the stalking moon

who appears like the dawn, fair as the moon….

It was the first of December. The sky was darkening and a cold wind began to blow. Autumn was retreating and the harsh breath of winter could be felt. And with it destitution, darkness, death, and a stiletto saber shaft of light…..a stalking moon. With enough light to distinguish shadows in the darkness but not enough to pierce into the blackness, the ruler of the night held court. We moved silently hunting the most dangerous of prey, a pursuer of men, the most treacherous of all the species. Silently with stealth and the governor of the night the casualties mounted and our presence was felt.

It was the third week of Sherman’s ‘march to the sea’. From Atlanta to Savannah, 285 miles in 37 days a swath 60 miles wide . Sherman presented Savannah to Lincoln as a Christmas gift on December 21st, 1864 before turning north to violate South Carolina and continuing to Charleston before the McClean house in the village of the Appomattox court house on April 9th, 1865, finally halted these hounds from hell. Lincoln and Grant, both presidents, gave their approval to Sherman to implement ‘total war’ and his ‘scorched earth’ course of action. Unprecedented. This was not a conflict with a foreign invader or a racial alien. It was your brother…….

‘It’s not sweet to secede’ a bluebelly wrote while an officer of the Northern Aggression stated, ‘the Union must be sustained at any and all cost’. Under the pretense to hasten the war’s end, the innocent; women, children, the aged and infirmed were made to howl! Always it is the noncombatants who suffer the most in the theatre of war with the greatest number of fatalities, casualties with torn and dismembered flesh, and the destruction of property and substance necessary to survive. It seems after 248 years as a country, blood lust and war are entrenched in our psyche as only a little over 20 years have we been at peace without war. There is no such thing as a good war. In war no one really wins. In modernity, 120,000 civilians died when A-bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki after over 400,000 died during a nine month systematic bombing campaign. And shall we conclude or only scratch the surface with the blood of the innocents dripping from our hands at Dresden, Belgrade, the French coast and Normandy invasion, Okinawa, Vietnam, the Middle East, interment camps, and the politics of multiple proxy wars. The list is endless and the jury agrees. Guilty of high crimes against humanity. And not just us……

An ill wind blew, shadows dark and ominous in the dying sky. Out of the bottomless pit smoke ascended darkening the sun and air. And as I stood and watched there arose a great wonder as the face of the land disappeared and hordes of locust descended with the power of scorpions to hurt and afflict man with stingers in their tails. In their mouth there was the teeth of lions to rend and tear, and the flaming breath of a dragon to devour by fire. The shape of the locust was as horses and their faces, the face of a man, their color blue, the army of the Potomac in review. Defacing the land like a Mongol horde this time led by Tecumseh Khan they left nothing but heinous acts of naked aggression, barren branches, and fields stripped of their sustenance, smoke and ashes. It was the dark spectral existential feature of war; the destruction of human life and the products of human labor. Nothing was sacred. Nothing was spared. And behold, the fig tree is twice withered, the first woe and the murder of crows.

Covering as much as fifteen miles a day, Sherman attempted to out maneuver any opposition leaving them uncertain about the path of his destruction and final destination. He chose to bring scant provisions, choosing rather to take from the land; taking food from the mouths of mothers and children, taking food from the mouth of the aged and infirmed, taking food from the mouths of babes. They would confiscate mules, cattle, hogs, and horses. The remainder they would kill. ‘Like demons they rush in’ a Georgia woman wrote.

Would you cut off your feet because of toe nail infection? Would you pluck out your eye because of a stye? When you impoverish, humiliate, and disembowel, with a Jack boot in the face brutally bullying, militaristic, and authoritative, there is only a union of states by default, not willing subjects, just a whole new class of slaves. They may not have the resources to fight, but they certainly have the the will to hate. ‘Whatever this country is willing to do to the least of us, it will one day do to us all’.

It was at the factory town of Griswoldville, east of Macon, now only smoke and ashes, that a rag-tag group of Georgia militia made a stand. It was disastrous. Ghostly silhouettes littered the ground, the bodies of old men and young boys, the fading remnant of Georgia’s sons, dust and blood. There was no winner in the war, but the South was definitely the loser.

Whatever poison flowed through Sherman’s veins infected many of his officers and men. They were sick, demented, and diseased in their minds. In the North he was a hero, considered a candidate for president. How appropriate. For those who committed these vile acts and the piranhas of the Potomac who condoned them, there is no redemption. Apollyon will entertain you at the gates of Hell. And the satyr’s dance.

Names Joe Don Baker. I’m of Scotch-Irish heritage, third generation American, family first arriving at the Port of Charleston. This story is about me and my men. The original thirteen were called ‘Baker’s Dozen’. Only bout one percent of the fightin’ men owned slaves. This war was never about slavery, only a fantasy in the theatre of your mind. Not denying the evils associated with slavery committed by both sides of the line. But it was a grand distraction fueled by players like the zealot John Brown, inciting anger, hate, and righteous indignation, supported as all wars are by religious institutions and now ‘Christian’ oratory. In reality it was fought over tyrannous taxation, the abolition of the right of self-determination and individual and state sovereignty. The North salivated over the rich resources of the South and was willing to kill to control it. Seems none of us are free men living in a freedom loving nation, a ‘Union’ by mutual consent. ‘You can check out at anytime, you just can’t ever leave’.

We were a band of guerilla fighters. Guerilla warfare was irregular fighting that relies on unconventional tactics, hit and run attacks, sabotage and ambush, to exhaust a much stronger and better equipped enemy force. The main objective was to undermine the enemies morale, create fear, and force them to expend resources in a war of attrition. This we were able to do in part. Our emphasis was on survival and persistence. In guerilla warfare to survive is to win.

More than just a thorn in the side of the North, our exploits were brought to the attention of General Sherman. With a stern look he waved us off like you would a fly or mosquito, telling his officers he could not be bothered with small brush fires. His focus must remain on his prime objective. Spawned at Beelzebub’s Bar, one of the hot spots in Hell, Sherman’s plan was to ‘repopulate Georgia, not simply subdue and occupy it’, the deliberate ethnocide of its European racial stream. His subordinate officers would have to deal with these paltry periphery matters. It did not matter to him that the death toll of the men under his command continued to mount as thousands more could fill their ranks, or that necessary supplies and munitions were destroyed or missing. The soldiers were simply fodder, sheep to the slaughter, and acceptable collateral damage. After all this is the grand theatre of war. This is what wars are all about! ‘War is Hell’! Sherman shouted, and all must sacrifice for the cause. Their names will not be remembered, but they will name tanks after mine.

One of the original thirteen was Anderson Fairchild, Georgia born but raised from the age of four in New England, his father having to relocate due to business. The family cherished their southern heritage and it became a part of the sinew and marrow of Andersons, Andy to his friends, values and beliefs. Finding a Union officer who offered no resistance when we bagged his hat, coat, and britches, Andy donned the attire of a Northern Officer with a perfect Eastern accent, and a believable bio and cover story. He gained access to Union camps and battle plans known only to officers, only rumored speculation among the fighting men. Surreptitiously he would return late at night with a signal known only to us. Aided by this information we effectively helped folks get out of the path of this relentless unstoppable juggernaut.

‘Everybody knows the boat is leaking

Everybody knows the captain lied

Everybody has this broken feeling

Like their father or dog died’

Our small band was augmented by my childhood friend Lamochattee and a few of his elite warriors. They were the Muscogee people called Creek. On this day we closed a loop around some ‘Bummers’, the dregs and incorrigible among their ranks, ranging miles from the main columns, foraging and plundering. They stole food stuffs from kitchens, pantries, basements, and cellars. They cabbaged anything of value; gold, silver, jewelry, heirlooms, just anything that caught their fancy. They commandeered the animals they wanted, shooting the rest. Laughing they mocked the people and terminated any feeble attempt of resistance. No one was safe, especially the women. We watched as an old woman was roughly drug out of her house screaming and summarily thrown on the ground. ‘Shut up you whiny bitch’ they yelled with other obscenities. Getting up on her knees she begged with tears for them not to destroy the memories and mementoes she had of her late husband. Negro servants came and lifted her up saying, ‘let it go Mamie, let it go. Soon enough ya will be with Jeb once again’. Nodding to Lamochattee, silent sentinels of death found their mark and the men guarding the plunder and watching for trouble were all on the ground. We then surrounded the house, surprising these marauders intent upon filling their bags with booty. There was no warning given, just a swift execution.

Then a day of infamy. A day we can hardly forget. Hiding in concealment, faces blackened with drab clothes to camouflage our presence we came upon a woman stripped and splayed spread eagle between two small trees. Her arms were tied just above the level of her head while her most private area was fully exposed for easy entry, her legs spread and tied high. Her flaxen hair lay limply across her face, a Southern beauty, the belle of the ball. A drunken soldier called out like a carnival barker, ‘come one and all. Enjoy Southern hospitality at its finest’. A crude sign hung around her neck above her breast, ‘a free poke for every boy in a blue coat’. My men began to wretch and cry, their rage so great it took all my power to restrain them. ‘Not yet boys, not yet’ I whispered. ‘There is a sea of blue. What good will we be to anyone, including her, if we’s all dead. You’ve got to be strong, just like she’s bein’ strong. Be strong for her men! Wait! Soon the main column will move out and we will have our chance. Right now there’s nothing we can do. Remember our vow to each other and the people’.

Her head hung to the side. Eyes closed she never issued a sound. She never asked for mercy or to be cut down. She bore this ultimate degradation and humiliation in silent dignity. She was the quintessential woman of the South, sacrificed for all the other ladies who suffered a similar fate. Two officers, a Colonel and a captain rode up and observed this abhorrent display. ‘Oughtin I to go and untie this poor woman’ the captain said. ‘Na’, the Colonel said smiling, ‘the boys are just havin’ a little fun, blowin’ off some steam. Leave it be’. Then they turned and road off and never intervened. As stragglers formed a line I called for my best sharpshooters, Sawyer and Brown. ‘Get ready boys’. ‘Been ready cap from the first’ they said. A burly sergeant approached the girl, grabbed her hair and looked hard into her face. Then he spat and yelled obscenities while he fiddled with his fly. His act of copulation was violent, brutal, sadistic, filled with hate and anger. He wanted to hurt her. As he pulled out he slapped her hard continuing to curse as he turned to us buttoning his fly. ‘Now boys, one for this soul less creature and one for Sherman’s court jester’. A bullet hole appeared between his eyes as he collapsed to the ground. The joker was finally silent. And then a volley cut down every one else standing in line. Making a hasty retreat I said, ‘we’ll be back later and cut her down’.

That night under the cover of a broken sky, the clouds playing peek-a-boo with the moon, we cut down the limp body of our magnificent martyr, her spirit having taken flight. In the arms of angels she flew away from here, pulled from the wreckage and the dark cold night she feared. The Creek cleared our path of any ambushers as we secreted her body away. We found a spot close to a babbling brook and some Magnolia trees. In the spring coreopsis, purple coneflower, flame azalea, Virginia spring beauty would vie with others to decorate the mound and rocks that marked her grave. Gently, reverently, and with great honor and dignity Eyota, Lamochattee’s wife and other Creek women came and prepared her body. In silent reverie only a few words were spoken as each of us was capsized with grief. There is no greater violation of a people or nation than the desecration of their women.

I chanced a last look at her once beautiful countenance and gasped. All the look of torment, suffering, and disgrace were gone. There were no more cuts, bruises, or swelling. What I looked upon was the serene, peaceful, and beautiful face of an angel. ‘Come men’! I excitedly spoke, ‘look into Belle’s face’ At first they came with reluctance, but when beholding her and seeing the transformation, a look of awe filled their faces, and soon all the men crowded round. Afterwards I stood beside her body, riveted, alone, and lost in a place of brutal anguish and dark thoughts. I was feeling so helpless to assuage the suffering I saw, our efforts seeming so futile in the face of an ocean of evil. Then she opened her eyes and smiled. I was so shocked I couldn’t move or speak. Then motioning with her head, I leaned close as she whispered, ‘stay the course of noble actions and deeds. Never give up, never give in. Everyone you pull back from the furnace is a jewel in the maker’s crown. Pursue justice for the needy and innocent, and show no mercy to evil. Fear no man. You must leave here. Your destiny will unfold in the mountains of the West. Thankyou for what you did for me’. Then her eyes closed but her smile remained, as we lowered her body into the grave. I have never spoken of this until now.

‘Belle’ as we called her became our heroin, our Joan of Arc. Her sacrifice ‘aux arbres’ for Georgia and all of the South and especially the men of Baker’s Dozen, symbolized everything that was beautiful, noble, and worth livin’ and dyin’ for. She became our motivation and battle cry. Never have I witnessed such dedication and fierce fightin’ from any men at any time. When tempted to complain or grow weary in the midst of battle, the name ‘Belle’ was spoken dispelling darkness and despair.

We continued to do all we could to help the bruised, poor, and downtrodden. It was not nearly enough. When the war officially ended a new campaign of aggression called reconstruction began, the latest totalitarian regime upon the land and all those who dared to live. Prisoners without recourse or representation, the burden of taking breath and the will to live faded, many succumbing to the angel of death and sweet release, the final nail in the coffin of a once virile and prosperous South.

With a bounty on our heads and nothing left but charred chimney’s and smokin’ ruins, with sadness we said goodbye to our homeland and to what remained of our family, friends, and the Creeks who vanished into the forest. Often we had threaded the eye of the needle, but now the thread was gone. The great ‘Leveler’ was in the midst. God was not out to deliver us from our troubles, but through them. So, with new found hope and courage we faced the settin’ sun and rode for the Rocky Mountains and the Wild Wild West.

Now, Andy’s incursions into the Union camps was fortuitous as we were informed of wagons disguised with union payroll soon to be relieved of their burden. Modern day Robin Hoods, we shared liberally with the poor and started our trek with funds graciously supplied by the government to get established out west, just not knowing where. Ours was a unique group of men bound together by oath and sacred honor. Invisible threads of trust, allegiance, and loyalty, refined in the fire, intwined our hearts and lives together. Simper Fi. To a man they were like precious stones, good as gold.

We traveled carefully often evading the main road, using game trails and the concealment of the forest, a group our size often mistaken as marauders. As guerilla fighters we had long ago discarded the gray. We were dressed so as not to distinguish any allegiance to either side of the conflict. Surely wanted to put that behind us, if ever we could. Strong feelings would take generations to heal. Riding to a rise we heard a flurry of .44 caliber pistol rounds and what sounded like an occasional .52 caliber Spencer. A farm house was being fired upon by a group of eight men. Someone inside was returning fire as best they could. ‘Men, let’s ride down and remedy this situation’ I said. Leveraging our Henry’s we came from behind surprising these desperadoes as they were intent on killing the occupants and gaining entry to the house. Suddenly their world vaporized, caught in a snare of their own making. There was no way of escape. Not one of them survived.

As the boys made sure everyone stayed dead, I rode to the house with the universal sign of peace. ‘Yo the house. If you’re still alive we come in peace. We are your friend’. Out stepped a willowy winsome beauty, flaxen hair flowing in the breeze, her smile bright even in the shadow cast by the trees. I sat and stared like a tongue tied fool. Settin’ her Spencer agin the wall, she stepped into the sun on the edge of the porch, looked up, her hand covering her eyes and said, ‘I reckon I can trust the men that just saved me and my children’s life’. And then two towheaded hollow eyed youngsters came and stood the porch clinging to their mama’s skirt. ‘Please’ she said, ‘get down off yer hoss and join me on the porch’.

‘My name is Jewel and these are my children Seth and Elisa’. ‘Pleased to meet you ma’am as well as you Seth and Elisa’. I introduced myself and spoke about my men. I then asked, ‘forgive my intrusion. Your husband ma’am’. Lowering her head and then looking up with brave moist eyes, she brushed her hair from her face and said, ‘he died at the battle of Chancellorsville April ‘63. The children and I are doing our best to survive. Ma and Pa died with the pox. It’s just us. I can only offer you water. It’s all I got’.

Bout then the other men walked up after dragging the bodies away, they would bury them later, and offered her a hat full of new found treasures, greenbacks and gold taken from the pockets and panniers of the dead men. Stunned she put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my God, I can’t take that. It rightly belongs to you. It’s so much’! ‘It is our pleasure ma’am. We’re thinking you and the youngin’s could use sum sunshine and fair weather on your faces’. Then she began to sob, her hands in her face, her head bowed, and her shoulders a shakin’, the children clinging to their mama even more tightly with swollen eyes and worried faces. All the men turned away trying to hold back their tears. Taking a deep breath and exhaling before I spoke, ‘men’ I said, ‘I’ll bet these chillin’s are hungry. I know I am. Let’s put on the feed bag’. Ah, the look on those youngin’s faces as they began to release their grip on their Ma’s skirt. She then breathed deeply, exhaled, straightened her back and blotted her cheeks and nose with a hanky. With a small shake of her head and shoulders Jewel smiled and apologized. ‘Sorry men. I would make you coffee if I could, with a dinner of fresh biscuits, butter, and the best chicken and dumplin’s you ever ett’. Tears threatened to capsize her once again, when Billie Joe our cook jumped in and proudly announced, ‘we would like to invite you and the children to dinner, at your house, if you please ma’am’. Now with a big smile Jewel said a resounding ‘Yes’! as the chillin’s nodded excitedly.

The men that weren’t helpin’ in the kitchen sat to work doin’ sum much needed repairs and burying the dead. Me, well I sat to work on the porch nursing a fresh cup of kick up a row coffee with a little sweetner and overseein’ the foregoin’. Happened to find a couple of peppermint sticks and the chillin’s and I sat and cornswabbled, passin’ the day.

Dinner was sumptuous with roast, gravy, potatoes, and green beans topped with butter, and fresh biscuits Jewel had made. Afterwards Jewel and I sat the porch with some of the men and I asked her to take the money, which we added to, sell the property and move into town. ‘I know it’s hard to let go, memories prevailing, but it will be much safer for you and the chillin’s iff’ins ya did’. ‘Yer actin’ like ya got some investment in the matter’, she said. After a pause I spoke, ‘please forgive any presumption on my part. War has taught me to act decisively. To hesitate is to loose. Your husband, with respect ma’am, would not leave you here, out numbered and with little protection knowing Marauders might come at anytime. The horrors of war have fully exposed us to the villainy and depravity in the heart of man. Nightmare’s haunt our attempts to sleep’. She sat silently just a rockin’ before reachin’ out and touchin’ my shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry’. And then pausing she said, ‘the memories made here will never be lost. I’m thinkin’ Mathew, my husband, would be pleased if we moved to the safety of town. Now, with the bounty you all have shared, I can make that happen’.

The next day was a town trip; to the Merc for supplies, to the bank to set up an account and list the home and property, and to Fairview St. to look at a dandy little house to buy. Jewel and the children loved it. It came fully furnished and because of the war could be bought at a bargain basement price. And she did. The banker encouraged her to hold off on the sale of her home and property. With the influx of men returning from the war, it’s value was sure to increase. And so it did.

The next day was moving day. Anything that Jewel wanted to take from the house and barn was loaded on two wagons, one rented from the livery in town. Before leavin’ she and the children spent time at the memorial they had made for Mathew. She then turned holding her head high, dried her tears, and walked hand in hand with two excited smilin’ children, skippin’ as they came.

After getting everything unloaded and Jewel situated, the men who had accompanied us returned the rented wagon and reprovisioned at the local merc before returning to the ranch. I stayed behind and treated Jewel and the children to dinner at Dora Mae’s Cafe. On the menu that night was chicken and dumplings with fresh biscuits and butter, and the chillin’s first tastin’ of sasparilli.

Sittin’ the porch after tuckin’ the youngin’s into bed we quietly sat enjoying a balmy summer evenin’. ‘What is it Joe Don, you got somethin’ to say’? she asked. Pausing, I spoke, ‘me and the boys will be leavin’ in the morning searchin’ for somethin’, what it is we won’t know until found. Might take a bit. Got a feelin’ we’ll have our hands full helpin’ folks along the way’. Breathin’ hard before exhalin’ I then looked into her eyes and said, ‘I know its only been such a short time but I recognize gold when I see it. I’ll never forgive myself if I left you without askin’ if you would consider waitin’ for me until I find the place I’m searchin’ for, and then return for you and the chillin’s. My heart tells me to look no further, my eyes say it’s you’. Looking into the sunset, she paused before answerin’. ‘Life surely unfolds differently than we think. When Mathew and I first married it was like a bud bloomin’, the miracle of love, sweet babies, and a place of our own. Then the war, separation, and the knowledge he would never come back to me again’. I closed the door to my heart and loss and loneliness stole sweet meaning and joy away from my life. The children gave me a reason to try. And then you came a nockin’ and a spark was kindled’. Grabbin’ my hand she said, ‘I’m willing to see what time, distance, and God have to say’. Standing to leave she looked longingly into my eyes and said, ‘you come back to me you hear’ before huggin’ me tight, and leavin’ me with a sweet kiss before I disappeared into the night.

Headin’ northwest out of Georgia in the general direction of St. Louie we found it wise to avoid cities and towns of most any size. In groups of only two or three we would go to town for supplies. Thought about Memphis and a steamer but after the sidewheel steamer ‘the Sultan’ exploded and sank in April ‘65 with 1700 dead, many recently released Union prisoners, we were shy to try. It remains the worst maritime disaster on American soil in US history. Skirting Memphis we stayed away from ‘Old Man River’ abounding with robber barons. Union patrols were thick as fleas on a farm dog and one day one rode uppishly into our camp. Not to worry. As guerilla fighters no one would ever surprise us. I sat with Leroy round a fire sippin’ coffee when a young Lieutenant and six green as grass, faces smooth as a baby’s ass, fresh farm field recruits under his command rode in stoppin’ just feet from our fire. Lookin’ down on us, the Lieutenant introduced himself as Lt. Smedley Darko from the garrison at Memphis. Demanding to know our business, I told him we had left Georgia for the Rocky Mountains or Pacific Ocean whatever came first. Glancing at our plump portly panniers he said, ‘I need to take a look. There was recent payroll pilferage in Georgia that incensed the Unions supercilious chain of command. Might be yur carryin’ contraband’. ‘Can’t say if I do, wouldn’t say if I did’ I answered.

Motioning with his head to his raw recruits, Darko lifted his right leg to dismount when the sound of a dozen Henry’s ratcheting a round halted his twin cheeks suspended in air. ‘Best set your ass back in the saddle Lieutenant’, I spoke. His six brave newbies sat motionless in the saddle, eyes big as a full moon, trembling with palpable fear. Speaking calmly I told the men to carefully undo the flap of their holster and with their thumb and forefinger withdraw their pistol and drop it on the ground. ‘Yer life depends on it’ I said. Then they dismounted at my command, and my men searched them for any other weapons while retrieving the one’s on the ground. ‘Now, cautiously remove your cups from your panniers, walk over and sit the fire. We’ve got coffee’. Noticeably relaxin’ I said ‘boys we ain’t a gunna shoot you unless you want us to’. Givin’ us a look of relief with a nervous smile we sat and talked, not as enemies, but as friends. The boys were anxious to ask questions about the war, and we asked about their family and homes.

‘Now boys sadly we gots to part’, I said. ‘Take off yer boots’. Looking curiously at each other they did as asked. ‘How far is it to the garrison’? I asked the Lieutenant. ‘A good ten miles’ he answered. ‘Get yer canteens and whatever rations you want to carry. It’s a fine day for a walk’. ‘But you can’t’ spat the Lieutenant halted mid-sentence by my hand and a strong interjection. ‘Smedley, always remember we could have easily killed you, but we’re not that kind of men. Now go with God’s speed’. Then they tentatively set off, painstakingly placing their bootless wiggle walk wonders on the ground lookin’ like they was a dancin’, dodgin’ bullets on the ground.

Headin’ north to St. Louie we came upon a ruthless gang of disenfranchised scallywags attacking a small wagon train. They were failures, misfits, outcasts, and casualties of war. Now, criminals without any decency or respect for life having lost their footing along the way or maybe never had it. In short they were a basket of deplorables. The pioneers were doin’ their best, but it wasn’t good enough. ‘Come on boys, let’s lend a hand’ I said. When the dust settled their were twelve dead desperados and four innocent souls seekin’ the promise land needin’ a pine overcoat or maybe just a dirt blanket including a young boy and mother. We removed the bodies of the outliers and helped dig graves with the families of the four sharing their grief, fire, hot joe, and stew. They were chasin’ the sun till the dirt ended with endless ocean, as far as they could get from the horrors of war. Shared some wisdom. Hope it took. Spent the night and left in the mornin’ after dividin’ horses, tack, and guns. As well we left some of the currency and gold we found on the dead men and in their panniers with the folks sufferin’ loss. Kept the rest back for our trip.

Took the rail from St Louie to Jeff City givin’ our saddle warmers a rest. Then is was west to Independence the ‘jumping off point’ for multiple trails west. Choices included the Oregon, California, Santa Fe, Overland, Bozeman, and Mormon trails. Did some palaverin’ amongst ourselves and we decided to join a late train, Oregon bound. We would travel as far as Julesburg along the South Platt River in the future state of Colorado. Jewel was always in the back of my mind. Didn’t want to go to far makin’ it hard to get back. Traveled mostly with stragglers from the war, late comers like us who was hoping to winter at Ft. Hall in Idaho before continuin’ their journey come spring. Got us a wagon and mules, haulin’ tools and necessities for our startup. Wagon boss was happy for our extra guns and we were paid to protect the good folks and do some scoutin’ which covered our passage and then some.

The wide open plains were captivatin’, but it was glimpses of the mountains that captured our hearts. We got our first preview on the western edge of New-brass-key.

The Western slope covers about 40 percent of Colorado with cool nights and warm days. Home to pears, peaches, plums, and cherries, alfalfa, grains, and sweet corn. Not a lot of rain, but with broad access to live water from the picture postcard Rocky Mountains, cattle ranches thrived. Said goodbye to some good folks, boys fightin’ on either side and headed south out of Julesburg with a small train, ours and three other wagons. Passing through Julesburg, most of the boys stayed aloof of the wagons with one at the helm and two hidden in the back, just to see what kind of reaction they might git, appearin’ as easy pickens with women for the takin’. Leadin’ the pack was one of my boys slouched at the helm wearin’ overalls and an old floppy hat. The other three wagons had an old man and two women at the reigns. Arriving early Bubba and I parked our horses at the livery and then positioned ourselves to watch the gawkers starin’ hard at this mid-mornin’ processional. Seen a couple of men rushin’ into the saloon to tell someone. The town had been burned to the ground in retaliation for the Sand Creek massacre of Cheyenne and Arapaho in late November 1864. It was once known as the wickedest city in the West. Got its start as a pony express stop, and by the time the Union Pacific laid tracks in ’67 it was known as ‘Sin City’, a moniker drawing masses of pleasure seeking mis-guided souls just like modern day.

Bubba and I sauntered up to the hitchin’ post and walked casually into the ‘Your Last Draft Snake Pit’ Saloon. Ordered a couple of beers. Stayed away from the snake head hog swill they proffered. We had been warned. We listened, askin’ and answerin’ questions with the bar keep, and as always, on the alert. Brought Bubba with me, baby faced and greased lightnin’ with a gun. Had ears like an elephant. Could distinguish conversatin’ even in all this bar clatter. ‘See them boys playin’ poker agin the back wall’, the barkeep said. ‘The one with the derby and red scarf is Tom Dooley. Just look real casual like or in the bar mirror. Never stare. Em’s his brothers Elmer, Fudd, and Flatt. Sittin’ with em is the Dambrackus Duo, Amos and Andy. Together they’s the most vile contagion that’s ever lived. Never been a greater waste of skin. ‘Thanks fer the heads up’ I said, turnin’ and glancin’ thar way, seein’ eyes dark like a leaf stained pool staring back at me, Tom Dooley.

Walkin’ out I said, ’Bubba, our small train is gunna have visitors later tonight. Dooley’s got spies. Knows everthing that goes around in this small town. Reckon we’ll be ready. Thar’s no law dogs in this jackeroo junction. Hangin’ a star on yer vest is a death wish at best. Only law is on yer hip and in yer heart. As good men we are avengers to execute wrath upon men like Dooley that only know evil. Like sparks flyin’ upward thar dark councils never rest. But we will uphold the law while other men sleep. Best be goin’. Can’t ride a horse sittin’ saddle in a stall’.

Ridin’ out the opposite direction of the wagons deliberately passin’ by the saloon and Dooley’s stoolies without so much as a sideways glance, we rode out of sight before circlin’ back and catchin’ up to the train. That night after dinner we secreted the women and children away from any possible harm while we set up a perimeter of protection. Three of my men guarded the entrance to our camp at intervals with a warning system set in place and used very effectively durin’ the war. A little after midnight with the light of a half moon they came ridin’ into a trap set by Charlottes Web. ‘This is easy pickens boys’ Dooley said to his brothers, the dynamic duo, and a cupple of thunder turds from town not worth pennies or pisswater. ‘Thars only a couple of men and some fresh women. Real quiet like we’ll sneak up on them and get shut of any guns. Then we’ll take the women, wagons, mules, and horses back to the ranch. They’ll be carryin’ money and gold and everthing we need for a cozy winter’.

Feelin’ this was easier than spittin’ and their plan tighter than two coats of paint, they left their horses about a quarter mile from camp and proceeded in the direction of the light left by a cupple of fires. The three men posted as first alarms, set up by these Jaspers horses in case anyone was able to make a hasty retreat. Wasn’t necessary. When Dooley and his men got within 30 yards of our entrapment we ventilated them to a man, no warnin’ given. With the help of two lanterns we checked to make sure nobody stayed above snakes. Next mornin’ we went through their pockets and panniers before gatherin’ their bodies in a small ravine and coverin’ them with rocks. Shared some of the ill gotten gain with the families and used the rest to help get established in the West.

We rode for the area around Ft. Collins built in 1864. The town, retaining the forts name, first population boom comin’ in the early 1870’s. The Homestead Act of 1866 revised the original act in 1862 and allowed confederates to apply for 160 acres of land from the government. With the help of a sympathetic lawyer and some legalize we secured thirteen tracks of land with contiguous borders, good water from the Cache La Poudre (hide the powder) River, and the makin’s of a great cattle operation. Afterwards we applied for the homestead exemption as soon as it became available. Needing shelter and warmth for the winter we built an initial structure, a residence with four bedrooms, office, two baths, large kitchen and dining able to accommodate over 20 people and a great room with a large fireplace and ample seating. In addition there was a bunkhouse for sleeping, barn, and out buildings. It was agreed upon, aware of my intention of bringin’ Jewel and the chillins out here to live, that this would be my house and the headquarters of operation sitting in the middle of the 2080 acres secured by the Homestead Act.

As we knew a lot about fightin’ and only a little about a cattle operation we asked lots of questions and acquired the help of a couple of old boys with wrinkles as deep as furrows in a freshly plowed field and saltier than Lot’s wife. Them boys surely knew thar way around cattle and with their help we purchased a herd of Aberdeen Angus. They would be productive for years, naturally polled, and providin’ exceptional tender beef. A couple of more cowhands were added to teach us ‘the ropes’.

I was, with unanimous consent, still at the helm, havin’ brought everyone safely through the war. And I was humble, God easily seein’ to that. Didn’t crave power and position. Actually some one like me was a good person to lead. Never used the moniker ‘Baker’s Dozen’ anymore. Always went out on the property in no less than pairs. Arapaho and Apache were on the prowl, and Northern and Southern sympathizers were runnin’ roughshod over the land. The Federals were often brutal in retaliation. They would hang a man on the pole where a wire was cut. Cut wire, dead man. Didn’t matter if he was guilty, only handy. And if an ex-confederate homestead was within miles of most any altercation, well then burn it to the ground.

We was finishin’ up on my home and the headquarters, built stoutly to withstand the brutal weather, hot and cold, when a small platoon of Federal’s led by Lt. Colonel Hardass rode in with villainy on their mind. I walked out on the front porch and civilly greeted him. ‘How can I help you Colonel’. ‘Heard you was Southern puke’ he said, ‘and we aim to burn ya down. There has been mischief afoot and you are close enough to cater to suspicion’. ‘And is this suspicion based upon any truth, or only hearsay’? I asked. ‘Don’t matter’ he said. ‘Your kind ain’t wanted here. If you offer resistance we’ll be glad to see ya dead’. Then turning to his boys he said, ‘light your torches boys, we’re going to have some southern barbeque’. And then turning round to face me he heard over a dozen rifles ratcheting a round. Suddenly his eyes bulged and his face blanched. ‘Better stand down or to a man you will all be dead lying on the ground’. Staring into the Colonels eyes I said with authority, ‘Get down Colonel. Come and sit the porch. The rest of you men can sit the saddle or get down and rest a bit. Don’t even think about unstrapping your revolvers. No need for blood shed this day’.

Begrudgingly the Colonel followed and I motioned him to a seat. Billie Joe stepped out and I said, ‘coffee with cream and sugar for the Colonel and I. And bring a couple of bear claws if you please’. Pausing I said, ‘Colonel we ain’t the bad guys. Did you fight in the war’? ‘Well, not actually’ he stammered, ‘at least not back east. I stayed in the west to protect folks along the Front’. Nodding I said, ‘many a good man died on either side. No one wins in war. We’re not looking for trouble, never will, and we won’t indiscriminately kill. But if trouble comes a callin’, we won’t back down. In fact we will offer ourselves in assistance to help you rid the area of any raiden’ robbin’ riffians. Don’t want them around anymore than you do’. Bout then coffee was served on a tray with cream and sugar and fresh bear claws. It was set on a table between us. ‘Please Colonel, I insist’. Reluctantly he relaxed and helped himself. Looking up he saw his men dismount and join my men around the fire for jitter juice and sizzlin’ bacon. Nothin’ like vittles and Arbuckle’s to break the ice, as they all sat a chattin’.

The Colonel and I talked about ways to ferret out trouble while protecting the innocent. Pourin’ out a second cup I offered a little sweetner that Billie Joe brought out to enhance the flavor, and this time the Colonel willingly obliged. When we finished our conversatin’ we stood, shook hands, not as enemies, but respectfully, seeking common ground with a more harmonious outcome. I walked down the steps with him as he called to his men. Mounting he spoke, ‘ thankyou for the respect, trust, and courtesy you showed to not disarm us’. ‘You’re welcome Colonel’ I answered, as he proffered a salute, which I returned before riding away.

It was late November and ‘Thanksgiving’. The mountains all had beards and the valley floor a dusting of snow. I hired a full time cook and house maid named Maria. She was a flurry and a delight. Definitely the ‘Boss’, keepin’ all these men aligned. Much to my delight Jewel and the children still wanted to come, but with the onset of Old Man Winter we were compelled to wait until after the Spring thaw.

Early December a cold wintery wind blew in a solitary figure lookin’ mostly frozen, both he and his horse. We had acquired an old hound dog we named Blue. Probably a stray from a wagon train who was content to follow the sun around the house all day long, or when cold outside lay on the rug and monitor the fire from the inside. But whether inside or out, nuthin’ escaped his watch. I stepped out on the porch bein’ alerted by Blue, and even before inquiring of his intention I told the stranger to get down and haul hisself inside. While one of the boys came and took his horse for hay, oats, and a good rub down, he looked up with piercing blue eyes, a hat of thick wavey silver hair, heavy eyebrows, and a big walrus mustache. ‘Much obliged’ he said with a raspy voice and slight grin. ‘These bones are about ready to mutiny my body they’s so cold’.

Once inside Maria hovered about him like an old mother hen, gettin’ him out of his hat, coat, gloves, and muffler, plantin’ him in a rocker close by the fire, and fillin’ his hand with hot coffee and a generous dose of Old Fitzgerald. ‘Senior’ she said, ‘it’s much to cold to be out in this weather. Dios mio what were you thinking’? ‘Sure wasn’t thinkin’ hard enough’ he said, ‘the trip from town was a bit more testier than I imagined’. We gave him time to thaw before inquirin’ about his business. ‘Names Jessup Coltrane, US Marshall. Folks call me Jessie. Ran into the Colonel the other day’ he said with a twinkle. ‘Man’s a bit regimental for me. Anyhow, he spoke highly of you boys even if you’s Southerners. Man’s full of surprises. So I road out to tell you about my plight and offer you a proposition’.

‘Territory is huge and virtually without the face of law cept in bigger towns. Even then it’s not to be trusted. The law dogs, lieyers, and pompous potentates that dress in black Halloween costumes hold sham courts, make their own law, padding their pockets while criminals go free and the innocent are fined and incarcerated. I need help. I’m authorized to hire a dozen men through out the region, six in the north and six in the south. Need to clean up things before applying for statehood. Askin’ six of you boys to ride and only when needed. Know youse already got yer hands full here. But whoever goes out badges or not will get compensated, I’ll see to that. And, you get to keep all the bounties. You’ll be huntin’ only the bad boys, poster faces wanted dead or alive. Hate to say it but you best kill them or they’ll likely make sum deal and be back on the prowl to murder and violate the innocent again. Rumor has it’ he smiled, ‘you boys would understand’.

Stayed with us for three days till the storm over passed. To a man we all felt like he was a kindred spirit. Enjoyed lively conversatin’ at the table and sittin’ the fire sippin’ with my elderly friends, Old Overholt and Old Fitzgerald. So’s in spite of how intense the conversatin’ we always kept a smile. Before Jessie left he swore all thirteen of us in. ‘I’ll get a message to ya when yer needed. You boys can decide who rides’. He then placed six badges on the table. ‘We can do this boys’ he said. ‘When others hear of your acts of courage, good men will arise and fight. The battle is not yers alone’. I remembered Belle’s words. ‘Stay the course of noble actions and deeds, pursue justice for the needy and innocent, and show no mercy to evil. Fear no man’.

Mounting to leave Jesse said, ‘I’m leaving’ a happy man. Together we will take the fight to the enemy. With God’s help we will prevail’.

Come third week of February a messenger arrived from town. Johnnie was sixteen and a pole-bean. Stood the door while Blue was a barkin’ and waggin’ his tail. Nights were cold and well below freezin’ but a day with sunshine like today was passable. Didn’t matter to Johnnie as he was escorted into the house by Maria just a shakin. ‘Mi oh mi madre Maria’ she said. ‘Aqui’ she spoke motioning with her hand as she took off his thin cold coat and sat him by the fire. ‘I have a message ma’am for Deputy Marshall Joe Don Baker’ he said with a shaky voice and tremblin’ lip. ‘It’s important’. ‘I will deliver it muy rapido then make you some hot chocolate’ Maria said. ‘That would be mighty welcome ma’am, thankyou’. Delivering the message to my office, she held up his thin coat saying, ‘Jefe, we cannot send him back with this, he will surely freeze to death’. ‘Get him a warm coat, hat, gloves, and whatever else he might need from the closet in the spare bedroom’, I said. Returning to Johnnie she gave him a steaming mug of hot chocolate followed by a large bowl of tortilla soup. ‘Thankyou ma’am, I’m most grateful’.

Sent our cook with the message from town to alert the bunkhouse. Then I walked out and greeted Johnnie who respectfully stood and shook my hand. ‘Sit son’ I motioned and asked about his family. ‘I ain’t got nobody sir. Pa died fightin’ Indians on the wagon train west and then Ma died of a broken heart and shattered dreams. Schroeder who runs the livery lets me sleep in the hay and feeds me once a day for mucking the stalls and feedin’ and groomin’ the horses. On occasion I deliver messages, like today’. Frowning I said, ‘I’d like to make you an offer Johnnie if you can put up with Maria’s hot chocolate and fussin’, spoken with a smile. ‘Live here with us. Keep the wood boxes full, help with the horses, and do whatever needs to be done. You can sleep in the bunkhouse with the rest of the Marshalls, eat three times a day, and earn thirty dollars a month for your diligent labor’. Almost spilling his soup, he set it aside and jumped up with saucers for eyes and said, ‘do you really mean it sir’? ‘Yes I do’!

And so, he became a little brother to all of the men. Never once regretted the day we welcomed him into the fold.

The message Johnnie brought was about Howie Hughes and his gang of miscreants. Wanted in several states for murder and robbery, they headed west and into the mountains for cover until the law cooled its heels. Then they resurfaced yesterday in nearby Ft. Collins, robbed a bank, killed an innocent bystander, and this time abducted two teenage girls. They were seen headed for the Front Range and Kagel Canyon. These bad boys could run, but they couldn’t hide. We would find them.

My men were itchin’ for action. Said they drawed straws to see who the three sorrowful souls were that would have to stay behind and protect the property. We got away shortly after noon with Charlie Brown, one of the old timers and a local hire, who said he knew the Front Range like he knowed crossed-eyed Kate with the big nose down at Wylie’s Coyote Saloon. ‘She’s livin’ proof of the old sayin’ he said, ‘you can drink a gal purdy. Cause the more I drank the purdier she got’ he chuckled. Seen it with my own eyes’! he said, soliciting smiles and chuckles from the men and their horses. Bout dusk we found tracks in the snow leading up the mountain. We never considered stopping because of the growing darkness, and they presumed no one was following especially at night. Thought of the girls and remembered Belle. Beside we had an ace up our sleeves…..a stealthy stalking moon. Easily following their tracks it led up a narrow ravine and into a small secluded valley. A flicker of light in the far pasture announced their hideaway.

Riding up as close as we could without setting off alarms we tied our horses in a copse of trees, leaving Charlie with our mounts, and preceded on foot. The lone guard was fidgeting and cold, more aware of the temperature than of us, readily makin’ his presence known. Sensing somethin’ he turned as a knife sank into his chest. ‘What the Hell’ he said grabbing at the hilt when we slit his throat. Then light from the door of the cabin appeared and his replacement trudged towards us complainin’ all the way. ‘Get yerself inside George. My turn to freeze my ass off out here for a cupple of hours’. He was suddenly surrounded and on his knees with a knife to his throat. ‘Where are the girls’ we demanded. Scared spitless and proclaiming his innocence, he said they were tied on a bed in the corner of the shack. ‘Boss won’t let no one touch em. We’s gunna take them to a high dollar brothel in Boulder. They’s lookers and will fetch a good price’.

After we tied and gaged the stoolie I put on the dead man’s coat and hat as we all surrounded the cabin. Opening the door I kept my head down looking up just enough to locate the two frightened girls. ‘Hey’ one of the men said, ‘you’re not’ and never got to finish the sentence. They were sitting around drinkin’ and playin’ poker when two more men busted in the door with six guns showin’. Spotting the girls and remembering Jessie’s admonition we did not hesitate to kill them to a man as they reached for their guns to draw, slowed by an alcohol induced haze. We then began to clean up our mess dragging the bodies outside and wipin’ the blood from the floor and table with hot water from the stove. Tidied as best we could as we would have to spend the night there.

The girls were crying and in shock as we untied them retreating with their legs tucked underneath and their arms crossed over their chests tight against the wall on a dirty old mattress of straw, atop a rickety old bed. We spoke soothingly and introduced ourselves as Deputy US Marshalls, showing them our badges. They then jumped up and hugged us tightly, cryin’, tremblin’, and lettin’ the tension go. Assuring them they were safe, they calmed as we set more water on the stove for coffee and fed them cold sandwiches, which they readily devoured. Retrieving our horses we spent a warm night snuggled by the fire, the girls on the bed and the men on the floor.

The next morning after a breakfast of wakey juice and cold biscuits, we secured the dead bodies on horses along with the stoolie. The girls traveled warmly with clothes provided by Maria and additional horses we brought for their return trip home. We all rode to town, hopin’ to gain favor with the locals. And we did. Thar was a jubilant reaction with the return of the girls and bank’s money, and an emotional reunion with the girls and their families. We had big grins as the girls loudly sang our praises. Sheriff gave us vouchers after identifying the men, the stoolie eagerly naming each one, hopin’ to avoid the nuce. Didn’t work. With all their villainy, the reward was quite substantial. When the folks realized that we were not only Deputy US Marshalls but neighbors they generously treated us to dinner, hot bath, haircut and shave, free drinks, and a room for the night if we wanted. Declining the room for the night we rode for home, a familiar bed, and a fretful Maria.

Word got out that thar were US Marshalls livin’ close by Ft. Collins, and the town enjoyed a time of relative peace and prosperity. The local sheriff, Dillon Marshall, and his limp-legged deputy Lester were good men and kept a tight reign on the town. If needed we were always available to help. Our adventures took us further from the ranch, and I insisted they travel in groups no smaller than four men. We were always honing our skills. Our life and those of others depended on it. We purchased a couple of books on criminal behavior and whenever possible studied the M.O. of the men we hunted. Gained information along the way asking questions about the terrain, family members and possible alliances. A lot of time we were in their bailiwick and we moved about carefully, erring on the side of caution, assuming nothing and lookin’ for every advantage. And it worked….cause we’s all still alive!!

As I lay in bed, a pillow to rest my head, memories seep from my veins. The taste of Mama’s fresh peach pie, so good I salivate at the thought. The aroma of Pappy’s pipe from tubaccie we grew ourselves. I can smell it now. My little sis with freckles and pig tails grabbin’ her pole and sayin’ ‘I’m ready Joe Don, let’s empty the creek’! I could never resist her. And papa sittin’ the porch sharin’ sum sippins and teachin’ me values, faith, and all about the subtleties of men. I reach out to touch them, but they’re not there. They ain’t comin and never will. I feel empty and weightless. Why does it all end in so much blood, so much killing and death. All that I have ever loved is gone. And all that I have seen and done, just in my short lifetime, is like lowering skies and dark shadows, silhouette’s in a misty dawn. And I thought, if it wasn’t for the righteous revenger who executes judgment upon the lawless, only evil would survive. There are a few men who draw the line in the sand saying, this far and no further. A few good men with vultures and thieves at their back, not willing to let lies make up for what they lack. Many reward evil. It is our nature to reward our own. But the root is rotten and the fruit unfit to eat. Never think evil men will stop doing wrong. That is sure folly and madness. But slowly the frogs will boil themselves. Reckon we’re here to increase the heat under the pot.

When I leave this world I want to do it with a beautiful goodbye. I want to die old and gray. I want to love and be loved, a wonderful woman by my side, surrounded by my children and faithful friends. My eulogy, well done good and faithful servant. What you have done to the least of these, you have done unto me. The fire still burns, always will. And in sweet refrain Belle’s voice I hear, ‘Never give up, never give in’. Tirelessly, relentlessly we must seek to balance the scales of justice, even the odds, and give good a chance to thrive….if only for a season, if only for a few.

Right now I must sleep, my dreams sweet, Jewel and the children together with me, a home and life to keep. It’s the month of May, and its time to make hay. Tennessee here I come!

‘Lady, I’m your knight in shining armor and I love you

let me hold you in my arms for evermore

let me wake to see you each and every morning

let me hear you whisper softly in my ear

and oh, I’ll always want you near me

I’ve waited for you for so long’