Trouble at Cripple Creek

Trouble at Cripple Creek

In the distance was the first water they had seen in four days. Billy led the way, as usual, with Frank and his wife, Celeste, followed, riding double. The blistering sun beat down on them, and the desolate, god forsaken desert was trying to kill them. The Chihuahuan Desert is a rocky, mountainous place, not a desert of sand and cacti. Tall sandstone cliffs, with a rusty reddish hue were scattered across the landscape, as the trio crossed into the New Mexico Territory.  

They were looking to start a new life after they lost their old place back in Savannah, Georgia, which was off the north fork of the Broad River. It was a white plantation house with a long road lined with gigantic live oaks, with patches of green moss hanging from the massive branches. They were close enough together that they intertwined with each other, forming an immense row of ancient oaks. On both sides of the road, vast acres of massive tobacco leaves swayed in harmony as the wind cut through the country landscape. The slave quarters were tucked away behind the main house, and they were exceptionally clean and modern for the time, but Frank and Celeste had a room downstairs in the main house. Unfortunately, that house burnt to the ground in the spring of 1864, and Billy lost his wife in the fire. He never found out what caused the fire. After that he couldn’t bear to stay there, so he sold everything and invited Frank and Celeste to go west with him.  

Frank and Celeste were newly freed slaves, but stayed with Billy after emancipation. He’s a fair man. He's a good man. He treated them like human beings, even before the war. People knew Billy to judge a man (or woman) by their actions, and the mark they left on the world.      

“I’ll tie the horses, Frank you get some water, Celeste, you go get in the shade and cool down,” Billy said, as they halted on the flat up above the water hole. Then he jumped down and hurried to help Celeste down. Frank nimbly threw his leg over and dismounted his steed.

“I didn’t think we were gonna make it. Good thang it’s not dried up on us.”, Frank said as he was gathering the containers. He tried to swallow, but it was no use, he was parched, his throat dry as sandpaper. 

“Do you need help with those?” Celeste said.  

“No. Now you listen to what Billy said and go cool off now, don’t want you strokin out on us. I’ll just be a minute. I love you”.  

“I love you too”.  

“Enough lovey dovey get us some water Frank or we’re all gonna die out here.” Frank finished gathering the canteens and carefully navigated the steep incline that led down to the water hole.Frank had filled the canteens and was working on the buckets when a gunshot echoed over the landscape, then another, then another.

“Frank, Frank, help, help, help, NO, NO, GET OFF ME, LEAVE ME ALONE, FRANK HELP ME!”. He scrambled to get up the steep embankment, but the loose stones would not allow him to climb fast enough. Men's voices were echoing off the sandstone cliffs. At least two men, maybe more. When he finally struggled to the top, he saw Billy, dead. They took the horses, and they were getting away with Celeste. The men and their horses faded into the distance, through the mirage. The sound of the galloping horses grew quieter, fainter, quieter, until silence. Celeste was gone.

'What am I gonna do now, Billy’s dead, they’ve got my wife, I’ve gotta get her back, but we are a three-day ride out into the desert. It doesn't matter. I don’t care. I, I gotta go.’ he thought. Then Frank turned his gaze back to Billy and his heart sank once again. His friend was shot three times, once through the neck and twice in the head. It was an execution. Frank lost himself and fell to his knees with tears streaming down both cheeks. He bellowed in sadness as he tried to scoop the reddish, grayish clumps back into Billy’s skull. Then he realized that he had to leave his friend. Billy deserved better, he deserved the proper respect and proper burial, but Billy was beyond his help and Celeste still had a chance. To make things worse, Frank had to search Billy and take his things, which made Frank feel dirty and disrespectful. He rolled Billy over and laying under him was his 1861 LeMat nine shot, cap and ball revolver, also known as a ‘Grape Shot Revolver’ for the extra sixteen gauge buckshot barrel nestled underneath the forty-two caliber main barrel.  

Frank went back down to the water hole and retrieved Billy’s canteen. He shouldered the canteen and holstered the gun in his waistband. Frank held his fingers horizontally between the sun and the horizon. Three fingers between the sun and the horizon, three hours of daylight. So he started walking toward Cripple Creek, following those lowlife bastards who had taken Celeste. “I’m coming for you.”, he muttered, but his words were lost into the desert wind.

Frank shuttered to think what horrible things may happen to Celeste, she needed him to keep tracking through the night, though he could lose the trail in the dark. Either way, he needed a horse, and Cripple Creek was his best chance of getting one. ‘I have to keep my wits about me.’, he thought, but he pushed onward into the blackness, not knowing at the time that he would stumble through the desert for the next two nights.

Frank should have brought all the water, not just Billy’s canteen. Moving fast had gotten him nowhere, and now his body wouldn’t allow another step, and he collapsed under his own weight. He was dying. As he lay on the scorching ground, he felt wholly inadequate, knowing that he couldn’t care for his own family, or friends. This was his last thought as his eyelids grew heavy and he drifted into darkness.

Frank was awoken with a series of crisp, painful smacks to his sunburned face. “Thought you was food for the buzzards there for a minute.”, the man said in a coarse country tone. He helped Frank to his feet and offered him some water. “What are ya doin out here?”

Frank took the canteen and gulped the water so fast he nearly strangled himself. Then he drank some more. “They’ve got my wife.”

“Who?”

“The men, the men who killed my friend, kidnapped my wife, and left me out here to die. I need a horse, you know where I can get one”

“Hold on there mister, how do I know you didn’t kill your buddy and your horses just ran off in the gunfight?”, the man said. He eyeballed the pistol in Frank’s waistband.

“Cause if I did, I would just shoot you and take your horse.”

“Guess you got a point, names Angus.”

“Frank”

Angus was a stocky man with a little bit of a gut and a medium length shaggy beard that was as much white as black. He sported deep wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead. No doubt from living in the desert all his life. He clinched a small cigar between his teeth and wore a tethered cowboy hat with a round brim. “Come on then.” He said as he climbed up on his wagon. There was a single mule towing a small wagon with one crooked bench seat. Frank followed.

On the way to town, Frank recounted what had happened at the water hole. “Did you get a look at the men that took her?”, said Angus.

“No, all I saw was their backs as they rode away, said Frank.

“So you wouldn’t even know them if they walked up and smacked you in the face, you need to think more about what you did see and less about what you didn’t see.”

“I don’t know. Well, I don’t know if it means anything but, their horses, they rode painted appaloosas.”

“Appaloosas, uh oh. Buddy, you've got big problems. That means they’re likely members of the Graves Boys, and that means they’re untouchable, unless you got yourself a death wish. They got people from coast to coast. Hell, they even work for the army drivin out the Injuns, and who knows what else.” Angus said nervously. “I had a couple run-ins with em when I was a lawman back in Missouri, and like I said they do as they please, robbin, rapin, killin, none of it counts when they do it, cause the Yankees just come and get em and they’re right back at it like nothin ever happened.”

“ I’ve gotta find em, will you help me?”, Frank said. He spotted the town in the distance.

“I can tell you how to find em. Their boss man Cody Graves, he owns a ranch bout half a day ride west of town. Ride straight till you get to the floatin rock and take a right at the fork. Once you pass the fork, you’re just about an hour from the lion’s den.”, Angus said. Then he pulled back on the reins, halting the horses in front of the grain store with a long, slow “Woah!”. “You sure bout this?”

Frank jumped from the wagon “I’ve got to, where can I get a horse?”

"Livery," said Angus. He pointed to an old gray, rain stained barn across the street and down a way.

“Thanks old man, you saved my life,” Frank said. Then he walked away toward the livery.

After acquiring a mount, and gathering some supplies, Frank tied his horse outside the sheriff’s office and went up on the boardwalk where he found a note that read gone, be back Saturday. It was Friday. So he took his mount and headed west out of town.

Turns out floating rock is quite a literal name. It was a rock, probably forty feet across, balanced precariously on a small pedestal. It didn’t look possible. Frank took the right fork and didn't waste any time.

The sun was low when Frank spotted the ranch house in the distance. He shot off the trail beyond a small rise, out of sight from the house and the road. Then tied his horse and crawled top of the rise and examined the ranch with the remaining sunlight.   

The house and barn looked small out in the middle of such a large open expanse, Frank knew that it was an illusion. The house was large. It had a porch on all four sides and an upstairs balcony where a sentry stood watch with his rifle. The whole thing was backdropped with rounded off mountains covered in patchy dead grass and brittle, dried up tumbleweeds that hadn’t quite broken loose. He waited for darkness before moving on.

Once darkness fell across the landscape, Frank closed the remaining distance on foot, creeping up behind the barn, he saw the house lit up inside with a flickering orange light, just enough light to see people moving around inside. He needed to get closer, without the guard seeing him. He needed a distraction. Frank went into the barn, bridled a horse, and brought it back out to the corner of the barn. He drew the pistol from his waistband and with the other hand he smacked the horses’ back side. The horse bolted across the yard horizontally in front of the house, directly in front of the guard.  

“Who’s there, stop. Stop right now”, and he fired his rifle. The gunshot only suceeded in making the horse move faster. Then he ran in the upstairs door. Frank could hear him come down the stairs, then some loud talking, then three men, including the guard came out the front door. One man jumped on a horse that was tied at the hitching post in front of the porch, while the other two ran in the barn, saddled their steeds and followed.

With the coast clear, Frank carefully made his way onto the porch and up to a window. There he saw a sharply dressed man in all black. He had a neatly trimmed goatee and a gun belt with two silver-plated pistols. This must be the boss. It must be Cody Graves. If Celeste was still alive, she would have to be in the house, so Frank busted through the door with a gun in hand, “I wouldn’t”, Frank said as Cody’s hand twitched toward his gun. “Where is she?”, asked frank.  

“Where’s who”, Cody replied calmly.

“My wife, is there a woman here?”

“Yeah, sure there is, but you got it all wrong pal.”, he said. Then he started laughing. “Darlin, the man asked if there was a woman here”, Cody said. He looked up at the stairs.

“Oh, I'd say I’m all woman, aren’t I baby.” It was Celeste. It was her. She knew Cody. Frank dropped his gun to the floor with a thud and fell to his knees. “What is going on, Celeste? Do you know this guy?”

“Know me? This whole caper was her idea.” Cody said.

“Who do you think burnt the house back in Georgia? Celeste said. “Tell him, baby.”

“That would be me, but I was working for the army.” Cody said.

Celeste slowly descended the stairs, “I knew he wouldn’t stay there after his wife died in that house, and I made sure she did. Who do you think whispered in his ear about how great it was on the western frontier? I knew he would cash out, and I knew just how to get all that money. Ain’t that right, honey.”

“Uh huh,” Cody said, wrapping his arm around her waist.

The men had caught the horse and were coming back in the house when one of them cocked his gun to Frank’s head and said, “want me to take care of him?”

“Nah, we are gonna do this one all legal, we’ll take him to the sheriff at first light.” Cody said.

Angus watched as the Graves Boys and Celeste pulled Frank down Main Street on foot with his wrists bound, straight to the sheriff’s office. “Poor ole Fool”, he thought, as he headed toward the telegraph office.

“Go ahead, tell the sheriff what happened.”, Cody said, gesturing to Celeste.

“Well, he killed my friend Billy, and after he shot him he told me how he had killed Mrs. Dawson back in Georgia, and I thought he was gonna kill me too. I barely got away with my life.”

“That's not true.”, said Frank.

“I can prove it. Here, he had these on him last night.”, and she produced Billy’s canteen and revolver, which had his initials B.D. on them.

“No, you don’t understand, I got those because-”

“Shut up, get in and don’t open your mouth again.”, said the sheriff. He opened the cell door, shoved Frank in and slammed it with a loud clang. “Now let’s go get your statement.”, can I offer you folks a drink?”

Frank paced back and forth in his cell until the sheriff came back. He was alone. “You got bout three til the judge gets here, you’re gonna hang. How could you do that to your friend? You deserve everything you are gonna get.”

“But I-”

“Tell it to the judge.”

Frank was in trouble, bad trouble, until one night, a couple hours before daylight, a familiar voice awoke Frank.

“PSSST.”

Frank went to the window. It was Angus! “What are you doin here?”, Frank said.

“Gettin you outta here, I know you they set you up, and I called in some help, Stand back.”, Angus said. He tied a rope around the bars, gave the signal to the other man who spurred his horse into action. The window gave way with incredible ease, and Angus had a horse waiting for Frank. “Let’s go”, he said. They fell into a single file and headed west out of town. They stopped at floating rock to rest their horses. Angus introduced his accomplices, “This is James and Buck. They used to be law men like me, they’ve had their own run-ins with the Graves Boys. Got Frank fired, and James well, let’s just say both these boys want a little payback.” Angus removed a gun belt from his saddlebag and gave it to Frank. Moonlight glinted off two six-shot forty-five caliber revolvers. Frank hung the belt on his waist and cinched it tight.

“Billy deserved better than he got.”

“So did you. Now let's go get 'em.”

The four horsemen took the right fork toward Cody’s. That night gunshots echoed across the valley, and fire consumed Graves’ Ranch. The Four Horsemen of Cripple Creek were born.