whitecloudlitver1

Mr. Pat Lacey,

Me and Simon are back home after seven years gone, and a lot has changed. I ran into Sheriff Staker right off the mark. He’s getting old. Told me he was having some trouble with a bunch of herders, “Islanders” he calls them. They’re holed up on that big sand patch about three miles down the Platte. He asked me for help, to maybe sign on as the law. Me? Buell Mace a lawman? I almost laughed in his face. Less than a week later I met two of them Islanders, a big, fat ox named Roscoe, and a shifty Negro they called Ned. I had to bust them up a little when they butted in on me talking with a whore. I didn’t expect that to be the last I’d see of them.

I was of two minds about staying here in Carlisle. Pa’s keen on the idea but he’s changed a lot, too. Remember how if you was to cross him there’d be hell to pay? Now he’s just as likely to smile and beg your pardon. I don’t like that much. Simon says times change, but that don’t mean I have to. I decided to help Pa out with the cartage till I made up my mind. He’s doing real good; three wagons and five hired hands.

I took a load of supplies out to a rancher named Bedell. Interesting fellow. He came here from New Mexico Territory and built up a right nice spread about twelve miles out. I guess my run-in with Roscoe and his friend got to Mr. Bedell afore me, because he asked me to hire on as a shooter. It seems some rustlers was getting bold. I gave him the same answer I give to the sheriff. Reason is a little different, but he didn’t have to know that.

Pa decided to run for mayor. Hard to believe. He used to call politicians axle-greasers, and never had no use for them. And it turned out Pa was on the wrong side of the fence when it come to ranchers and farmers, too. The town folks sided with the clodhoppers, and Pa has always been partial to the cowmen.  You reckon the old days have something to do with that? And me liking Mr. Bedell didn’t help none either. I reckon Pa has picked a losing fight because Simon and his pa was against him, too. Simon said it wasn’t personal. Like hell I think.

I was right about Roscoe and Ned. Them cur dogs cold-cocked me at the stable; three of them. They tied me to a post and was deciding whether to skin me right there or take me to that island and do it. I got to admit, I was a little scared. Then the sheriff came in toting that big ten bore double barrel of his and run them off. Just let them go. I damn near choked on it. I reckon he had his reasons, but it sure made sense to me to just shoot all three of them right there, and I told him such.

Then the politics got going good. Blake Waldon, he run the tannery when I was a kid; I didn’t like him then, instinct I think—anyhow, he was backing Pa in the election, and I didn’t think he was quite square. I still don’t like him; snake oil salesman if I ever saw one, or worse. And he was all friendly with Pa, and Pa has ate it up like a starving calf. I think I’ve got that figured out.

I had two more soirées with that Island bunch. I met a couple out on the bluffs by the river when I went to take a look at their island. I tried to get the one to pull his pistol. He run out of want-to real easy, but it was plain he wasn’t happy getting showed up in front of the other fellow. Bout a week later I left the saloon late and saw a couple of Bedell’s men getting beat on. I went to help and got whacked on the head. I woke up at the doctor’s place, my best pistol missing, and a knot the size of a biscuit on my gourd. I think the doctor figured I had it coming. He didn't say the words but a man can tell.

Bedell went to Denver for some business, and his men come by asking if I’d like to go roust the Islanders for the whipping out back of the saloon. Before Bedell left he warned them not to but they’re mostly Texans, and I reckon he knew that. I found out who had my pistol.  It was the same yahoo that I braced out by the island, so I thought I’d just go with them. All them Islanders are afoot now with their string scattered across four counties.  I got my pistol back from that fellow. Ain't had that much fun for a long time.

The sheriff showed up the very next day and wanted to know if I meant to kill that yahoo. I reckoned not if he was over at the doc’s office getting his head sewed up. The sheriff didn’t think it was as funny as I did. Neither did Simon; he’s changed a lot. I don’t like that much either.

Be damned if Pa didn’t win that election. Mr. Bedell schemed a way for all them cowboys to vote. The town folks was up in arms about it, but the judge said it was fair and square. That Bedell is a clever fellow. But that made Pa really dig his heels in about me staying and being the sheriff. Half the town thinks it’s a fine idea and the other half don’t. Both got the same reason; they have seen how I handle folks that get out of line

I was undecided until two days ago. I took a load out to Bedell’s and on the way back Roscoe and two others hauled me over. They meant to kill me for sure. I managed to get the best of Roscoe with a rock, then I shot one, same yahoo that I thumped at the island; not a very smart fellow. He went on his face to the ground and the other fellow run off but I know who he is. I stuffed Roscoe in the foot box so I could keep my feet on him, and took him to the sheriff. Be damned if some lawyer didn’t get him let loose, and then the judge tells the sheriff I had two days to show cause—what the hell that is I don’t know, but I can guess—why it’s not me that needs to be in jail for shooting that fellow.

So I'm hiding out a bit here at Bedell’s place. I know who’s behind it all, and he meant to do harm to me and Pa.  He has made a bad mistake to threaten my Pa. This will end one of two ways, and I reckon I am ready for either. This may not be private like you said it should be, but tomorrow I go to settle things up.

Your friend
Buell Mace