Hello, Well, I wanted to write something this month and I tried two different ideas that petered out or I couldn't get right. So last weekend I just went with a tried and true plot. Here's my take on "There's a New Sheriff in Town.
P.S. It is in two parts. I have part two outlined and started but I haven't finished it yet. If next months prompt fits in, I'll post it then, if not, I'll post pat Two in the overspill area.
There’s a New Sheriff in Town
Part OneThe hot dry wind blew hard across the high desert scrub of Grants, New Mexico. The bright sunshine beating down from the brilliant blue sky highlighted every bit of floating dirt and dust, whipping off the dry earth that was mounded next to a six-foot hole in the sunbaked land. A small knot of mourners, dressed in black, strained to hear the preacher over the howling gusts during the solemn ceremony. The middle-aged widow with two sullen young teens broke into quiet sobs as she placed a dented tin sheriff’s star on top of the casket before it was slowly lowered into its final resting place.
Six months laterA young widow, heavy with child, lifted the black netting covering her face in order to dab delicately at the tears silently running down her cheeks. Her knees started to tremble, she started to sway, leaning further and further towards the open gravesite. The older couple, one standing on each side of her, put out their hands for support as the widow let a handful of dry desert sand sift slowly through her shaking fingers. The preacher came over to console the inconsolable. He handed the widow the shiny sheriff’s star and the fairly new leather gun belt that was placed on the casket for the graveside ceremony as a remembrance of a promising life taken far too soon.
Four months laterA passing winter hailstorm pelted the hunched dark clad figures hurriedly scrambling for their horses and buggies. An older woman was sobbing into her grown son’s shoulder as he guided her to the nearby carriage and away from the small cemetery. The woman pulled away when they reached the black carriage and dropped a large sheriff’s badge in the dirt before she was helped in. “I told him not to come out of retirement. Why, oh why did he do it? Grants wasn’t his responsibility anymore. I curse his sense of duty.” The son settled her in the carriage, wrapped a blanket around her head and shoulders for shelter from the passing storm before bending down to retrieve the symbol of his late father’s calling in life, which he slipped into a pocket. His mother would want the possession when the grief and shock lessened in time.
One month laterA meeting of Grants’ Town Council was taking place in the saloon. The municipal building presently consisted of four walls, a rough floor, and the framework for the roof. Angus Grant, the elder Grant brother and mayor, called the meeting to order. There was only one item on the agenda. Grants, once again, needed a new sheriff in town.
“I was worried about the Indians when we got the contract from The Atlantic and Pacific Railroad to build this section of track but little did I know that an outlaw gang would be far more troublesome,” remarked John Grant.
The youngest Grant brother Lewis, reminded the group, “We need to be worried about the Navajos too, after all the Alimitos Gang pay them to hole up on their land so we can’t get to them.”
“We’ve got to find a sheriff that can take care of them once and for all, either capture them or shoot them instead of being shot themselves. I’m tired of having the payroll for the Zuni mountain loggers stolen. Another payroll is coming in three weeks and this one has got to get to the men.” George Hanosh, the man in charge of the area’s logging industry declared.
John Grant banged his fist on the poker table, causing the half full whiskey glasses to rattle and shake but not spilling a drop. He glanced at his glass and thought that there was an advantage to having meetings in the saloon. His mind quickly returned to the business at hand, “And don’t forget the railroad payroll. It’s costing a fortune to hire all those extra armed guards when the payroll is being delivered and half the time, they just hand the money over. I’ve hired and fired more guards in the past year than railroad workers.”
“I’m losing customers, people are keeping their money at home. For all I know they could be stuffing their mattresses and I can’t say I blame them. We’ve got to do something about that gang.” Jacob Van Houten, Grants’ banker, complained.
Pedro Sanchez let loose a stream of angry Spanish. It took a minute or two for him to realize the others around the table were staring blankly at him before he switched to English. “Si, Si, Yes, we need new brave sheriff. They don’t steal my cash but they steal supplies from mi tienda, you know my store, which cost me mucho dinero. But no one around here will take the sheriff job anymore.”
“I can wire the nearest territorial marshal in Albuquerque, again, and demand they provide us with law enforcement services, or I’ll have the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad sue them for dereliction of duty or something,” declared Angus Grant forcefully. His naturally ruddy complexion turned even ruddier as he picked up his whiskey glass and downed its remaining amber contents in one gulp to punctuate his resolve.
Two weeks later“How far is it to Albuquerque, Heyes?”
“About eighty miles straight east.”
“We only have seven dollars and ninety-two cents between us, right?”
“Yep.”
“Sheesh, I’m tired of jackrabbit and beans. We’re way off where we wanted to be.”
“Blame the persistent posse, Kid, not me.”
“I’m not blamin’ you. I kinda liked the idea of going to Albuquerque and resting up before we crossed Sandia crest to Santa Fe then over to Taos and up into the San Juans in Southern Colorado. That area of the country is nice in the spring into summer.”
“We can still do that. But we’ll have to find work soon or some poker games that are more than penny ante stakes.”
Kid Curry pointed to the collection of buildings in the distance, many of which seemed under construction. “Isn’t the railroad pushing through this area? Maybe we can find work in Grants.”
Heyes held up his hands, the reins trailing down limply, as the horses plodded along the dry, dusty trail. “I don’t know Kid, I kinda like my hands the way they are. I’m not looking forward to sore thumbs and building is hard on the back. And while I was real keen on robbing the railroads, I’m not so keen on doin’ honest work for them.”
Kid chuckled as he felt the same way. But still, the lure of real food, a real bed, and something to do at night but stare at a small fire was strong. “Come on, Heyes, let’s see what’s available in Grants. If nothin’ else, you can take our stake and build on it ‘cause railroad workers aren’t usually great gamblers.” He kicked his large dark bay gelding into a trot. Heyes followed.
~~~~~~~~~~
Eleven dollars richer, not bad for the lunch low stakes game Heyes had joined, the partners were sitting enjoying a beer with a local rancher. They had checked out the town and found it acceptable for a short stay while they replenished their funds. The absence of a sheriff clinched the decision.
“You boys say you’re looking for work. Did you ever work with cattle before?” Bill Ventura asked even though they looked like competent cowboys, their guns were tied down and it was prudent to at least ask.
“Only when we couldn’t avoid it,” the fair-haired one answered.
“Are you avoiding it now?”
The dark one glanced over to his friend, who shrugged. “What did you have in mind?”
“I have a few teams out riding the range to round up all the new calves, castrate the males and brand them before turning them loose again. I need two more men for the last team, It’s only about two to three weeks work, a month tops. I pay ten dollars a week each. What do you say?”
Heyes could tolerate working with cattle for two weeks for the fair pay Ventura was offering. “I’d say you found yourself a couple of men, Mr. Ventura.”
“Great. Call me Bill. If your ready we can leave after our beers are finished, Joshua and Thaddeus. It’s a couple of hours ride to the Flying V.”
The three men drank up, pushed back from the table and walked out of the saloon to their horses.
Pedro Sanchez was standing in the doorway to his busy mercantile, discussing the arrangements for the pick-up of the large order that George Hanosh placed for the nearby logging camp by the Zuni Mesa. Hanosh idly watched the activity in the street as he waited for Pedro to decide when he should send his people to pick up the order. The trio leaving the saloon caught his eye. When the blond swung up on his horse and let his hand drop to the holster tied tightly to his right thigh for a moment before starting after Bill Ventura and the other man, Hanosh’s eyes grew wide in alarm and recognition. The remembered image of a train flashed through his mind. His heart started to race but then he had an idea, a really good idea on how to solve their sheriff problem. He needed to call for an emergency meeting of the Grants Town Council, tonight, if possible.
~~~~~~~~~~
The Flying V’s foreman left mid-morning on an errand for his boss. It was an unusual order but Bill Ventura paid fair wages and was a fair man so he had earned the foreman’s loyalty and obedience even if the errand wasn’t explained. The foreman finally arrived at the line shack and temporary camp at the farthest reaches of the Flying V Ranch, bordering the Navajo Reservation Lands. The men were busy constructing the corral, pens, and chute needed for their assignment. After securing his horse to the remuda line and depositing his things in the line shack he headed over to the duo unloading fence posts from one of the wagons.
“Jones, I need to talk to you.”
Kid turned from pulling fence posts off the wagon, and walked over to the foreman he had met briefly the previous night before leaving in the early morning with the team he and Heyes were assigned to.
“Yeah, what can I do for you?’
“Orders from the big boss; I’m gonna have to let you go. I’m taking your place. Pack up your things and I’ll tell you the fastest way to get back to Grants. Mr. Ventura is sure you’ll be able to find work in town. He’s paying you for the week.” He fished in his pocket, drew out a ten-dollar bill and held it out for Jones to take.
“I didn’t even work a whole day, much less a week. Can you tell me why I’m being let go?” Curry glanced around in confusion before taking the ten dollars that the foreman kept pushing at him.
“No, sorry, he didn’t tell me why but he was real specific that Smith was staying and you were leaving. Now the show’s over folks, everyone back to work.”
Kid walked over to Heyes, who had stopped work to watch. “What do you make of that?”
“Kid, I’ll quit, we have over twenty dollars, that should see us to Albuquerque.”
“Nah, stay. I’ll see what I can find in town and we’ll meet back up in Grants when you’re done. I know where to find you if I need to.”
Hannibal Heyes watched his trouble prone partner ride away with a nagging suspicion that all was not well.
~~~~~~~~~~
Angus Grant and George Hanosh were killing time in the saloon, playing gin rummy and sipping at beers in the late afternoon. A boy about ten came bursting through the bat wing doors, startling the few patrons, who all looked towards the door. The boy rushed over to the two town council members and stood, hopping from one foot to the other with nervous energy.
“Mr. Grant, Mr. Hanosh, there’s a blond man riding into town on a big dark horse. He’s wearing a gun and it’s tied down, just like you told me to watch out for.”
Hanosh put down his cards and went to look out the door. He turned to Grant and nodded yes. Grant flipped the boy a quarter as he rose from the table and both men walked out of the saloon. They watched the blond head towards the livery and intended to be waiting when he exited the stables.
“Hello, I’m the Town Mayor, Angus Grant and my friend here is George Hanosh, he runs the logging operations outside of town on the mesa and is also on the Town Council. Say, weren’t you here yesterday with Bill Ventura from the Flying V?”
Curry stopped as the two important looking men blocked his way. His sense of caution shot way up.
“Yeah, he decided he only needed one temporary hand, so my friend stayed. I came back to look for other work for a few weeks. Look, is there somethin’ you want because otherwise I’ve got to get a room and then dinner.”
Grant put his beefy arm around Kid’s shoulders and starting steering him towards the center of town. “Well, isn’t that a coincidence…” Kid thought to himself, some coincidence, you were waiting for me. “…You aren’t married, are you?”
Curry shook his head no.
“Can you hit anything with that Colt?”
“Well, I usually hit what I aim at.” Kid was wondering what they were getting at when they stopped in front of the empty Sheriff’s office and Jail. He forced the rising panic down as he looked around and noticed the storekeeper watching intently but no men with guns were coming at him.
“Good, good, you’re hired. Pay is thirty dollars a month, we shouldn’t need you much longer than that. And we’ll throw in a room at the hotel, the livery fees, and two meals a day at the café or hotel. You can start now.” Angus Grant grabbed his new employee’s hand and started pumping it vigorously while he pressed a hotel key and a shiny new sheriff’s badge into the palm he was shaking.
Curry’s blue eyes widened in shock. “Wait a minute, are you hirin’ me to be the sheriff? You don’t know anythin’ about me.”
“We know you play honest poker. Bill Ventura hired you so that’s a good recommendation.”
“He fired me, too”
“No matter, not your fault. We also know you aren’t married, have a fancy gun that you know how to use and are available for a few weeks until our new sheriff arrives. That’s enough, Sheriff Jones.”
“What happened to the last Sheriff?”
George rushed to explain, “Sheriff DeMais was old, he passed away from a heart attach right in the middle of Main Street six weeks ago.”
“Oh, before I forget, you can get the keys for the jail from Pedro, over at the mercantile. Anything else you need to know just ask Pedro or Ralph at the saloon. One of us will check in with you in a day or so to make sure everything is okay. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have to be getting home.” Angus started to turn away and pulled on George’s sleeve for him to follow.
Kid Curry stood in front of his new place of employment, shuddered at the thought when he looked through the glass on the door, and watched the two Town Council members walking away. His eyes drifted across the street to Pedro, who was sweeping the boardwalk in front of his store, with a wide satisfied smile on his face. Something was going on and Curry hated the thought that he was just railroaded into the job. His first order of business was to find out why.
George and Angus walked quickly down the boardwalk. Angus turned to George with a suppressed laugh that came out as a snort. “A heart attack?”
“Yeah, that’s what he died of. The doc said old Sheriff DeMais had a heart attach staring at all those six guns the Altimitos Gang were pointing at him. There wasn’t a bullet hole in him.”
The two town council members entered the bank to spread the good news to the bank owner and fellow town council member that there was a new sheriff in town. And as his name was really Kid Curry, The Fastest Gun in the West, he should be a match for the gang’s gunman. They hoped the rumors of him and Hannibal Heyes going straight were true, otherwise, they just might have made a bad situation worse but desperate times called for bold, desperate measures.
Notes:I have been to Grants on my New Mexico trip. The El Morro and El Malpais National Monuments are nearby. El Morro was pretty impressive and the inscriptions in the rock were fascinating. I couldn’t help but imagine Curry and Heyes in that landscape. My husband and I also had an incredible lunch in what to my eastern seaboard suburban eyes looked like a dive. I was surprised and impressed by the food, drinks, and the friendliness of the people. Of course, all through New Mexico, one can’t get away from the ubiquitous chili – Do you want red chilis, green chilis, or both on that? My answer was always neither and I usually received a look of pity. New Mexico is famous for the Hatch Chile.
Grants began as a railroad camp in the 1880s, when three Canadian brothers – Angus A. Grant, John R. Grant, and Lewis A. Grant – were awarded a contract to build a section of the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad through the region. The Grant brothers' camp was first called Grants Camp, then Grants Station, and finally Grants. The new city enveloped the existing colonial New Mexican settlement of Los Alamitos and grew along the tracks of the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad.
The town prospered as a result of railroad logging in the nearby Zuni Mountains, and it served as a section point for the Atlantic and Pacific, which became part of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway. The Zuni Mountain Railroad short line had a roundhouse in town (near present-day Exit 81 off Interstate 40) and housed workers in a small community named Breecetown. Timber from the Zuni Mountains was shipped to Albuquerque, where a large sawmill converted the timber to wood products that were sold around the west.
The National Park Service and the Bureau of Land Management operate the El Malpais Visitor Center at Exit 85 off Interstate 40 in Grants. The visitor center highlights the many features of El Malpais National Monument and El Malpais National Conservation Area.
There is a mining museum in town, as well as the Western New Mexico Aviation Heritage Museum at the Grants-Milan Municipal Airport.
On Route 66/Santa Fe Avenue, the Cibola Arts Council runs an art gallery and museum that features the works of local artists and many Route 66 artifacts including a Ford Model T roadster. The museum hosts special events, shows, and openings on a regular basis.
There is a Tibetan Buddhist stupa in the Zuni Mountains west of town, the Zuni Mountain Stupa
https://visitusaparks.com/grants-new-mexico/El Morro National Monument is a U.S. national monument in Cibola County, New Mexico, United States. Located on an ancient east–west trail in the western part of the state, the monument preserves the remains of a large prehistoric pueblo atop a great sandstone promontory with a pool of water at its base, which subsequently became a landmark where many centuries of explorers and travelers left historic inscriptions that survive today.
With its oasis-like source of water, El Morro served as a stopping place for numerous travelers through the otherwise arid and desolate region, many of whom left signatures, names, dates, and stories of their treks in the walls of the sandstone cliff. While some of the inscriptions are fading, there are still many that can be seen today, with some dating to the 17th century. The oldest historic inscription at El Morro, left by Juan de Oñate, the first Spanish governor of the colony of Santa Fe de Nuevo México, is dated April 16, 1605. Among the Anglo-American emigrants who left their names there in 1858 were several members of the Rose-Baley Party, including Leonard Rose and John Udell. Nearby petroglyphs and carvings made by the Ancestral Puebloans were inscribed centuries before Europeans arrived. In 1906, U.S. federal law prohibited further carving on the cliffs. El Morro was designated a national monument by President Theodore Roosevelt on December 8, 1906
Thu Apr 01, 2021 10:08 am
Had a lot of fun writing this one. Hope you enjoy it.
I'm proud to be in such great company! 
Please forgive the large print, but it's a heck of a lot easier on my eyes! 
"My task, which I am trying to achieve is, by the power of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel -- it is, before all, to make you see..." ~~ Joseph Conrad ~~ 