshing, Zeek, to see the fortitude of the western woman. Wow, just look at the difference—these ladies have no qualms at speaking what is on their minds, yet at the same time, they are comfortable in standing equal on the same ground with their men. I think I like what I see here in the west, Zeek. What more do you know about this lady?

Zeek laughed and said, Lester, I know little beyond the fact that she, her daughters, and her nieces were taken captive by Mormon zealots after their men were slaughtered by them about a month ago. They were rescued by a couple of fellas I met prior to leaving here the first time. Interesting men both. Ned Vanderpot, in the cattle ranching and mining businesses. The other a young man, Cameron Macovey, whose grandfather, Jacob Macovey, was one of the first western explorers and later the first family to settle in the Mussel Shell valleys. Quite a pair, Ned Vanderpot and Cameron Macovey.

Zeek, did you say Macovey? asked Lester.

I did indeed, does the name mean something to you? Zeek responded.

Lester paused. Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out an envelope, handing it to Zeek, telling him, It may be the very reason I have been sent here to find you. That name is mentioned in this intelligence dispatch, along with a directive to you asking you to investigate any possible connection that the Macovey family may have to the Boston area.

Chapter 3

Zeek removed the letter from the envelope and silently read it to himself.

From the desk of: Congressman Thomas Morris.

United States Marshal. District of New York.

Ezekiel,

I have sent this urgent dispatch to you trusting that it finds you well and without remorse to the far-off duty you are performing. While you most likely long for your return home, information has recently surfaced that a conspiratorial union between a powerful Boston crime figure, and the British government has facilitated the release of at least fifteen iniquitous villains from a minimum of nine different prison confinements.

Our trusted sources within those confines have them linked to that criminal figure head in Boston. All of the knowledge we have derived links this syndicated effort to a mass migration of these men to the geographic area of Montana, where you were sent by the president.

In our attempt to unravel the motivation of this movement, we can only conclude that its subterfuge is based primarily on two things. Revenge and financial gain. We strongly believe that the criminal leader is Bingham Needham of Boston.

While several names of people in the territory you’re in have surfaced, three names in particular may be the object of the coming invasion of the men Needham is sending: Conner and Cameron Macovey, as well as Ned Vanderpot.

We are aware that the president has an interest in your review of Mr. Vanderpot. It appears that Needham’s communication source is a newspaper editor by the name of Horace Berkley from that area. Our sources have named, as well, two letters sent by Needham to a Kuster Darnell and a Dante LaChapell.

Reference was made to an indigenous native tribe as well as their estranged equine bloodline. The intelligence information is sketchy as well as sporadic yet may mean more to you as you are there.

I have spoken to the president. As this information continues to surface, his conclusion is quoted as follows: If nefarious, anarchistic men are targeting an area that in all likelihood will soon be a part of our young nation, then we must investigate and counter. If criminals are left to thrive on the corrupt permissiveness of a liberal democratic society, then only anarchy and failure will prevail. Ezekiel Nelson as well Lester Davis, have the full power of this office to investigate and enforce any needed action to assist in smashing this criminal element.

Best wishes, Zeek. I will wire and send sufficient funds to Denver to be carried and delivered with this dispatch.

Thomas

Lester cleared his throat, withdrawing from Zeek he gave him space for his solitude of thought for a brief moment, then spoke. I am going cut right to the hot end of the running iron, Zeek. My orders were to find you and deliver this letter. I am to gather what pertinent documents you may have obtained and return them to Denver to be shipped back on the first conveyance out to Washington. Morris says it’s your call as to whether you want me to return or just go with the papers to the capitol. In the meantime, here’s the pouches of money. I’ll need enough to take me back to Denver, Washington, or back here.

Zeek, without a moment’s lament, his mind whirled at a serpent’s striking pace. Taking this diversion in a high spirit of optimism, he responded, "Lester, fact is, we’re both part of the first federal law.¹ I would be happy to work side by side with you and grateful if you were to return here from Denver. I’ll be needing you to do something in the way of a small detour on your way to Denver. I’m sure you’d like a good night’s sleep right here before you go.

Would like you to stick around here for a few minutes before we get your room. Horace Berkley is one of the two down in the lobby. He may just cooperate, but if not, we’re going to use you as leverage to turn him on Needham.

As he descended the last tier of steps to the lobby floor, her elegant features captivated his attention. He thought to himself, Something about a beautiful woman just makes my life more intense. "Why, Miss Molly Clarke, I was in hopes our paths would cross again. You are a refreshing sight."

The instant surge of color came to her face; it made her smile even more radiant as she responded. Thank you, Marshal Nelson. I am grateful for your safe return.

Delilah and Desirae were behind the check-in counter. With gleaming eyes, they blushed as they glanced at one another, having been told by Charee of the possibility of a budding romance between Ezekiel Nelson and Molly Clarke. To their chaste hearts, this was pure rhapsody, magic fodder to feed the souls of these two young ladies.

With a momentary glance at Horace, Zeek, with an almost Oh, by the way indifferent nod, simply said, Horace.

Horace held his notepad ready and pencil in hand. The pencil continuously jabbed his moist, flicking black tongue. With all the bravado he could muster, he proclaimed, "Marshal Nelson, the readers of the Silver Bow Weekly Independent anxiously await the results of the adventures you’ve encountered during the past two weeks you were absent from our town."

To the dismay of Horace, the casual response from Zeek left him deflated.

Looking Molly in the eyes, he said, Shall we migrate to my room where we can discuss the nature of this welcome visit over a nice cup of coffee?

She gladly took his arm as they turned their backs, leaving Horace with a bewildered expression. His blubbery, distorted features looked all the more grotesque while he scampered to catch up.

As they entered the room, Lester stood poised as he leaned against the dresser. The previous discussion with Zeek now had him going into character, playing a part.

Lester’s mysterious countenance of authority was enhanced by the low ride of the brim of his Stetson. His eyes were barely visible, staring expressionlessly. His top coat hooked behind the butt of his Colt, his badge only partially visible above his heart.

Zeek sat Molly at a coffee table, which conveniently had only one chair. He poured her a cup of coffee, as he placed the matching cream and sugar set in front of her. No invitation for Horace to be seated had been given as Zeek dragged a chair to the center of the room facing Lester.

Please be seated here, Mr. Berkley, Zeek said as he firmly planted the chair down.

Horace looked longingly at the coffee as he sat, stating, Thank you, Mr. Nelson, but I would not mind a—

He was curtly interrupted by Zeek, who leaned in close, locking his steely eyes with Horace, saying, Horace, now we can have that interview, and I am sure you would like to make copious notes for your readers.

Backing away, Zeek turned to face both Molly and Horace as he said to them, Molly Clarke, Horace Berkley, allow me to introduce Mr. Lester Davis, national security advisor to the president of the United States.

Zeek then stayed silent, as he let Horace chew on the content and magnitude of his opening statement. Visibly seeing the anxiousness in Horace’s contorted face, he continued, The president’s primary concern—and the reason for the presence of Mr. Davis—is to investigate conspiratorial plots and war efforts against this land and the potential development of this country.

Zeek turned to Lester and stated, Mr. Davis, I relinquish the floor to you. I believe you have their attention.

Lester remained motionless, letting Zeek’s words sink in. Horace was wide-eyed, his slimy gray tongue slowly turning black from the pencil’s perpetual dabbing at a fevered-woodpecker pace.

Lester smiled at Molly, tipping the brim of his hat.

Miss Clarke, in person your presence even exceeds the amiable qualities previously spoken of by Mr. Nelson.

As Molly’s cheeks began to take on the hue of a fiery sunset, Lester turned and held his gaze to Horace.

Horace was perplexed, beginning to sweat, fairly panting in an ardor of unholy zeal as he blurted out, Conspiracy plots, threats of war, the president’s office. By all means, Mr. Davis, let’s unmask this evil secret. Bring these culprits and their ne’er-do-well schemes into the light of day.

Lester, letting the tension mount, turned his back on Horace as he retrieved a chair. Turning it backward, he slammed it down in front of Horace as he sat staring him in the eyes from two feet away. He paused. Leaning in even closer, Lester said, Right you are, Mr. Berkley. The coals are hot, and the spit is ready. Let’s go ahead and gut the pig.

In the spirit of Lester’s profound illustration, Horace blurted, By all means, let’s get right to the meat of this evil purpose and render their fat.

Staring intently now, eye to eye, the dark somber granite look on Lester’s face slowly transformed. His lips curled into a menacing sneer as he responded, Yes, do let’s, Horace. In fact, what would you say would be the deserving fate of such a scandalous conspirator?

Horace, without hesitation, slammed his palm to his thigh, declaring, Such a dastardly, treasonous act of sedition should be prosecuted to the full extent and letter of the law. Upon conviction, mercy should not triumph for the knaves who plot against our fair country.

After a brief silence for climactic effect, Lester, in a low tone, said, Well spoken, Horace.

Lester broke eye contact with Horace as he slowly stood, placing his right boot on the padded chair. He leaned both elbows on his right knee as he returned the glare.

Horace, equally intent now with the expression of a rabid turkey vulture hovering over a carcass, his pencil at the ready, said, I beseech you, Mr. Davis, let the power of the press bring this dark evil into the light.

Lester knew he had the hook set deep now. As if on a pulpit, his voice was soft at first but gained inflection and volume as he spoke. You know, Horace, a man spends a lot of time alone in the saddle on the long ride here from Denver, but it can be creative like the poem I thought up while riding.

Let us take a shot in the dark at this, a wild stab if you will.

For we know that the force of your pen, will be harsh and shrill.

The ink will shine bright, making right with such might.

Alas! Justice will be swift, it will come to pass.

Your press will bring an end to all that is crass.

For you can’t stick a crooked stick up a straight man’s ass.

Horace stopped his scribble, looking over the tops of his spectacles as he cleared his throat saying, May have to omit the last line of prose there, Mr. Davis.

Lester, with an elevated pitch now in his voice and another pointed finger at Horace, said, Just a guess, now mind you, but dare I say that this verbal struggle and banter you’re having with Miss Clarke is over her concerns about inquires and communications from outside your fair town?

Horace furrowed his brow and, with a look of bewilderment, said, Ah yes, but that is of no concern to the present.

Horace was interrupted by the booming baritone of Lester. Let me be the judge of what is of concern to the president and matters of national security.

Startled now, Horace sunk back in his chair. Lester continued, It is apparent to the president that a certain financially powerful person on the eastern seaboard is in this conspiracy and is, in part, financially backed by the crown of the British with his goal of this chicanery, to wreak havoc in our country. Horace I have been empowered by the highest authority in this land to hunt down, pursue, and execute, if need be, all enemies of this country, both foreign and domestic.

Lester in another forceful thrust, extended his arm. Index finger again pointing at Horace, he boomed out, You, Mr. Horace Berkley, are doing business with and supporting the number one public enemy of this young land. You have provided Bingham Needham and his evil criminal enterprise with strategic information. You’ve given him geographics and demographics, locations of businesses, as well as personal home and ranch locations of innocent citizens.

But, but… Horace blunderingly interrupted, I have only done what any good business journalist would do through the respected Boston legal counsel of the BBBS.

Lester paused as he glared with fiercely intent eyes at Horace then asked, And just what is it you think that the BBBS anachronism stands for?

Purposefully intent on protecting his reputation, Horace indignantly cried out, Why, Mr. Davis, my communications went directly to the legal counsel of the Boston Bastian Biblical Society.

It was obvious that Horace was becoming unraveled. With what little resolve remained, he looked at Molly and said, Now, Miss Clarke, scurry down to the legal office of Rudyard Rupert and bring him back here forthwith, and be sure to tell him the freedom of the press is in jeopardy.

Horace’s attention to Molly was snapped off by the loud ratcheting of the manacles in Lester’s hands. Lester smiled at Molly, saying, As of this moment, Miss Clarke, you’re under no obligation to work for Mr. Berkley, although you will be drawing full wages from him for the next month or so. That’s about the minimum time frame we figure it will take to clear this clustered, grease-hot-fired mess up.

Now it was Zeek’s turn, as he spoke to Molly. Of course, Molly, you’re free to pursue an audience with the esteemed Rupert. I am sure he will advise Horace that proof of treason or sedition, by definition, does not require the showing of intent by the accused. Conversely, the only proof needed here to put old Horace here in prison, for as long as he draws breath or is hanged, are the things we hold in hand.

Horace interrupted, pleading, What proof do you hold?

Zeek countered, The proof is that you knowingly provided questionable information to a criminal element in partnership with a foreign enemy. That foreign power seeks to overturn this government’s rule. We have all the proof we need. Now, Molly, was there something in that folder you have brought that you wished to show us?

Without a moment’s hesitation, Molly brought the folder to her lap as she spoke.

"Now this is starting to make sense. At first I was excited for the opportunity to do an assigned journal research project. When I delved further and further into the available archives, it dawned on me. Why would a supposed protector—or bastion as it were—of biblical society want reams of material on anyone associated with or related to the Macovey family? It was during the course of sorting through all the materials that my suspicions mounted. It was the instance when I came across this twelve-year-old article from the Denver Harold."

She handed the article to Zeek, saying, As you can see, it outlines an incident wherein a near riot erupted in the Denver Court house. Jacob and Conner Macovey had been falsely accused and filed on by the man of whom you speak, Bingham Needham.

After a thoughtful pause of concern, Molly continued. The article goes on to tell that Needham, as well as his two wanted, fugitive Boston thug bullies were charged, convicted, and sentenced for the numerous crimes of bribery, coercion, and false swearing. I gave you that letter, and now I will give you the letter Mr. Berkley dictated and had me write. Clearly distraught, Molly brought the other letter out of the satchel, saying, This is Horace’s letter to the attorneys of the BBBS.

She handed it to Mr. Davis. When Zeek finished reading the first Denver article, Lester was chuckling as he handed Horace’s dictated letter to Zeek, who began reading the letter aloud.

To: The honorable council of the BBBS

From: Horace Berkley. Founder, president and editor of the Silver Bow Weekly Independent.

Please advise Mr. Bingham Needham that I consider it an honor to continue to provide any and all information on the business interests, associates, and developments on the original list of names from your first two initial inquires. As agreed, nothing with reference to this information will be released, disclosed, or researched by our paper prior to my personal interview with Mr. Needham.

As a side note, please be advised that the additional time and research involved to facilitate your requests has required me to add on additional staff.

Any further monetary relief you can provide to offset this expense is needed in order to continue to provide timely responses to your requested commissions.

Also, please be advised that your two sealed letters will be delivered to both LaChapell and Darnell today.

Your journalist in cause,

Horace Berkley

Horace was blubbering with gray drool dribbling off his chin; his bladder had released while his bowels audibly rumbled.

After reading the letter aloud, Lester handed it back to Zeek, who said, "Well, Horace, it seems I recall you have problems with a nervous stomach, and it appears that doomsday has settled in your bowels. Not to fear though, it won’t be for long, because when the noose on the hangman’s knot snaps your brain stem, your guts and bowels will pour right out your fat butt. Probably gonna have to tell the hangman to have the doctor put on a diaper before the neck tie stretching.

If you think your tongue’s gray now, wait till it gets that dark purple hue when it pops out of your mouth along with your eyeballs, at the hanging.

Horace was moaning as he retched and gagged on his own bile. His entire countenance surrendered as he struggled to his feet, flagellating in the effort to get to the door. He ran down the hallway screaming, Where is the nearest privy?

End of the hall, Horace! Zeek yelled out as they heard the door slam.

Zeek and Lester were giggling as Lester said, Nice touch, Zeek.

While he crooked his index finger inside his stretched cheek, mimicking the set hook of a snagged fish, this brought on another bout of involuntary laughter as Zeek said, Fish on.

They both slowed the merriment to a stop. They realized Molly was staring at them wide-eyed. She suddenly grasped it all and said quietly, This is not real, is it? You’re not going to hang him, are you? She paused and slowly continued, My, my, you two are really good at what you do. How long have you rehearsed this? Wait, Lester, you just charged up here when Horace and I were arguing outside. Don’t tell me you two just met. Land sakes, you did just meet, didn’t you? Oh, my word, the two of you are far beyond good. Your accomplished stage performance is that of award-winning thespians, and handsome to boot. No criminal, let alone woman, is safe around the two of you.

Then they all laughed together.

After the humor subsided, Molly’s eyes welled up, and she ran to Zeek, who hugged her, holding the back of her head in his palm. Her cheek secure against his chest, she sobbed, Oh, Zeek, I am so scared of these evil people and what they might do.

Zeek brought the situation back to the serious reality of the circumstances they were faced with. He gave Molly his neck scarf and held her at arm’s length. Zeek assured her she would be safe and in no danger, as well the importance of her not discussing this further with anyone, especially Horace. He spoke to her softly. Molly, it is only in his favor that he even decided to accompany you here today. There is one thing we need to know for certain before he returns, and we proceed. Who discovered the Denver article first—was it you or Horace? Forget what we said about intent. We actually do need it. If Horace knew of the history between Needham and the Macoveys, then he’s as guilty as the serpent in the garden. Either way, we’re going to sweat him like a Roman bathhouse.

Molly answered, In fairness to Horace, it was I who discovered the article by accident during my research on the Macovey travels involving the sales of their stock. I was jolted when I saw the Needham name in headlines which pronounced his sentence. From that point, I just went in reverse order of weekly issue releases until I came to the article I gave you. I was trying to get Horace to look at my research last evening, but he said he was too busy. It near kept me up all night in fret. This morning after I saw you enter the hotel, I intercepted Horace on his way to the press. I was arguing and literally dragging that bulk of his over here.

Lester wanted to know how it was that the eastern news reached this far west, which Molly explained. "The editor of the Denver sheet gets weekly copies of the Eastern Globe from their editor, who is Francis Blair."

Molly was clearly upset over the potential demise of her boss as she continued to dab at the tears streaming from her eyes. She continued, The Denver editors simply reprint any news from the east, which may be of interest to western readers, as well a small portion dedicated to the local happenings or newsworthy events. Horace pays the Denver editor an annual fee for a once-monthly shipment. He repeats the same reprint process on items of eastern interest, as well the local portion of whatever gossip he can sensationalize. That’s how I found this information, while going through the years of Denver sheets.

They were interrupted by the gruff whining voice of Horace from down the hall.

Miss Clarke! Miss Clarke, I need your help. She rolled her eyes and started to get up when Zeek told her to stay and enjoy her coffee and he would go.

Within a few minutes, Zeek returned, saying, Probably a good thing I went. I doubt that the good Mrs. Berkley would understand your showing up at her home asking for a clean shirt and pair of trousers for Horace.

As good fortune would have it, Mrs. Buren was at the door with a fresh coffee pitcher. With the delicate nose of a lady, she set the pitcher down and went directly to the other two windows that were not open. She opened them while fanning the air and said, What barnyard animal pen did you men walk through before you came in here. The smell has permeated the entire hallway! Let me see your boots.

She was interrupted by Molly, who took her aside, and after a brief whisper of conversation, Martha, whose eyes grew wider as she listened, curtly said, I’ll be right back.

A few minutes later, Martha returned with Ursula and Desirae; they carried a bucket full of steamy hot water bubbled up with lye soap. With an armload of fresh clean towels, a large burlap bag, and clean clothing, Martha went right up to Zeek and told him, We are blessed that my late husband was a big man. These clothes will fit Horace. Please explain to Mr. Berkley that he will not have them until after he is submerged in a hot bath. The water for his bath is being brought up now. Until then, he is to scrub and mop that entire rancid toilet area of his foul, fetid filth. Inform him that he is to put all his former clothing, sullied or not—and I mean down to the stockings—into this burlap sack. It will be going into our furnace. I will prepare his bill, which will be paid prior to his departure—that is unless he wants me to collect it from Mrs. Berkley.

When Horace returned, red-faced, from the top down his appearance was similar to that of a carnival clown, the devil in bib overalls. Lester and Zeek held off the laughter. Zeek thought, If only Horace had a pitchfork.

With his frumpy, saggy cotton shirt and bucked-off baggy canvas pants, held up by the wide dingy suspenders, his appearance was that of a typical hog farmer. They waited, almost expecting a high-pitched suu-wee hog call to come out of his mouth.

Horace had the look of a man criminally judged and doomed to the chains of incarceration and slow death. With all the pathetic sobbing pleas he could summon up, he said, "Oh, Mr. Davis, I am a sorry, hapless victim. I will castigate myself on your mercy. Please know that my goals were not that of bringing harm to the people. I saw only the profit and ability to purchase a new Koenig steam printing press.² Is my despicable deed one that has no capable leniency? Oh, the horrors of my life through pitiful ambition. I lament, Chaucer³ the poet had me defined: ‘Woe was this knight and sorrowfully he sighed.’ Could I but prostrate myself at the divine altars of the Canterbury Cathedral? I would chastise by blows from the cat of nine tails to chasten my wretched—"

Zeek forcefully interrupted, Gag your blowhole, Horace. You’re making us queasy with this nauseous age-old blither. If you insist, then why not just go back another hundred years and call it just like it is—you’re the Remorseful Prick of Conscience.⁴

---

¹ The office of US marshals is the oldest US federal law enforcement office. The US marshals’ office was created by the Judiciary Act of 1779.

² In 1814, Friedrich Koenig invented the steam-powered printing press. This began the automated process of making newspapers available to a mass audience (which in turn helped spread literacy) and, from the 1820s, changed the nature of newspaper and book production.

³ Geoffrey Chaucer was a poet in the fourteenth century. A Knights Tale is one of eighty-three manuscripts from the Canterbury Tales.

⁴ The Remorseful Prick of Conscience is a late thirteenth-century treatise on Christian morality, the work of Don Michael of Northgate.

Chapter 4

Zeek was at one of the open windows when his eyes lit up at the sight of Ned and Violet Vanderpot pulling up to the mercantile in their fine supply wagon. They were followed closely by the two prancing Appaloosa horses Doozy and Curly. Mounted on their backs were the smiling faces of Charee McClain and Cameron Macovey. The room remained silent as Zeek brought Molly over to the window.

Molly’s eyes brightened at the sight of her friends. Zeek leaned into Molly’s ear and whispered, It’s about to become a bit unchaste in here, so perhaps if you would, please go down and invite our friends to lunch. Also please inform Martha that there will be seven of us—or nine, that is if the Bonner’s would care to join us for the noon meal. Excited now, Molly made a hasty retreat.

Horace, completely dejected, hung his head as Lester broke the silence. Horace, I shudder to think of you with all your front teeth pulled out, tied to a chair or a bed. The brutal violations the receptacles of your doughy-soft flesh would have to endure in the penitentiary dungeons.

Another long moment of silence followed as the tears dripped from Horace’s eyes. Both Zeek and Lester knew that the steady pressure had broken Horace; his limit of endurance was shattered. Aware that if they pushed him further, it would risk Horace bringing on his self-destruction. To avoid his suicide now, it was time to present him with a glimmer of hope.

Horace, this is a skinny, slim—I mean close to a skeletal—chance, but we may have a way to renew your station as a respected productive member of this community. What would you do to keep from dancing with the devil at the end of the hemp loop? Lester asked.

Horace dropped off the chair to his knees. Hands clenched as if in prayer, he declared, Oh, my good men, for the absolution and clemency there is nothing in my power I would not do to gain judicial pardon. Merely name the tasks for my humble hands to set to.

During the time Lester had been trifling with Horace, Zeek had written out a detailed confession. He handed it to Horace, telling him, Horace, this is a concise confession outlining your conspiratorial acts. This paper also contains three other paragraphs. One declares your obligations, duties, and allegiance to Lester and me. You will be an informant throughout this investigation. One, which holds this entire matter confidential, you are held to the guidelines of secrecy and nondisclosure. It explicitly outlines that you do not discuss it with anyone. Lastly, it details that if you have completed your oath of this contract, at the conclusion, this one and only copy will be given to you for your obliteration.

Horace’s tongue darted out to the pencil led with the speed of a bullfrog after a mayfly. Where do I sign? he cried.

When the three signatures were applied to the agreement, Zeek sent Horace back to his office to collect all forms of communication between him and Needham.

Zeek told Lester, You’re about to meet Cameron Macovey and his sweetheart Charee. Additionally, Ned and Violet Vanderpot will be joining us for lunch. I think it might be prudent to brief the men and let them handle it the way they want with their ladies.

Lester replied, If all these scrote bags are headed to this Bingham Needham character, they will probably be going to Boston to organize and deploy. I left New York three days after the prison releases. Most of them have probably straggled in to Boston by now, but it’ll be at least another week minimum for them to pack up and start for Denver.

Zeek broke in, saying, Just a thought, but what if Needham is smart enough to divide his resources and send a contingent of force up the Missouri? Probably unlikely, though, as the majority of these scoundrels are city criminals who wouldn’t last a week in the wild.

When Zeek and Lester walked into the dining room, the four women were admiring the decor, design, and furnishings. Martha was leading them on a detailed tour of the interior. All these people had shared a history of having been together for a brief period.

Normally that would not constitute a closeness of bond; however, when life and death circumstances are ushered in, then the acceleration of friendship becomes almost instantaneous. This was the hastened development and intimacy of trust within this group.

It was a pleasurable reuniting of acquaintances as the new introduction of Lester was made. Prior to seating, Lester took the opportunity to briefly slip out of the dining room. He returned within minutes as Martha was seating the guests. The elaborate table setting and menu caused eyebrows to be raised with a flood of admirable conversation.

The offerings included some of the finest dishes not commonly found west of the continental divide.

This looks marvelous, Violet said as she scanned the menu.

Martha spoke up humorously, saying, What you will find on the menu is mostly the result of local purchase. If it cannot not be grown, picked, speared, snagged, hooked, fermented, distilled, or grown from the earth of the local farms or gardens, then it was most likely shot, gutted, and skinned in the wild. Now please order and save just a wee bit of room for desert.

As everyone was ordering, in walked Mrs. Fitzgerald with Wilbur Dumase, both carrying large bouquets of long-stemmed red-, yellow-, and salmon-colored roses. The four dozen were set on opposite sides of the room, bringing the vocal adoration from all the ladies present.

Martha postured up, with a questioning look at Mrs. Fitzgerald, who stated with a big smile, Compliments of a Mr. Lester Nelson.

The other men somberly turned to look at Lester, while of course the ladies clapped in marveled applause.

Martha, with a wry smile, approached Lester, who of course stood as she presented her hand in curtsy saying, On behalf of the Buren Hotel, we extend our gratitude.

Lester, smiling, briefly bowed, saying, This is my pleasure, Mrs. Buren. I am grateful that you’re pleased.

The room was as quiet as a cavern, as if no one was breathing the mouths of the men agape, and the wide eyes of the ladies increased the enchantment of the instant.

Ned looked at Violet, and of course she came to the rescue of all the lock-jawed onlookers by saying, Bless my stars if this array of color does not bring a dazzle of light and romance to this room. Come now, Ned, let’s take in the aroma of the roses.

Ned gladly stood up; taking her hand, they went to the bouquets. Following suit to defer attention and assist in breaking the silent captive spell, Cameron took Charee’s hand, and they proceeded to go and smell the roses.

The spell was now completely shattered as the four young ladies, all kin to Martha, entered the dining rooms with the ornate wheel carts. They lined the carts up, and each stood behind a cart. Sophie, the youngest,