Father Kit Cool Gun Garth

Munchkin the kitten.

“I've traveled a great distance to follow up on a lead I was given by a good friend and fellow Texas Ranger, Rye Miles. Ever heard of him?” Kit inquired. UB replied “Can't say that I have, although we don't get many visitors around these here parts. Life is simple, which is how we like it. Makes my job much easier. So you're a Texas Ranger?” “That I am”, Kit replied, almost as if he was ashamed of the title. “You see, after my wife and son were killed two years ago, I swore I would catch the four men who did it and make them pay dearly with their lives. As a man seeking revenge, I swore I would hunt them down and kill every one of them. As a man of the cloth, my oath to GOD would never allow such vile retribution. My only hope then would be somewhere in the middle, so I joined the Texas Rangers. This way I could get the justice I sought and let God's will be done.” “We'll I'll be danged”, UB responded with a surprised look on his face. “You're the second Texas Ranger that's arrived in town this week! Know of a John Caulder?” Kit quickly stood up from his chair almost knocking it over and with a Cheshire grin on his face, replied, “That Old Desert Rat! Why we go back as far as Tarrant, Arizona when the Brett Black gang were causing trouble. What's he doing in town?” “Seems he's got business just like you, tracking down another bad hombre”, UB responded. “He's hooked up with Slim Dawkins, an undercover Pinkerton detective, but let us keep that between just you and me for now. Now who is this fella you're hunting.” Kit's face turned to scornful when he replied, “His name is Frank J. Milt, but he goes by the nickname "Flapjack". He’s as nasty as they come and would just as soon shoot you in the back then to face you squarely like a man.” UB now sitting back in his chair, leaning precariously far enough to make one think he would merely fall on the floor, until his chair rested ever so slightly against the back wall, “So what can I do to help?” “Have there been any strangers around town that you’re not familiar with?” “There’s the Hammond bunch outside of town. Mr. Hammond seems to have a knack for hiring anyone that will do his bidding for a price.” UB replied. “You say there were four men?” he continued. Kit settling back into his chair, taking a swig of his coffee, prepared to fill the Sheriff in on his task to date. “Yes, there were four men involved; however, only one is left to be taken care of.” UB quickly pulled himself back into an upright position, setting his coffee cup on his desk and placing both hands flat on the table, giving Kit an inquisitive look. Kit could tell he wanted details.

Kit dismounted from Orion in front of the Sheriffs’ Office, looped the reins around the saddle horn and stepped up onto the boardwalk, taking time to kick the first step with his boots to get what little mud off them as possible before heading to the Office. The Sheriff had already made his way to the front door awaiting Kit’s arrival, greeting him with a “What brings you to East Fork, Stranger?” He had already seen Kit arrive and found it odd that instead of heading to the nearest SALOON, he casually rode the town. “May we speak inside?” Kit replied, to which the Sheriff calmly turned around and into his office with Kit close behind, closing the door as he entered. “My name is Kit and I may need your assistance, if you have a mind to.” “Pleased to meet you Kit, my name is Utah Bob, Deputy U.S. Marshal and town Sheriff, but folks around here skip the title and just call me UB. Have a seat. Can I get you a cup of coffee, just brewed a fresh pot?” “I’d appreciate that Sheriff,” Kit replied as he grabbed a chair slid it in front of the Sheriffs’ desk and taking his hat off, proceed to sit down. UB moving to the pot belly stove in the corner of the room, grabbing the coffee pot and a tin cup from the shelf and while pouring coffee stated with a firm tone, “We’re not looking for any trouble here in town, Lord knows we have enough of our own troubles as it is.” Setting the coffee pot back on the stove, turning and handing the cup to Kit, UB queried him, “Now then, what can I do for you?”

The sun was hanging high in the cloudless sky as Kit could now see the outline of East Fork off in the distance. A lone mesa jutting from the continuous, unbroken desert landscape provided a serene backdrop to the small town, its flat top and steep sides an odd sight on what had been, up to this moment, a barren lifeless trip. The celestial orb that had been causing his brow to sweat, was also working on the once snow-covered ground, turning it to a muddy slush. He pondered how Orion must feel having eventually make his way from soft, fluffy snow to this treacherous muck. Kit had been riding a parallel path with the Union-Pacific Railroad since first arriving in Green River City and as he neared East Fork, he could see the rails coming closer as the local Train Depot could be seen at the north end of town. Arriving in East Fork, he took a quick tour of the town to get his bearings and acquaint himself with its offerings. There were two streets that divided the town into three sections. Railroad towns were often laid out in a T-shape, with the top portion being the street paralleling the railroad and the straight part being the town's main street. Turning south on main street, was the Land Office on his right and the Post Office on his left. Next to the Land Office was the local Bank which was across the street from the Sheriffs’ Office. This made complete sense to Kit, providing quicker law enforcement for potential bank robbers; however, he found it odd that the building was not constructed of bricks, which was the case in most towns. The town folk appeared to be quite friendly, especially to a stranger, new to their town. Coming up on the General Store on the right, next to the bank, Kit tipped his hat to what appeared to be the proprietor of the business as she was casually sweeping the boardwalk in front. He was taken aback though when she returned his greeting with a scornful frown. Across the street was a SALOON though a rather large building for such a small town. The typical loud chatter could be heard even from the street along with the increasing crescendo from the pounding of piano keys to some long familiar tune. As Kit approached the end of the street, there was the inevitable two-story local hotel occupying the entire corner of the block and across an adjoining street the town Church facing directly north. Left at the end of main street, Kit could now see the small red schoolhouse that sat adjacent to the Church, and now turning north onto the second road that ran parallel to main street, was the Livery and its blacksmith, a building that appeared to house several other small businesses, including a Dress Shop and a barber shop, and finally another much smaller SALOON. As with most towns, there were no houses to be seen in town itself, but off in the distance behind and around town instead. Kit understood all to well the reasons for this, what with dust in the summer and mud in the spring. His wife once told him that good ladies did not wish to live cheek-to-cheek with prostitutes, gamblers and drunks. Having satisfied himself with his current surroundings, Kit headed for the Sheriff’s Office to introduce himself.

Kit was feeling weary from this long journey from Tombstone, but nearing his destination gave him a fresh jolt of anticipation. He was hoping the lead that Ranger Miles had given him after he left the town of Tarrant to join a new Ranger outfit, would come to fruition. His thoughts went back to those good times, testing Ryes’ shooting accuracy and making him a Deputy Ranger, even though he returned the badge before leaving Tarrant. This has not been an easy trip to make; however, the search for those who killed his family would never end until punishment was meted. Being a GOD-fearing man, he was beyond redemption now, knowing that “… with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.” He had left Tombstone going NW following the Santa Cruz River passing through Tucson, and Phoenix, then due north to Prescott, a long 12-day ride. Orion, ever the champion, made it look easy; however, Kit realized that they both needed some long-deserved rest if they were to make it to East Fork. Upon arriving in Prescott, Kit went immediately to the Sheriffs’ Office to let him know he was in town, and what his plans were. The Sheriff recommended a Boarding House and after a nice hot meal and a bath, which was just what he needed to rejuvenate his fatigued body, he decided to stay in Prescott an extra day. Orion was being well tended to by the local farrier, who trimmed and balanced his hooves and replaced his shoes. Being the dominant political center of the Territory, Prescott was protected and influenced by the presence of nearby Fort Whipple, named for Lieutenant Amiel W. Whipple. It was well-known that he had established the first access routes to nearby goldfields. Having been well rested, Kit left Prescott, and made a point to stop by Ft. Whipple for a short visit before making his way through Yavapai County to the Little Colorado River, which eventually joined with the Colorado River. He soon found himself in No Man’s land following the Green River which juxtaposed from the Colorado heading due north. Another 12 day ride and Kit took respite at Crescent Junction on the north side of Cottonwood Creek before they skirting the Uintah Mountains and crossed the Utah/Wyoming border. The southwestern Wyoming territory was suddenly interrupted by a string of multi-colored buttes, carved over time by the Green River. Their majesty was a thing to behold, and Kit took pause to appreciate their splendor. After this last 13 day ride, he would stop in Green River City before heading to East Fork. A days rest and Kit was heading due East passing through Bitter Creek, a small section town founded by the Union Pacific Railroad, basically a water and whistle stop. He then crossed the Continental Divide, and through Rawlins Springs. Kit heard stories about this town and how it got its name. It was told that General John A. Rawlins, in command of the troops surveying the route of the first trans-continental railroad, expressed a wish for a drink of good, cold water. Scouts had found a spring and having taken a drink, the General declared, “If anything is ever named after me, I hope it will be a spring of water.” The town then bore his name. Next stop……East Fork.

Kit was unaware how long he had been asleep. The days ride took it's share of his energy, draining him to the point of true exhaustion. Were it not for the dire warning that Orion just gave him, he surely would have remained in slumber. With the quickness he had grown accustomed, he pulled his S&W revolver from its holster which was coiled like a rattlesnake ready to strike, he thumbing the hammer, hearing the all familiar "click" of the cylinder rotating, aligning the next round of death, and praying to himself, "Lord, please forgive me for what I am about to do." Remaining still, as if life had left him, his eyes peered under his wide brimmed hat searching the dark for whatever had startled Orion. Nothing? This was not like Orion to give false alarms. With his vision now growing more acclimated to the darkness surrounding him, Kit looked not in the area where Orion stood, now slinging his head up and down in a bobbing motion whilst tramping the deep snow with his front hoove, but to his right. There in the distance, just beyond the tree line, a Grey Wolf! Without a second thought, Kit raised slightly, turning to his right, and with total disregard for someone hearing the gunshot and possibly finding his location, he purposely aimed low and to the right, missing his target, yet fending off the danger. This one will live another day. Too awake now to fall back to sleep, and with the fire no longer providing any warmth, he decided to make plans for heading out, albeit earlier than he had wished.

The long days ride took it's toll on him, and though he should have fallen fast asleep by now, his mind would not let him. Even Orion, ever restless, especially at night, kept watch for any dangers that may be lurking in it's midst. A true companion, this gentle black splash stallion was the only one Kit could rely on. Orion was never tied up, for he would protect Kit from any harm, and never leave his presence. Kit's thoughts soon drifted to the events of this last year of his life and although the flickery flames of the fire did keep him warm, at least on the outside, his heart was still cold. He had finally made it to Stone Creek, albeit of his own willing. Not one to meddle or interfere into the business of others, there were those that perceived him as a threat. Though he appeared to be a stranger to them, they would not remember the young boy who lived with his grandfather on his ranch outside of town. Besides, he had business of his own to attend to in town anyway, not that it mattered to them, even if they knew. He had stopped by the Land Office, to see one J. Mark Flint, Attorney At Law. You see, I came with a deed to 200 acres of land at the base of Badger Mountain just outside of Stone Creek I had inherited from my grandfather who had obtained the rights to the land long before Stone Creek became a sleepy little town in the middle of nowhere.

The winter wind was now whipping the heavy falling snow into a blinding curtain of white that made it difficult for Kit to even see the black mane of Orion as he made his way through the tall, narrow pass on his way to East Fork. He couldn’t recall the last hot meal he had, and even the thought of such a meal made his stomach twist into a knot even more. He decided he must find shelter soon and make camp before darkness falls. They prodded along for what seemed like hours, and even though the snowstorm had now stopped as quickly as it started, it yielded no comfort to him as his numb fingers seemed frozen to Orion’s reins as one. The gaping opening at the end of the pass was now in sight, and soon they found themselves facing an open range. Some 50 yards further, a small grouping of mesquite seemed like a reasonable place to make home for the night.

In honor of Father's Day:

For Alpo:

Oh yeah. I bet the butcher the other day that he couldn't reach the meat that was on the top shelf. He refused to take the bet, saying that the steaks were too high.