Summary: (Excerpt from my “Battle of Wills” saga)
Word Count: 8950
The Legend
Sorting Out Whole Truth From A Legendary Tall Tale
There is a tale that many people had heard and re-told to others, not knowing the entire truth or every accurate detail. Some folks say it happened in Deadwood and others thought Virginia City or San Francisco or even Dodge City. This story had become a legend in the West, and to this very day, many still tell some version of the same tale.
This is the legend that many have heard: A handsome, curly haired young cowboy entered a bank one morning in Denver. Some say the young man was wearing a green corduroy jacket and a tan hat. Others say he wore fringed buckskin jacket or a black hat with a snakeskin band or a brocade vest that shined like gold coins. He had a left-handed gun belt slung on his slim hips and a nervous look on his weary face. The young fellow was not more than twenty or twenty-two. Most say the young cowboy had spent the better part of the previous afternoon and all of the last night in the notorious gambling hall, the Slaughter House, playing poker. Following a few steps behind him was a second young cowboy about the same age with a serious, determined look. His eyes were the color of a deep blue lake on a summer day and his white blonde hair curled over his ears like a farm boy’s on his first trip to the city.
The dark-haired young man walked up to the head teller’s window and rubbed the stubble on his chin. Some said he had a moustache and he yanked the ends. Others said that he was clean shaven. He smiled in a friendly and most charming fashion, and asked the clerk for a loan of five thousand dollars. That was a hefty sum of money in those days when the average cowhand was paid $35 a month and beans and a bunk.
Then, the cowboy reached into his pocket and produced a crisp white envelope holding four kings and an ace. For some mysterious reason, the envelope was strongly scented with the fragrance of violets or roses or some other floral perfume. He offered it up to the bank as collateral.
When the cashier denied the application, the customer, urged by his fair haired companion, politely requested to see the bank president.
Again, the young cowboy again presented his case to the banker. “I would like a loan of $5000.” He grinned in a winning fashion and politely removed his hat.
The bank president asked, “What do you have for collateral, sir?”
The cowboy looked the bank president straight in the eye and handed him the perfumed envelope.
The banker, a stocky man, pulled out the cards and fanned them out on his polished desk. He saw four kings and the ace of hearts. The bank president nodded. Without saying one word, the president rose from his desk and walked directly into the vault. He grabbed a stiff canvas bag of twenty-dollar bills and walked out of the vault.
Without counting the cash or saying another word, the young cowboy took the bag. He stood up and put his hat back on his head. He winked at his companion, who breathed an audible sigh of relief and grinned back. The young cowboy in the green jacket stepped away from the desk. Followed by his blond sidekick, the pair hurried out of the bank.
The banker hesitated for a minute, then quickly followed the pair out of the bank and across the street to the Slaughter House Saloon. The bank staff raced to the front window to watch the trio go back to the saloon. It was only then that the tellers realized that neither cowboy was wearing boots.
Ten minutes later, the bank president returned to the building with the five thousand dollars and an additional five hundred dollars interest. The banker turned to his employees and reprimanded them. He held the stiff canvas bag of twenties in one hand and waved the ten fifties in his other hand and chastised his staff for a lack of “business snap”
“Four kings and an ace are always good in this institution for the entire contents of our vault, gentlemen. The entire contents.”
The Entire Tale
Many years later, when everyone who was there had passed on, folks started to call this incident a tall tale of the Old West. Michael Thorpe knew for sure that this really happened in Denver. He knew the whole truth and the entire truth, not just the legendary tall tale. As a small boy, he had heard it from the man who really was there, the cowboy who borrowed the money using a winning poker hand for collateral. Even when he became a very old man, Michael Thorpe knew it had really happened years earlier to his boyhood hero Joseph Francis Cartwright. Michael knew Joe would never, ever lie to him.
The winter that Michael Thorpe was six years old, his father, Evan, was bed-bound, recovering from an almost fatal injury. Evan Thorpe had been accidentally wounded by his own shotgun while clearing an owl from the barn. Fearing his father would die, Michael Thorpe ran off to the high country to beg God to spare his critically wounded father. The distraught boy believed he has found God in the form of longtime fugitive Tom Cain. Eventually, Joe Cartwright managed to rescue him from Cain and brought the terrified boy back home. When they finally arrived at the Thorpe home, they discovered that miraculously, against all the odds, Michael’s father hadn’t died. Doc Martin pronounced that Evan Thorpe would be fine after a long convalescence.
That entire long winter, as Michael’s father slowly recuperated, Joe Cartwright would come by the Thorpe’s ranch every few weeks to help out for a few days. He pitched in on some of the chores were too much for the Thorpe’s hired man, Lijah and little Michael to manage on their own. They shared all the cookies and pies and soups other delicious things that Hop Sing sent with Joe to spark the invalid’s poor appetite and to feed a hired hand who would choose to go hungry rather than take a bite away from a growing boy.
The boy loved working side by side with Joe. Lijah was serious and quiet but Joe made the work fun, even on the coldest days. He taught the boy how fix fences that got buried in drifting snow and get the water pump working when it froze solid. Michael got Joe to teach him how to braid rawhide into a bridle for the horse he hoped to own some day. At night, the four companions played poker for match sticks. As the fire burned low in the hearth, and they tired of poker, Michael always urged Joe to tell them exciting stories about his adventures. Having Joe’s cheerful company was a wonderful tonic for everyone on the Thorpe place.
By the time spring arrived and Evan Thorpe was recovered, the little boy heard quite a few stories from Joe. He knew the true facts of each and memorized every tiny detail. Joe had even explained to him how truth was often exaggerated and embellished and spun into a legend. At some point, Joe told him, folks just thought it was a good yarn and that there was no truth left in it. He said that some folks told a lie so many times that they eventually believed their own tall tales at truth. Michael Thorpe knew otherwise. What Joe had told him was completely true.
Evan Thorpe was also grateful for the Cartwright’s offer of a colt for Michael’s birthday from the Ponderosa stock. While Lijah and Michael were in the barn, Joe had asked the man’s permission before discussing the gift to the boy. Joe told him that the colt had fine blood lines. It was bred from a match between a mare Joe picked up in Denver and a stallion from the Ponderosa range. There was no way that Evan could have provided such a fine horse for his son on his own. When Thorpe protested that the gift was far too generous, that the Cartwrights had already done so much for him and Michael, Joe just shrugged.
Then Joe explained, “Folks helped out my family when times were hard for us. Evan, someday, you and Michael can return the favor by helping out someone else who needs a hand.”
When Michael and Lijah returned from the barn, the boy asked Joe to re-tell a particular favorite tale.
“Why do you ask me to tell the same stories every time I come by, Michael?” Joe said making himself comfortable in the chair near the hearth. He took a sip of his steaming coffee.
”Maybe someday I’ll write the stories down for the Enterprise, Joe. I just got to learn how to write a bit better and spell more.” Michael explained seriously. He hung his hat and coat on the hook by the door.
“You just do that, Michael.” Lijah laughed. He started to wash up the supper dishes. “You study hard and learn to write stories.”
“You can be a legend in your own time, Joe, with Michael writing all your stories,” Evan Thorpe laughed from his bed on the other side of the cabin. He was proud of his son’s ambition and appreciative of all the help Joe was giving them.
“Maybe you’ll go to college like my brother Adam,” Joe added. “Next time I come up, I’ll bring you a tablet and some pencils.”
“I can’t pay for that sort of stuff, Joe,” Michael frowned.
“Heck, boy! I owe you about seven hundred match sticks from playing poker. That tablet and pencils will just square off my debt.” Joe put down his coffee and put out his hand to shake little Michael’s.
“Ok. Just tell me another story before we turn in,” Michael said shaking Joe’s hand. “Tell me the rest of that story about Denver again.”
Joe had told them about the trip and the card game and that a week after borrowing the money, Little Joe Cartwright and Dean Newkirk rode into the yard of the Ponderosa leading a string of prime horses that they had purchased in Denver. Ben never thought to ask his youngest son why both he and Dean were wearing brand new boots and his son never brought it up. “And the best in that string was a big red mare who’s going to foal any day now.”
Evan Thorpe also knew that, two years after lending Joe the money, Mr. Chase moved to Virginia City. He was known as an honest and aggressively successful banker able to make a profitable deal for his investors up until the day he was shot dead in a hold up along with two other men.
Denver, A Lucky Town For Some Folks
Maybe it was just time for the young man’s luck to turn good for a change, from bad luck he had been having since he came to town three days earlier. Little Joe and Dean Newkirk had certainly hoped so or it would be very difficult to ride home to the Ponderosa and face both their fathers.
Both young men had spent weeks telling everyone how responsible and mature they were, how ready they were to be trusted with doing business totally on their own. They had made at least a half dozen horse buying trips over the years with their fathers or Adam and Hoss over the years.
They were grown men, Joe had insisted. They were not callow schoolboys, Joe had added. Soft-spoken Dean nodded in agreement as he always did when his lifelong friend was acting as the spokesman for the pair.
They could manage the trip fine on their own. They would succeed and nothing is better to prove a point than success. What could happen? Joe was feeling lucky. They both would be careful with money. After all, it would certainly be humiliating to ride home with no money and no new horses.
Maybe, on that trip, they two were lucky not to have been shot. Joe suddenly understood that the reason poker cards are customarily dealt to the left is to make it easier for a player to grab his gun if he suspected an irregularity. Other than Little Joe Cartwright, most men were right-handed and wore their gun holstered on the right. Maybe he was lucky that no one tried to draw on him.
Maybe Denver was a lucky town for Dean Newkirk in a different way than it was for his pal Little Joe Cartwright. Maybe he was lucky to find love.
She had sparkling blue eyes and long shiny blonde curls tumbling down her back. When she smiled, an intriguing dimple appeared in her right cheek. She had wandered down the main street of the bustling town looking into shop windows. Being new to Denver, she had not realized that she had meandered close to the section of town frequented by the rowdy hands off of the trail drives and the burly miners looking for beer and gambling and wild women. Bonnie was not familiar with the boundaries of the proper side of Denver, and with her mind focused on finding a suitable gift for her uncle, she was not paying full attention to the hubbub around her.
Usually Bonnie was extremely mindful of her surroundings, as any well-bred young lady should be. That particular day, she wasn’t being as cautious as she was normally. Bonnie was tired from the recent weeks of travel and distracted by finding something wonderful to show her appreciation for Uncle Dwight’s generous hospitality. She had come to stay with her Uncle Dwight and was hoping to make a new start far away from Ohio. The offer of a visit to Denver and helping him pack for a move to Virginia City was more than Bonnie could want as an excuse to get away from home in Ohio. Poor Dwight had broken his leg and his wife, Aunt Rosemarie, needed lots of help with the move. Ohio was boring and too calm for her. Bonnie was longing for some change and a little adventure. A little risk, excitement and danger would be a change from her dreary life on an Ohio dairy farm.
Bonnie walked into a large mercantile and started to examine the pile of books they had on display and leaned her blue parasol against the edge of the counter. On the other side of the table, a handsome cowboy with curly brown hair and green hazel eyes was sorting through a stack of books. He had a tan leather saddlebag over his shoulder. Bonnie wasn’t sure if it was intuition or just the timing, but there was something about his broad shoulders and slim hips that caught her attention. Standing by his side was another cowboy.
The other fellow was quite attractive in his own quieter, reserved fashion. His eyes were lake blue and his hair was very blonde, sun bleached almost silver. She couldn’t decide which young man appealed to her more. It was like being in the candy counter back home and trying to decide between the rich dark chocolates and the bright yellow lemon drops. Both were appealing in their own delicious way.
The brown-haired cowboy looked up at her and smiled warmly. His friend leaned over and whispered something in his ear and tugged at his sleeve.
“It’s still early; look at the clock over there. It’s not even two o’clock. We have plenty of time to get to the bank before it closes. Quit worrying, Dean.”
”Joe, you got thousands of dollars in that bag and your Pa said to be sure to put it in the bank as soon as we got to town.”
“Relax, Dean, you sound just like Pa. We got plenty of time. They don’t close until three and the bank is just across the street. Let me finish here”
Joe Cartwright was hunting up a gift for his oldest brother. He had already found an illustrated copy of Bullfinch’s Mythology for Adam but was not quite sure if that was something his brother already owned. He felt badly that Adam was still recovering from the back injury he had received falling off a roof. Poor Adam almost gets killed and then his feather-headed girl friend up and dumps Adam for their cousin Will. Joe had serious doubts about Laura really being good enough for Adam but, before Joe could express his concerns, Adam and Laura were planning a wedding.
In addition to the saddlebag full of horse money, Joe had two hundred dollars of his own in his pocket. He had plans for that cash. First, he wanted to do something particularly nice for Adam. The poor guy had been in bed and unable to walk for weeks. After all, had Adam been up and around, Little Joe and Dean Newkirk would not be making this trip on their own and showing their fathers that they were capable of doing things as grown men. With Adam laid up, Pa needed Hoss to do all the extra chores and couldn’t spare him or Hays Newkirk, the Ponderosa foreman, to ride along.
And, Joe told Dean devilishly, they had plenty of time to have a little fun on their own with some saloon girls and a little card playing and getting drunk if it was just the two of them. On their own in Denver, they would have a very fine time, a lucky time. The two young men would pick out some fine horses and meet some fine women and have a very, very fine time. No fathers or older brothers to tell them they were being too wild or that they were fooling around too much. Joe had some money of his own and would be glad to split it with his lifelong pal Dean Newkirk. Dean’s father was the Ponderosa foreman and the boys grew up side by side. Dean had staked Little Joe enough times over the years when his pockets were empty. Surely, Joe could do the same.
*****
The young rancher set the mythology book on top of the other books he had selected. He still had a few more stops to make after the bank and was thinking about having the Mercantile just deliver everything to the Cattleman’s Hotel where he and Dean Newkirk were staying. It would certainly be easier if they did.
Bonnie looked across the display and spotted the darker haired cowboy examining the atlases. He held the book gingerly in his hands, and he carefully turned the tinted pages. ”Bet Adam would like this one even more, Dean.”
”Just hurry up, Joe.” Dean was nervous about all the money they were carrying in Joe’s saddlebag. He was cautious by nature, just as Little Joe was always a risk taker. “Hurry up!”
Watching, Bonnie thought to herself, “That book would be the perfect gift for Uncle Dwight.
“Excuse me sir,” she spoke up.
The cowboy looked up at her and smiled warmly, his eyes met hers. “Miss? “
“Is there another copy of that fine book, Sir?”
Joe looked at the young lady on the other side of the book display. He had been so caught up in gathering gifts for his brother that he hadn’t even paid real attention to any of the other customers in the store. Standing in front of him was one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. She looked to be no more than sixteen years old, with vibrant aqua eyes and long wavy blonde hair that was fastened off her face by two tortoise shell combs. She was wearing a pale green flowered dress trimmed with matching ribbons that flattered her rounded figure.
Joe smiled again and pushed his tan hat to the back of his head. “Miss, I didn’t quite catch your question. I hope you’ll excuse me.”
”I asked if there was another copy of the book you were examining. The atlas. I was interested in purchasing it.”
Joe looked around the stack. “No, there isn’t but why don’t you take this one.” He walked around the table and handed her the book. He would get Adam the other book. She sure deserved his attentions more than Adam did.
“Are you sure, Sir?” She smiled a dimpled smile. Her blue eyes flashed beneath long black lashes.
She certainly has a pretty smile, Joe thought to himself. He grinned back and took off his hat. “Yes Miss. I’m quite sure.” Never one to let an opportunity slip past him, he added, “My name is Joe Cartwright.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cartwright.” She smiled flirtatiously back at him as he handed her the book. His booted foot caught the parasol that she had leaned against the edge of the table and knocked it over.
Dean jumped forward and caught it before it hit the floor. “I’m Dean Newkirk,” he said shyly and took off his hat. His white blonde hair shone in the dim light of the store. He had an innocent, sweet, angelic look.
Bonnie smiled again.
She certainly was a very pretty little girl, Dean thought as he tapped the edge of the counter nervously. She was really pretty, he thought. A very pretty little girl in a dress with flowers and she smiled at him too. She smiled at him just as much, if not more, than she smiled at Little Joe. The two young cowboys stood frozen watching the lovely, sweet, blonde walk away from them.
Joe elbowed his friend. “Mmm, mm, she looks as good from the back as from the front.”
Dean nodded. “Maybe better. Look how she sort of sways when she walks.”
Joe nodded. “She smells awful good too.”
Dean drew in a deep breath hoping to catch her fragrance, “Roses?”
Joe shook his head “Lilacs?”
“Whatever it is, it sure smells real fine.”
Bonnie paid for her book and left the store. Dean kept his eyes on her until the crowd of customers who filled the store blocked his view. Then he couldn’t see her any more.
As Bonnie walked in front of the noisy Slaughter House Saloon, a large, filthy cowboy was walking out, the swinging doors flapping behind him. He had started to walk by her but had done a double take that almost made him fall off the sidewalk. He was a belligerent fellow in the best of times and this wasn’t the best of times. He had spent the last two days spending most of his three months wages on rotgut and poker and he was drunk and angry. He was lonely for a woman and here was a very pretty one who wiggled just the right way.
The drunk immediately swept off his dusty brown hat and introduced himself, and then invited her to lunch at the hotel. The girl continued walking and totally ignored him, just as she had been taught. He planted himself in her path and leered drunkenly. “Hey, pretty lady let’s have lunch together and then I can take you dancing.”
“Sir, you are blocking my way.” She drew herself up to her full height and glared at him.
His equally drunken friend walked up behind him and grinned foolishly at Bonnie. “Hey, if you don’t like Chet, how about me? I kiss a whole lot better.” He grabbed at Bonnie’s slender arm. She pulled away in a futile attempt to escape his sweaty clutches.
“Let me pass.” Now she was getting nervous.
The first man snatched her package. ”Want this back you have to give me a kiss, little girl.”
Bonnie was incensed. First, she was angry with the drunks for being so boorish, secondly at herself for winding up in such a situation in a strange place. She had managed the entire trip from Ohio on her own by paying close attention to her personal safety. All the way to Denver, she needed to fend for herself and had managed quite well and now she was a few streets away from her aunt and uncle and in trouble.
“Give me that back, sir!” she hollered furiously. The young woman slipped out of his grasp. Bonnie raised her folded parasol over her head and swung it at the man with her package.
The second drunk grabbed the parasol and snatched it from her hands. “You’re a mighty feisty little girl” and he captured her slender wrist with a dirty hand laughing menacingly.
Bonnie heard heavy boot step on the wooden walkway behind her. ”Let her go,” a male voice said threateningly behind her. “Let the lady alone.”
The drunk looked frightened and immediately let go of Bonnie’s wrist.
“Now hand her property back to her and apologize.”
Both men looked dumbfounded.
Joe repeated more firmly this time. “Give the lady the package and say how sorry you are. Now”
”I’m sorry, Miss. Excuse me.” The first bully handed her the package. “Don’t shoot me, Mister.” His buddy stepped back and gave Bonnie wide berth.
Bonnie spun around and saw the curly haired cowboy from the store standing behind her. His hand was resting on his holstered gun and a stern look was crossing his handsome face. Would he have shot the drunk? What kind of town was this where ladies got mauled in broad daylight and men pulled guns on each other? Perhaps her parents were right and she should have stayed home on the farm.
”Now, turn around and walk away from here as fast as you two drunken bums can go,” Dean added firmly. He didn’t look quite so angelic and easy-going now with a gun in his hand. His lake blue eyes took on a cold icy glint.
The two carousers ran down the alley. “You two boys better watch your backs,” they shouted at Joe and Dean as they ran.
“Are you all right, Miss?” Joe Cartwright asked gallantly. “You really shouldn’t be in this area of town on your own. I would think your father would have told you that.”
”Thank you. You gentlemen wouldn’t have shot those two would you?”
Joe laughed. “No Miss. I’m sure glad they thought we would, though. May I walk you to the other side of town? I wouldn’t want to leave you having any more problems. Like I said, I would think your parents wouldn’t let a young lady like you walk around this place on her own.”
“I think WE should both walk you over to where ever you need to go… together,” the blonde haired cowboy added quickly. His eyes were bright blue, like a mountain lake on a sunny day.
Bonnie smiled again. “Thank you both for your help. But how old do you think I am?”
Joe took her package from her hand and offered her his arm. “Oh, fifteen or sixteen. Seventeen at the most. Too young to be walking around the rough side of town on your own.”
Bonnie laughed. “Sir, I am so very flattered, but you are much too generous in thinking that I am but a child. I’m almost eighteen years old.”
“Almost eighteen? How could I have been so wrong?” Joe repeated with a warm smile. He was so smitten by the lovely girl that he didn’t even realize that his estimate of seventeen was exactly the same as her claim of “almost eighteen”.
“Almost eighteen, Miss?” Dean nodded in amazement. “Ma’am, may I escort you to where ever you need to be?” He was nineteen years old and thought she was, by far, the most wonderful girl he had ever met. His heart was melting.
“We,” Joe added He squeezed in between Dean and the young lady and offered her his left arm and swung the saddlebag over his right shoulder.
She had produced that dimpled smile and agreed to the young men’s offer. She gently put her hand on Joe’s arm and he smiled as Dean Newkirk glared at his friend. Joe and Bonnie walked on the narrow wooden side walk towards her uncle’s house and Dean followed a few steps behind. He was annoyed that the young lady was holding Little Joe’s arm but he thoroughly enjoyed staring at the attractive way her hips swayed and her blonde curls bounced as she sashayed down the street.
By the time the two young men walked Bonnie to her uncle’s home and jostled each other aside at each street crossing so that they alternated positions, they were locked into a testosterone-filled competition for her attention. As they strolled towards Dwight’s little house, each cowboy was vacillating between smiling warmly at Bonnie when she was on his arm and glaring venomously at his pal when he was cast aside. Bonnie introduced the two cowboys to Uncle Dwight and Aunt Rosemarie, who were thrilled to meet young men who lived on a ranch near Virginia City. When they heard how Joe Cartwright and Dean Newkirk had been so heroically gallant in rescuing their sweet Bonnie, they thanked the two handsome young cowboys profusely.
“A decent young lady can’t be safe in Denver on her own these days,” Rosemarie reprimanded Bonnie. “Good thing these brave boys came along and rescued you. You were very lucky nothing bad happened.”
“Indeed!” Uncle Dwight agreed.
More time passed as Aunt Rosemarie asked Little Joe and Dean to move a few barrels and crates for her. The two boys gladly complied with her request and spent a sweaty hour showing off how strong they were as they hauled heavy boxes up and down stairs and rolled china barrels onto the back of the wagon. Bonnie was doubly impressed by their demonstration of muscles and might. Just as the two suitors each hoped she would.
Aunt Rosemarie offered the young men a cool drink and Uncle Dwight leaned on his crutches and shook their hands. They thanked them again profusely for moving the crates and boxes and barrels. Then Bonnie showed them where they could wash up and insisted they stay for dinner.
Of course they accepted. They each jockeyed to sit next to Bonnie, and Rosemarie avoided the problem by putting Bonnie at the foot of the table opposite her uncle and seating Dean on one side of her and Little Joe on the other.
By the time they finished dinner and Joe demonstrated his charm as a great storyteller and Dean showed how mechanical he was by repairing the pump, it was close to nine o’clock. As Joe and Dean said their good nights, Bonnie slipped each of them a white perfumed envelope. “I wrote down our new address for each of you. I hope you both will come see me in Virginia City.” She smiled sweetly. “Both of you.”
“We both will certainly be mighty pleased to visit.” Joe smiled and gave her a polite kiss on her cheek.
“Both of us,” Dean repeated and he too kissed Bonnie on the other cheek.
Both cowboys nodded at each other and mentally made plans of how quickly they could out maneuver his friend in the hot competition for sweet Bonnie with the golden curls.
As Joe and Dean headed back to the hotel, they both suddenly realized that the bank had been closed for six long hours and the two boys still had a money-filled saddlebag on their hands.
Not Safe
“Not to worry, Dean, we can put the money in the safe at the hotel,” Joe Cartwright confidently told his companion as they walked back to the hotel. The saddlebag was slung over his broad shoulder.
“Joe, we should have gone to the bank first thing like I told you. Your Pa said bring the money to the bank when we got into town. That’s what he said. Bring it to the bank first thing, Joe.” Dean believed in following rules and aspired to become Roy Coffee’s deputy if given the opportunity.
”Dean, don’t worry, the hotel always has a safe. Pa uses it all the time,” Joe exaggerated.” So does Adam”
Dean looked right at Joe.” You sure about that?” He raised an eye brow.
”Would I lie to you, Dean?” Joe asked with a smile.
“Would you lie to me? Didn’t you once tell me that horse liniment was hair tonic? And what about the time you told me that prunes were good to eat in large quantities before a dance? And what about the time you traded your broken pocket knife for my perfectly brand new pair of spurs ….And…and …. And…what about feeding that dog soap and telling me it was rabid?”
Joe laughed loudly as they entered the lobby of their hotel. He walked over to the desk clerk and dumped the saddlebag on the tall desk.
“Good evening, Mr. Cartwright, Mr. Newkirk.”
”Sir, I’d like to put this in your safe. Can I do that?”
The pompous night clerk looked down his nose at the two grubby young cowboys. “You certainly can but I don’t think you want to do that. The hotel cannot guarantee it will be secure.”
”Why not?” Joe said trying to sound important like his brother Adam.
”Last week, someone tried to break into our safe and rob us. It was locked tight and it is made from the strongest steel from Pittsburgh.”
”So why can’t I put my saddle bag in there?”
”Well, Mr. Cartwright, they tried to get in with black powder. They stole it from one of the mines. They didn’t get anything.”
”So,” Dean asked, “why can’t Mr. Cartwright put something in the safe?”
” Because the robbers blew the door off it and there is nothing to lock up.” He took two steps to the right and with a grand flourish of his hand showed Dean and Joe doorless safe behind him. “They got nothing because they also, in their ineptitude, blew up the contents of the safe. The lobby was filled with confetti made from shredded dollar bills and legal papers and securities for days.”
Unexpected Night Visitors
“Joe? Is that you?”
”Huh?”
”Joe, is that you?” Dean whispered from the other side of the rickety bed in the pitch-dark hotel room.
Joe Cartwright rolled over on the lumpy mattress. “Dean, shut up, I’m sleeping.”
”There is someone in the room, Joe,” Dean whispered hoarsely. He has discovered the impossibility of trying to whisper loudly.
By the time Joe woke up and tried to reach for his gun, it was too late.
Whoever had entered their room had left by hanging his leg over the windowsill and sliding out onto the adjacent roof. The last view Joe had of the intruder was the dirty sole of his boot and a shadow moving past the rumpled lace curtain.
Joe jumped out of the bed to grab his gun belt and knocked into Dean who was trying to do the same thing. The two friends tripped over each other and knocked over the washstand with a loud crash.
In the few moments it took for the two friends to sort out their arms and legs and the furniture and gun belts and broken crockery, the robber got clean away over the rooftop.
“Joe, he got the saddlebag. He got our horse money.”
Serious Money Problems
“Want another beer?” Dean asked his friend,
Joe was engrossed in the card game and merely nodded in agreement. He had been playing for nearly sixteen hours straight and the cards were going his way tonight. He’d already made a tidy sum of money. Maybe Joe could win back the money that was stolen. Maybe Joe was right that he would replace the saddlebag full of cash and they would buy the horses and Ben Cartwright and Hays Newkirk would be none the wiser. They would never know the trouble their sons had gotten themselves into. Neither father would ever know the difference if Joe won. No one would know if their luck held out.
Dean made his way across the crowded, smoky room to the bar. A cautious gambler, he had been out of the game for some time now. He’d not incurred heavy losses. He had just enough money in his pocket to cover their drinks. He knew he had better hold back that much from Little Joe or they would wind up having more trouble when they tried to leave the saloon. He knew Joe would go for broke in his quest to replace the stolen money. Joe wanted those horses for the Ponderosa and, more importantly, they both wanted to ride home in triumph, not humiliation.
“Looks like your pal is making a killing tonight,” the heavy set man remarked as Dean reached his side. Fred Thackery, the horse dealer, had just arrived in the saloon and was leaning against the bar savoring his drink.
“Yup.” Dean ordered, then turned to the man. “Only three left in the game now,” he said, “Little Joe’s having all the luck tonight.”
“Think he is still interested in those horses he was looking at this afternoon?” Thackery asked over the rim of his beer glass.
”Yes sir. I am sure he is, Mr. Thackery,” Dean answered. He tried not to look overly interested in the horses just, as Joe had directed him. His older friend had told him, as Adam had taught Little Joe, not to seem especially interested or the man would raise his prices. Joe told him that the Cartwrights had bought many a horse from Fred Thackery and he was well known as an honest man. Thackery was also a shrewd dealmaker and a clever horse trader.
As he had his entire life, Dean listened and learned from his quick-minded friend, Joe. Little Joe might have led him astray many times, many, many times. On the other hand, Joe always got them out of trouble too, at least, most of the time he did. Dean prayed this was one of those times that Joe succeeded.
“I can make you boys a good price if you are going for the whole string. If you raise your bid a few dollars, I can throw in that fine breeding mare and the gray. Them and the ones you boys were looking at before. But I got to know by lunchtime tomorrow. I would like to set off to home as early as I can. My wife is ailing, and if I can avoid staying for the auction. I can get home a full day sooner. It would be worth it to me to sell those horses to you boys out-right instead of staying for the auction. Just get rid of ‘em all and go straight home.”
Dean took a swallow of his beer and glanced at his reflection in the bar back mirror. He hoped he wasn’t looking too anxious. He tried to stay calm. They didn’t even have enough money for the hotel room, and if Joe didn’t come out ahead in the poker game, they would be in worse trouble then when they tried to leave in the morning.
Worst of all, Mr. Cartwright and his father were going to draw and quarter them for sure if Little Joe’s plan didn’t work.
Dean drew in his breath and tried to imitate Joe’s devil-may-care demeanor. “Well,” he smiled at the horse dealer, “I think I will just have to sleep on this. But my friend and I will be seeing you tomorrow for sure.” He tried to smile again but his face was kind of frozen in a weird grimace.
Only Little Joe could be Little Joe.
“Mr. Newkirk. Are you all right?” Fred Thackery asked. To him, the poor young cowboy looked in pain.
Dean swallowed. “Sure, I’m ok. Umm, we have to check on some other…er…live stock… um…and we will be back to you by lunch.” He wiped his sweaty hands on his dusty pants. He would have to practice a lot more before he tried to act as smooth as Joe did.
At the green baize covered table, Joe concentrated hard on the cards he held in his left hand. He tired and was quite aware that he had drunk far too many beers. Joe was finding it difficult to focus totally on the poker game. He also was thinking of the black-haired barmaid with the spangles on her low-cut dress who had brought him his last beer. He was feeling that kind of hazy glow that comes with too much alcohol, an almost detached feeling. Not quite drunk but slightly befuddled and tired from gambling for so many hours. Pushing away the full glass that Dean had placed beside him, he watched as one of his opponents threw in his cards in disgust.
“That’s it for me,” the man said, rising from his seat. “Looks like it’s down to you two.”
Studying his cards, Joe smiled and threw another fifteen dollars onto the pile of notes in the middle of the table. Maybe his plan would work.
Dean watched his friend and realized Joe was winning. Joe was winning! Dean’s heart started pounding in his chest. Perhaps Little Joe was right. They would win the money back and still buy the horses, and neither father would ever know what happened. It was now down to Little Joe Cartwright and the other man.
Dean walked over to his friend and looked over his shoulder. Joe had four kings and an ace of hearts. No hand was going to beat that. They could win their money back. Dean turned his back on the card game as if he was bored or making up his mind if he would stroll over to the bar. He was praying the other player wouldn’t see the happy expression on his face.
Joe’s opponent considered his move for a long time. He was a big man, roughly dressed, a rancher with a spread a few miles outside of Denver.
Watching the two players, Dean was feeling mighty uneasy. He had noticed how, when the big man put down his cards, his right hand would stray to his holstered gun. The man was tense, angry-looking and, young Newkirk suspected, was running out of money. The rancher had a big, bristly moustache and it was hard to read his face.
Dean was far from correct.
”I raise you this.” The man exclaimed and drew a fat roll of bills out of his pocket. He started counting it out on the table. “Five hundred, a thousand, five thousand dollars.”
More than they had lost. It was enough to buy the horses and then some.
Joe glanced up at Dean. He smiled. “Sir, would you take an IOU for a minute.”
“An IOU? Are you kidding, boy?” His hands strayed to his gun.
Dean got nervous. “Joe, watch yourself.”
The bartender’s hands reached under the bar for the shotgun that he had on a shelf. He was not going to let his bar get shot up by two cowboys playing poker. He had worked too hard to build the place up and did not want any stray bullets smashing the huge mirror behind the bar. He kept his hand resting on the shotgun, just in case.
Just then Fred Thackery, the horse trader, stepped over from the bar.
“Seems like you boys are having a problem here. I know Mr. Cartwright here and I know Mr. Shea here.” Thackery pointed at each man like he was introducing a political debate between two men running for territorial governor.
‘You both are honest men. Let’s see if you two can work this out with no gunplay. Anyway, Mr. Cartwright here might just buy some fine horses from me, if you don’t shoot him. And Shea, you were checking out that quarterhorse I had. Dead poker players won’t buy none of my horses, so I sure have big stake in both you fellas staying alive. You’ll be happy and so will I.”
Shea calmed down. “What’s on your mind, Cartwright?”
“I need about … say a half hour to get the money. I’ll be right back and we’ll settle up. I’ll leave my IOU.”
Shea hollered at the husky bartender. “Tom Young, come over here.” He spread his cards face down on the table. “You do the same, Cartwright. Tom, you make your mark on these here cards.”
Tom Young had straight black hair and dark piercing eyes. He was almost as big as Hoss Cartwright and had an honest reputation, despite working in the Slaughter House. No one was going doubt his mark certifying the cards.
”I want to take my cards with me,” Joe said softly after the bartender signed the back of each card in his hand.
“What the hell? Where are you doing, Joe?” Dean whispered to his friend.
”I’m gonna go to the bank…” Joe whispered back. “Excuse me, gentlemen, I, er, need to discuss this transaction with my friend, Mr. Newkirk here.” Joe grabbed Dean’s arm and they back stepped a few feet away from the card table. Both of them kept their eyes glued to the two hands of cards laying face down on the green baize covered table.
“Go the bank? Little Joe, ain’t it a bit late for that? We ain’t got the money anymore. We should have put it in the bank before those fellas held us up and took it.”
“Shut up, Dean.” Joe ordered. Joe leaned over and whispered his plan in his friend’s ear. It was insane, Dean thought but then again, Joe had done crazier things before and Dean always followed along no matter what.
Joe paused. Maybe he was just being crazy. A frown crossed his tired face.
Dean glanced at Joe. He knew young Cartwright his entire life and he could see Joe was hesitating for an instant. If Little Joe lost his courage for a just a minute, they both would be sunk. It was go for broke. He could see Joe’s spark was fading.
“Shut up, Joe … just do it,” Dean urged. He pulled the white envelope out of his shirt pocket. It was the one that Bonnie gave him with her letter in it. Dean yanked out the perfumed note, scooped up Joe’s cards and put them in the envelope. “This will make it look more official and legal.”
Not that Dean had a clue what anything official or legal would look like when dealing with a bank, but having something in an envelope seemed like a better idea. Maybe something that Bonnie’s delicate hand had touched would bring them good luck. He stuck the envelope into the pocket of Joe’s green corduroy jacket.
“Hey, you two. How do I know you will come back here?” Mr. Shea growled.
”Look pal, you got my pile of cash sitting on the table and I trust the bartender and Mr. Thackery to watch over it.”
“OK, but who’s to say you won’t turn tail and ride out of here when you walk out of the door, Cartwright.” Shea looked ready to draw his gun again.
“Take off your boots, boys. A cowboy cain’t go too far with no boots on,” the husky barkeep suggested.
”What?” Little Joe frowned. The beers and weariness were really taking their toll on his quick mind.
“Joe, take off your darn boots,” Dean hissed. He started to yank his own boots off. “Look we can’t go far without any boots. Mr. Shea. We’ll be back directly.”
In their sweaty, dirty socks, Joe and Dean walked out of the saloon and toward the First Bank of Denver across the street.
Weeks Later
Joe Cartwright was stabling his horse Cochise. It was very late on Friday night and he was tired. He hadn’t meant to stay so long in town, knowing he had a long day’s work ahead of him the next day, but time just got away from him. He smiled to himself, thinking of the reason he was late, remembering the silky feel of Bonnie’s long, blonde hair between his fingers, the softness of her lips beneath his and the warmth of her hugs.
“Hey Joe.” Dean Newkirk walked towards him out of the shadows in the back of the barn. “Hey Joe, aren’t you home a little late “
”What’s it to you, Dean? “ Joe grinned.
“Where you been, Joe?” Dean moved toward him aggressively. His blue eyes were filled with icy fury.
Joe turned his back to remove the saddle from Cochise. He was thinking what a nice time he had with Bonnie. The previous night he had taken Ellie McClure to the social and tonight he took Bonnie to Karen Slayden’s birthday celebration. Sunday, after church, Jennifer Beal had invited him for dinner with her parents. Joe was tired but pleased with all the fun he had been having with the pretty young ladies of Virginia City. He knew he was quite irresistible and was enjoying every minute of it.
“Just spreading my charm around, Dean. Just keeping all the ladies of Nevada Territory real happy.” He lifted the saddle over the side of the stall and winked devilishly at Dean. He loosened up his black string tie and shoved it in his pocket.
“Where you been, Joe?” Dean repeated.
“Like I said, friend, what’s it to you? And what are you doing up here so late? I was with Bonnie. She sure is one very friendly gal.”
The next thing Joe knew, he was sprawled on his back on the floor of the barn. Blood was pouring from his nose. Dean grabbed the front of Little Joe’s new white shirt and hoisted him to his feet.
”Don’t you talk about her like that, Joe Cartwright! Don’t you talk about Bonnie or touch her neither.” He raised his fist to give Little Joe another belt when Hoss walked into the barn. He had heard the commotion all the way back to the house.
“Whoa, Dean. What’s goin’ on here, boys?” Hoss grabbed Dean around the chest and pulled him off his little brother.
“You keep your paws off of Bonnie! She’s my girl,” Dean shouted angrily as Hoses restrained him.
Joe stumbled to his feet. Blood poured from his nose and stained the front of his brand new white dress shirt. He was basically not hurt from the bloody nose but is truly shocked by the rage that Dean demonstrated in his attack. Dean was usually so calm and level-headed.
Joe hadn’t realized there was anything serious between his friend and Bonnie. He just thought that he and Dean were competing for her attention in the same way they grew up competing for anything else. They had always had friendly contests of who could jump higher or swim faster or eat more pie or hang onto a wild mustang longer.
One spring, Adam and Hoss had capitalized on this competitiveness. They tricked the two younger boys into a contest of rounding up the most strays and got the herd moved faster than it had ever been done before or since. The two Cartwright brothers had each placed a bet on one of the boys, Adam on Dean and Hoss backing Little Joe. Ben and Hays laughed for weeks at how their two sons had been duped into working so hard.
Hoss grabbed Dean by the back of his collar and yanked him off Joe. Holding Dean in a tight grasp with his right hand, Hoss pulled out his blue bandana with the other. “You all right, Little Brother?” He tossed Joe the bandana.
”Sure, Hoss.” Joe swiped at his nose and glanced down at his ruined shirt.
“What the heck is wrong with you, Dean?”
Hoss released Dean but kept a watchful eye on young Newkirk. It wasn’t the first time Hoss had pulled Dean and his brother apart. Usually, it was Joe getting the better of Dean. But for as many times as the two pals had locked horns, Hoss knew they had squared off together on the same side against a schoolyard bully or in the middle of a saloon brawl. All the Cartwrights knew Little Joe and Dean had a tight friendship from the time they were small.
Dean pulled out his own crumpled bandana and handed it to Joe. “Sorry, Joe. Just don’t go out with Bonnie, no more. That’s all. Sorry I hit you so hard.”
”Dean, I didn’t know you felt that way about her. I just thought it was…you know. A pretty girl and one of our little games.”
Dean glared at Joe with a hot fury. For a minute Hoses was ready to step in between the two young men again. “Joe this ain’t no game. I want to marry Bonnie.”
Hoss grinned. “Well Joe, guess that’s one little gal that’s spoken for. You better let this one alone unless you want Dean punching you in the nose again.”
”No problem, Dean. I sure don‘t want to get married to anyone for a real long time.”
”I’m sorry, Little Joe,” Dean repeated. He put out his right hand to shake with Joe.
“Apology accepted on one condition.” Joe shook his hand. “You let me be your best man.”
Dean smiled. “Wouldn’t never think to ask anyone else, Joe.”
The End
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