Short Stories & Tall Tales
Four Corners
Johnny Gunn
Few noticed when the tall, lanky man rode into town, after all, trail weary men find their way to Four Corners often, what with trails leading off to all the cardinal points, taking people, bringing people, giving the town its purpose in being. His horse, all black but for a small star in the middle of its forehead, was tired, but gave the impression that it still had lots of go left in him, and the rider, also tired, dusty, had that look about him that said, “don’t rile me, don’t ask questions, stay back some.” He was his own man, he knew it, and you would be better off if you knew it.
He was wearing a buckskin shirt under his serape, his hat was pushed back, showing a face that carried the lines of a man who had seen things many other men had not. His chaps were well worn and dirty, his boots carried silver spurs and were settled deep in stirrups covered with equally worn and dusty tapaderos. There was a pair of gloves tucked in his belt, and tied off on the right side of the saddle was a long Mexican reata. He wore his pistol in a cross draw holster, also at his waist was a large knife. He packed a lever action rifle tucked in a scabbard alongside the saddle.
Those watching said some of his trappings said buckaroo, some said professional hunter, some said danger, the stranger said nothing as he dismounted in front of the hotel, tied off the big stud, slipped the rifle out, grabbed his bedroll and went inside the old wood framed building. At the front was the hotel desk with stairs leading up to the rooms on the second and third floors. Off to the right was a restaurant, and straight back was the saloon with a long oaken bar, a small stage, and gambling tables. Cigar smoke filled the room, and the air was heavy with the aroma of stale beer and whiskey.
He set his gear down, tapped the bell on the desk, and slipped a ten dollar gold piece out of his pocket, letting it tinkle onto the hardwood. “Gonna be with us for a spell, mister?”
“Depends on how long that coin buys me a room.”
“Good for a week. Take 214, straight down the hall up there, and on the right side.” He handed over a large ring with a single key hanging from it. “Breakfast is served starting at five and supper service begins at four. They’s a barber shop ‘round the corner that offers hot baths.”
“Next to a cold beer, a hot bath sounds mighty good right now.” The smile was genuine, he said thanks and loped up the stairs to his room. The hotel clerk noted the deep lines in the man’s face, and wondered how such a young man could have those kinds of worries. The tall stranger signed his name, Jacob Chance, Pioche, Nevada.
---
“Don’t get to enjoy cold beer very often. Better pour another one and add a shot of corn, and a cigar. Haven’t had any of those for days now.” He downed his first beer fast, then planned on enjoying the second one. As his father, Sheriff John P. Chance, always told him, “if you want information, go to the saloon keeper. They know everything that’s going on in town.”
“Know a man named Kimble, Joshua Kimble? Heard he had a ranch in these parts.”
“About twenty miles west of here, on the road to Elko, then north about ten. Don’t see him much, though. Mean tempered old man, can’t keep help. You looking to ride for him, better think twice. Real ugly mean, that man is.”
“Name’s Jake Chance. I’m the deputy U.S. Marshal up from Pioche, looking to take Mr. Kimble back to Lincoln County and hang him high. He’s more than mean, bartender, he’s a killer.”
“A real U.S. Marshal. I’ll be danged if I’ve ever met one before. Don’t see no badge, though.” Chance smiled at the hidden thought, lifted his serape and pushed it off to the side, and that shiny badge jumped out at the bartender. “Son of a gun, a real U.S. Marshal. You gonna stay around here and clean up this garbage pit?”
“You got a sheriff, don’t ya?”
“We got a man what wears a badge but he sure ain’t no sheriff. He’s one of the biggest crooks in town. Name’s Aiken, Bart Aiken, and he likes to say he’s just Aiken to shoot someone. He thinks that’s funny as all get out.”
“I do believe he’s done that more than once. He used to ride with Kimble, and he’s on my list as well. Anyone in town I can trust, besides you, of course?” That smile won the bartender’s support, and it really was genuine.
“I might be able to introduce you to a couple of upstanding gentlemen when the evening crowd comes in.”
“Good, and thanks. It’s all right to mention that I’m in town. Kind of scares the crap out of the bad guys.” He took his shot of liquor down, washed with the last of his beer, and headed for a hot bath, shave, and a look around this place called Four Corners.
---
There was a feed and supply business, an arms dealer with a fine array of pistols, rifles, and scatter guns, the big hotel complex, a couple of dry goods emporiums, a black smith, barber shop, and sheriff’s office and jail. “I should stop in and say hello, but it won’t take long for him to know I’m in town. Aiken and Kimble, what a pair, and sticking around just waiting for me. They aren’t very bright.” Back at the hotel, Chance went over his notes one more time. Most dealt with problems in and around Lincoln County, and in particular, Pioche.
“The Kimble Brothers’ gang would probably still be operating in Lincoln County if they hadn’t tried to rob that train. Federal offense that was, and that brought me into the picture.” Chance’s musing fired up some angry memories. “That fool Peter Kimble trying to shoot me in the back while I’m watching him in a mirror. Idiot move there, and one dead Kimble to prove it. Joshua will be a different story, I think. He’s big, mean, and not totally stupid.”
Jake Chance became a lawman because of his father, and has never had reason to regret the decision. He didn’t want the life of a town or county sheriff and fully enjoyed the freedom that came with the marshal’s position. “My territory is what I make it,” he told his father, and that was the truth. He works at the pleasure of federal agencies such as the Attorney General, and in some cases, the Military Department.
“I’ll take a ride out to that ranch tomorrow, I think. That should give time for the word to get out that I’m here and on the hunt.” Bathed, shaved, and in clean clothes, Marshal Jake Chance went down to the saloon for a drink before supper.
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“So, Marshal, some of the stories we’ve heard about Bart Aiken may be true after all? As I think back on it, it sure does make sense. Never did understand his leaving town for a week or so every once in a while. Robbing banks and trains. Not the right thing for a sheriff to do, I dare say.” Clarence Tompkins owns the gun shop and was introduced to Chance by the bartender.
“Over the last two years, Aiken and the Kimble brothers have robbed the Lincoln County Bank twice, held up the wagons carrying gold and silver from the mines at least twice, and robbed the train coming into Nevada from Utah. It was carrying a large shipment of gold coins from Denver, heading to Los Angeles. That’s what put me on the job. Federal offense there.” The two men were vastly different in appearance, Tompkins being on the portly side and Chance as skinny as a hungry Jack rabbit.
“You’ve got a little problem, here, Chance. With Aiken being the sheriff in Four Corners, you can’t ask for help. Most of the people in town are store clerks and such. You could get help from some of the buckaroos on the ranches, but they only come to town on payday. They’d be scattered all over these hills right now.
“You mentioned Kimble brothers. I only know of Josh Kimble.”
“Joshua had a brother named Peter, part of the gang. Fool tried to shoot me in the back, but I saw his move in a mirror and killed him. Joshua is much smarter and far meaner than old Pete was.”
Chance was about to head into the restaurant when Tompkins came up with an idea. “You can’t expect to arrest Aiken and hold him in his own jail, Marshal, but I have a large room under my store that might make for a fine holding pen. I built it to keep all my guns safe when the store is closed. It’s really secure, and only the one way in and out. If you need it, it’s yours for the asking.”
“Mighty obliged, Mr. Tompkins, mighty obliged. Join me for supper?”
“I’d like that, Marshal, but my wife is expecting me. We live above the shop. Maybe another time.”
The two men stood up and shook hands, Tompkins heading out the big hotel doors and Chance going into the restaurant. “Something sure smells good in here,” he muttered, taking a seat away from the front windows, and with his back to a wall. Bart Aiken was seated across the dining room with one of his deputies, his back to Chance. “This could prove interesting.”
He was nursing a large bowl of white bean and ham hock soup when one of the men he had seen in the saloon came up to his table. “Mind a hungry dinner partner, Marshal?”, and he sat right down, not waiting for an answer. Kent Massey was one of the biggest men Chance could ever recall seeing.
“Name’s Massey, Big Dog to my friends.”
“Well, Big Dog, sit right down, of course, you already are. You the Big Dog Blacksmith I saw a sign for?”
“That’s me, alright, yes, sir, that’s me.” He tucked a napkin under double or triple chins and held a knife in one hand and fork in the other. “Best food in Nevada, Marshal. Best food in the west.”
“I always like a man likes good food, Big Dog. Did you have something on your mind when you joined me here?” Before the giant could answer, the waiter brought two over sized steaks out and set them in front of the blacksmith. He nodded to Chance as if to say, “Yours is on the way.”
“Jesse the barkeep said you was lookin’ to take Sheriff Aiken and Josh Kimble in for murder and train robbin’. That’s mighty good news, Marshal, but I sure don’t see how it can be did. Them two’s ‘bout as mean a pair’s ever been drawed to. I ain’t as fast as I used to be, but I’m stronger than any man in town. Cain’t run fer nothin’ anymore, but if I gits a holt of you, you ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
That broad Chance smile splashed across the Marshal’s face followed by a rumbling laugh from deep in his soul. “You and me make three of a kind, Big Dog, and three of a kind beats a pair any day of the week,” and the laughter could be heard all around the restaurant. The two men continued their sparring, enjoying every minute of it, not paying any attention to the two men trying to stare them down.
---
“He says he’s a U.S. Marshal, Sheriff, and he says he’s looking to take you and Josh back to Pioche for that train job. Want me to take him out?”
“Fool. Killing a U.S. Marshal gets you hung high and fast. Don’t be stupid. We’ll take him out, alright, but it has to look like an accident. Head out to Kimble’s ranch at first light and let him know what’s going on.
“Do you know where Tyson is? I could use another gun around here right now.”
“He’s still in Carson City, Bart. Got life for that bank job in Winnemucca. Killed that old lady and then shot the deputy.”
“He was a good man, Tyson was. Well, I’ll have to do with you and Fence, I guess. If Kimble’s smart, he’ll get away as fast as he can. Maybe I’ll pack for a little hunting trip myself.”
Marshal Chance was enjoying the light hearted talk with Kent Massey, but kept one eye on the sheriff and his deputy. He watched as the deputy stood up to leave, heard Aiken say, “Get out as early as you can in the morning. Got to tell Kimble.”
“How many deputies does Aiken keep around, Big Dog?”
“Usually two, this fool and a man named Fence. Fence is older, used to be a gun for hire during the range wars. Some say that’s where he got his name, Fence. Like Aiken, he shoots first then asks questions. I don’t think anyone has ever been arrested, they all die.”
Chance stood up slowly, put his napkin down on the table, shoved his chair back in place, and walked right up to the sheriff. “Evening, Aiken. Finished with your supper, I hope. Keep both your hands on the table and slowly, ever so slowly, stand up. You’re under arrest for train robbery, robbery of coins from the U.S. Mint, and murder. Very carefully now, Aiken, and you’ll live to hang.”
Most of the supper crowd had already gone, and the few left moved out of the line of fire as quickly as possible. Big Dog slipped around so he was off to the side of the sheriff with the front windows on the other side. Marshal Chance stood directly in front of Aiken.
Aiken set himself, pushed hard on the table and leaped to his feet reaching for the six shooter on his hip. He never made it. Chance wasn’t fast enough to draw his pistol either. Big Dog stepped forward with the weight and strength of an ox and plastered the sheriff right behind his ear with a fist almost as large as the man’s head. He was hit so hard both feet came off the floor and he was flung through the plate glass window and would remain unconscious for another hour or so.
“Thought you told me you weren’t very fast anymore, Big Dog? Son of a gun but that was one fast move.”
“I was talkin’ ‘bout pullin’ my guns, Marshal. Don’t have that edge anymore.” That was followed by a long guffaw of a laugh that came from both men. They bundled Aiken up, took him to the Four Corners Gun Shop basement and hog tied him. The gunsmith, blacksmith, and marshal walked to the saloon to put a cap on the evening.
“I’ll be heading out to Kimble’s in the morning, Mr. Tompkins. Be very careful with Aiken, he’s wily and dangerous.” Jake Chance was up early, had to wait a few minutes for the restaurant to open, had some side meat and potatoes, had the cook fix him some meat and bread for the long ride, and was about to leave town before most were up.
He entered Big Dog’s stables to saddle up when the deputy known as Fence stepped out of the shadows. “Hold it right there, mister. Who do you think you are arresting the sheriff? We’re going over to that gun shop, and you’re going to let Bart Aiken go. Now start moving.”
“I’m a Deputy United States Marshal on official business. If you attempt to interfere with that business, you will be arrested and tried in federal court.” Chance wasn’t holding anything back, had played these cards before, and knew the force of what he was saying would hold most men in check.
“You got no rights in this town. I mean to take the sheriff back, and if you try to stop me, you will die.” Fence was an older man, wiry, proud, stupid. In his prime the man was a bully and killer, paid well for his services, but now limited to working with an equally stupid sheriff in a jerk water village on the outskirts of civilization. He moved to pull his six shooter and his hand never touched the weapon’s handle when two shots from the marshal’s forty five ripped through his chest.
“Now, that’s what I call fast,” Big Dog said, stepping into the stables. “I thought I heard voices. You OK, Marshal?” Chance was bent over Fence, making sure the man was dead.
“I’m fine, Big Dog. Just fine.” His day was now changed dramatically, and he knew that he might lose Kimble because of what happened. “Listen, Big Dog, I need to talk to the people that run this town. I’m holding the sheriff, I just killed his deputy, and I’m sure that Kimble will play Jack Rabbit on me. Can you set up some kind of meeting?”
“It’s a sad thing to have to say, Marshal, but we don’t have any kind of town government. I guess we just sort of let things happen. Not smart, for sure. The hotel owner, bartender, me, gunsmith, maybe old Doc Harkin. What did you have in mind?”
“A town like this needs leadership, Big Dog. Without people taking part in running their community you end up with people like Aiken running you. You folks are going to have to fill that void soon, otherwise some other Aiken will move in. I don’t mean to lecture you, but right now you’re facing some big problems.” He was saddling the black stud all the time he was talking, and as he led the horse out of the barn and stepped into the saddle, he nodded to Big Dog.
“I don’t like to tell people what to do or how to do it, but do your best to keep Aiken locked up, fed and watered, and I’ll be back either late tonight or early tomorrow morning. If you can put it together, I really do want to talk to those people that can make things happen. You’ve got a nice little town here, and an opportunity to make it better.” He nudged the stud lightly and put him in a steady trot that would last for a couple of hours at least.
---
Marshal Jacob Chance liked to talk to himself as he rode, put things together, he would say, and he had lots of time to do that this morning. “I sounded an awful lot like my father back there,” he was saying, his black stud chewing up Nevada real estate. “With a little direction that village could be a nice place to live. A mayor, a town council, an honest sheriff, a school and a church, and Four Corners would be a nice home for many people.”
The Ruby Mountains were looming to his left as he turned north to meet bad man Joshua Kimble. “Interesting, now that I think about it,” he was musing, “That Fence was in town this morning. Did he ride all the way out here last night and then ride all the way back? Maybe Kimble doesn’t know I’m coming.” A smile creased his bronzed face as he slowed the big stud down to a walk. “Ease it off, big boy. We both want to be in pretty good shape when we find that fool Kimble.”
Big white clouds filled with thunder and rain were building as the heat of the day started making itself known. The Nevada desert can be explosively oppressive, can be deadly, but is always beautiful. Antelope can run for miles, there are elk and deer up high, and it isn’t unusual to find a catch basin filled with water just when you need it most. Many ranchers have dug out natural wells for their stock, and finding one of those has saved more than one buckaroo from heat induced death.
“See all that green over there, big boy? Let’s go get a nip or two of water, eh?’ and he turned his horse off the well worn trail to a small greened up area on a little hillside. Climbing up the hill, the Kimble ranch came into sight, just a couple of miles down the trail. “How’s that for good luck,” he muttered, stepping off his horse at the small spring.
After taking a small drink, he ground tied the stud in a patch of grass and hunkered down with a long spy glass he always carried. “I’ll be darned,” he said quietly, “somebody’s home.” He could see two saddled horses tied up at the front of the main house. “He isn’t planning to run off, I don’t think. He’d have a pack on one of those horses.”
---
“Listen you big fool, I’m trying to tell you what I saw last night. The guy called himself a U.S. Marshal, he had dinner with Big Dog, and they arrested Aiken and are holding him. Fence was supposed to come out here, but I saw him later and came out myself. This Marshal is coming to take you in, Mr. Kimble. I rode all night in order to warn you.”
“OK Tin Cup, you did good. Go on, get yourself a whiskey. Ain’t no U.S. Marshal gonna take me down. What did he look like, tall and thin, wearing a serape?”
“Yeah, that’s him, Mr. Kimble,” he said, pouring a healthy glass of whiskey. His Tin Cup moniker came from his habit of carrying a tin cup on his belt and mooching drinks off anyone standing close by. He was named Thomas Gomez, and most would not be able to tell you if they had ever seem him hold a job for more than an hour. “He looks really mean.”
“He’s the marshal that shot my brother. I hope he does come out here and try to take me. What a pleasure to put a few shots through his body. He killed Pete in cold blood.” Tin Cup was about to pour a second shot but was holding back some. “It’s all right, go ahead have another, then get out of here. I don’t want no witnesses when I kill that fool. Get on your horse and get out of here. And if you see Fence, tell him he’s gonna get the same thing. Big bullets through the heart.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kimble. I’ll tell him, for sure. Thank you,” and he all but ran out the door, got on his horse and headed back to Four Corners. Chance watched him leave from the side hill spring.
---
He stayed in the sage, several hundred feet off the road leading to the ranch house, using sage, pinion trees, gullies, and anything else handy to stay out of sight as he moved toward the ranch. “I guess that means Kimble knows I’m coming. I saw that rider last night in the restaurant. Fence must have sent him instead of coming himself.” He continued to muse on the fact that Four Corners has become home to mean desperados only because the people there didn’t create a little government.
“After all these years, what my dad preached to me is still right. And, now, I’m the preacher.” He chuckled at that thought, stepped off the stud and tied him to a scrub of sage. Rifle in hand, he moved slowly toward the ranch house. He was hunkered down about a hundred yards or so when Kimble came out onto the front porch, also with a rifle in hand. Chance let him come down off the porch, but spoke before the man could get on his horse.
“Hold it right there, Kimble. Drop the rifle.” Chance was well hidden and Kimble couldn’t find him. The outlaw pulled the rifle up to his shoulder, but didn’t have a target to shoot. One shot rang out, echoing through the hot desert air and Kimble crumpled to the ground, firing his rifle as he went down. Chance let him lie there in the dirt, bleeding out, before advancing on the scene. “You didn’t have to die, stupid. All you had to do is drop the rifle.”
He tied Kimble’s body across the saddle of Kimble’s horse, mounted his own, and started the long journey back to Four Corners. He had reached the Elko road when he saw a group of riders coming toward him. “This could be bad,” he said, moving the horses off the trail and into deep sage. He pulled the rifle, jacked a cartridge into the chamber, and prepared for battle.
“That skinny little guy could not have gotten back to town that fast. I hope those people haven’t done something foolish like letting Aiken out. Two are dead already, and now I might have to up the score some.” He could see at least five riders in the bunch, and then saw Big Dog in the lead. He moved his horses back onto the main road and waited for the riders. He also saw the man called Tin Cup in the group. Chance kept his rifle close by.
It was a good gathering of riders that filed into Four Corners a few hours later, led by Big Dog and Jake Chance. Storekeepers, bartenders, barbers, even old Doc were on the streets welcoming them back. The gunsmith Tompkins was standing in the middle of the street wearing a big shiny star proclaiming him sheriff. “After you left this morning, Marshal, I got everybody together and told them what you said.” Big Dog was riding a Belgian draft horse, and even that big a horse seemed to be having a bit of trouble. “Clarence is our new sheriff, and has his first man behind bars, and they elected me mayor. How about that.”
Chance stayed another couple of days, helped get all the organization things taken care of, then bundled up his prisoner and headed back to Pioche. “Never let your guard down and you’ll have a nice, quiet, friendly community for a long time.”
Kent “Big Dog” Massey put that beef of a hand out, it actually swallowed that of Chance’s, squeezed tight. “We made some bad mistakes, Marshal, but we’re going in the right direction now. I’ve asked three of the buckaroos from the Lazy Seven to ride back to Pioche with you, keep you and your prisoner safe and sound.
“You come back to Four Corners any time you want. You’ll always find a friend here, Marshal.”
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