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The Iron Door A Historical Novel
By R. Rex Macklin
Latest entry: 07/17/2012
12081 West Pajaro Verde
Tucson, Arizona 85743(520) 578-1490
E Mail: macklinronald@msn.com
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Preface
The reservation assigned to the Comanche tribes and their allies by the treaty of Medicine
Lodge in 1867 was a beautiful land of well over two million acres taken from the
country ceded by the Chickasaws and Choctaws in 1866.
The greater part of this land was wide, rolling plains, but a little toward the northwest the
granite masses of the Wichita Mountains abruptly lift into the ever present purple-
blue haze.
From these mountains, beautiful streams carried away the water drained from their
heights and in the grassy flats that resulted from the run off, deer and buffalo once
abounded in vast numbers.
These mountains are the central location of my Silas Ison stories.
The following story and three others are based on visits to my Great Grandfathers home
and mining claims in these Wichita Mountains in the State of Oklahoma.
The visits took place in the early 1950s and at that time I was an impressionable,
wet behind the ears, pre-teenager.
My Great Grandfather, Silas Lee Ison, was the very last of the 5,000 hard rock miners
Who prospected for gold in the Wichita Mountains. Silas was truly the last of his breed.
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The days spent with him I have never forgotten. The stories he told to me he had told to
others many times before (and after) my visits with him.
One of the best records of some of Great Grandfathers exploits was written by a
Gentleman named Steve Wilson, who actually interviewed my Great Grandfather
several times prior to his death in 1972, at the age of 102.
Steve Wilsons book was published in 1976 and carried the title, Oklahoma Treasures
And Treasure Tales. I recommend the book highly, if you have an interest in learning
about Oklahomas mining history and the Wichita Mountains.
Another account of my Great Grandfathers life was written by Mr. Lee M. Seibert dated
November 3, 1980. I dont know if it was ever officially published, but it was well
researched and written with compassion and, I think, affection. I still have some of his
correspondence written to my Grandmother; Thresa Bertha Ison concerning Silas and his
life.
After my Great Grandfathers death in 1972 the rights to the 80 acres of land he and his
father, George W. Ison, had lived on for over a hundred years, reverted back to the
Federal Government.
Sometime after his death the government, using the excuse of vandalism and disrepair,
Bull dozed his cobble stone home, his storage barn, his smelter and all other
records of his existence into the red Oklahoma dirt he so dearly loved.
Not only was this, I think, a spiteful act it was a tragic loss to Oklahoma history and my
extended family.
I hope you enjoy this story. The geographic locations, the animals, the flora and other
details described in my stories still exist in these beautiful mountains for anyone to see.
Ronald Rex Macklin
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Tucson, Arizona
The Iron DoorBased on a story of Silas Lee Ison
1698in the Sierra Jumanos
1Chapter oneArrival
I am located in a vast area known as the Comancheria. In front of me, nestled in a
constant blue haze, and rising sharply from the plains, lies a landscape of solid granite
masses known as the Sierra Jumanos. Here I make my first entries in my journal and
begin keeping a detailed record of our quest for gold.
I am commander of this expedition and we have traveled from the Gulf coast all the way
here, during the early part of May, 1698.
Our mine is located deep in the most rugged part of these boulder-jumbled mountains.
During the month of June we have struggled and labored with our miners to find the gold
and silver we were told by our friendly Indian guides is located here. To my surprise, we
have been very successful with our endeavor and our treasure continues to accumulate.
But everything comes at a cost.
So wrote Major Juan Alberto Garcia on the first page of his leather bound journal given
him by his wife on departure from Spain. Major Garcia was tall, handsome and
powerfully built. Although his demeanor was kind, his very appearance and deportment
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demanded respect. His men not only saluted his rank, they saluted the man. He was an
officer with a certain future and a brilliant past.
The cost to which Major Garcia alluded in his journal entry, was not only paid in hard,
back breaking, labor but in the continual attacks by the Comanche tribes inhabiting the
area.
Comanche raids had become more and more frequent as each week passed. The
mountains were like a ship infested with rats. It had become quite clear to Major Garcia
and his troops that they were not welcome here in these mountains.
The Enemy
Engaging in battle with the Comanche was a new experience for Major Garcia and his
expedition. Although his men had armor plate, firearms and explosives they often faired
badly against the Comanche. While his men were reloading their weapons, a Comanche
could fire six arrows from under the neck of his horse at a full gallop. When these devils
mounted a horse it was if they became part of the animal. They gave no quarter and asked
none in return.
As a result of their tactics and superior numbers, casualties were always heavier on the
side of the Spaniards. Comanche do not die easily. The men would say. Its like we
have to kill them twice.
All the officers agreed, they had never, in their lifetimes, seen any enemy as adept at
horsemanship as these Comanche. When mounted, they brought fear into the hearts of
their enemies. Never had any man seen an enemy more totally adept at war and killing.
The Comanche were fearsome and cruel. It was said that they took the scalp of their
enemy because that would keep them from enjoying whatever afterlife they believed in. It
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was also true that the Comanche believed those killed at night would not enjoy an
afterlife.
Regardless of the constant strain of enemy attack, Major Garcia, was a diligent leader.
Not only was he responsible for the entire expedition, but he insisted on taking the full
responsibility for controlling and maintaining the gold inventory and storage for the entire
facility. Besides his own expedition, he was also responsible for the gold being mined by
other groups in other parts of the Sierra Jumanos.
So, not only did he have a mine to oversee, but a storage facility as well. A storage facility
that was virtually swelling with accumulated gold during each passing week.
With each Comanche raid the troops under his command became fewer and fewer and
Major Garcia knew that reinforcements would not be forthcoming. The other areas needed
their troops to defend their own facilities.
It would not be long till Major Garcia would not have enough troops to perform the duties
he had been assigned.
As the days passed, between raids, more gold would arrive for storage.
At this time, approximately four months into the expedition, Major Garcia was
responsible for enough gold to ransom several Kings. As the pile of gold grew larger the
Majors troop numbers and courage grew smaller.
As a result of his fear, not only did the Major insist on having guards stationed around the
mine, but also around the gold storage cave entrance and inside the cave.
The Storage Cave
Under Major Garcias watchful eye, the gold ingots had been stacked into an existing
remote cave facility in such quantities as to resemble stacks of cordwood. The gold ingots
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were piled as high as a mans waist and lined six deep along the walls on the caves dirt
floor. Each ingot was approximately the size of a flat iron and weighed about the same.
This particular morning in September, things had been uneventful and no raids had taken
place. Major Garcia was in his tent bringing the gold inventory and his personal ledger up
to date with yesterdays events and gold delivery.
As Major Garcia made his entries Sergeant Emilio Castrava entered the tent. Sir, the
guard shift has been changed and the cook will bring your evening meal shortly.
Excellent, Major Garcia said. As he looked up from his ledger, You have done well
Sergeant. Will you join me and Captain Estabonne for the evening meal? With a look of
surprise and pleasure, the Sergeant responded Yes, Major I would be honored to join
you. Then tell the cook to bring enough food for the three of us. The Major said as he
closed the gold inventory book and placed it in a small drawer in his mahogany field desk.
As Sergeant Castrava left the tent, Major Garcia extracted a small thin cigar from its
silver case and cut off the end with a small pearl handled knife he carried in a sheath
inside his highly polished black boot.
As the smoke from the cigar began to curl upward in a tiny translucent ribbon, Captain
Carlos Estabonne entered the tent, which he shared with Major Garcia. Good afternoon
my friend, Major Garcia said as Captain Estabonne sat down on his cot with a heavy sigh.
Good afternoon Major, Ive just come from watching the unloading of the latest
shipment of gold. Twenty five more ingots have been added to the ever growing stockpile
That is good Captain, General Bustamonte should be pleased with the fortune we have
accumulated for our King in Spain. Yes, who would not be pleased with such a
treasure?. I have invited Sergeant Castrava to join us for dinner tonight, he has done an
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excellent job of managing the scheduling and rotating of the guards. Major Garcia said
as he exhaled a large cloud of smoke into the small tent.
2Chapter twoThe Iron Door
Tomorrow, Captain, will you begin the construction of the iron door we discussed to
secure the treasure cave? Captain Castrava nodded in the affirmative and said, This
will eliminate the necessity of having guards inside the cave as well as without. We have
the materials assembled and the pieces have been cut to size. We just have to assemble
them and set the door in place. Due to the weight of the iron, we will need at least six men
to lift it and fit it into the opening we have modified to fit the door. Excellent Captain!
the Major said as he put out his cigar in the tray on his field desk. We also have a large
chain and lock to secure the door once it is set in place. The Captain said as he lie back
on his cot Hopefully, tomorrow will be a good and productive day, if there are no raids
by the comanche.
At that moment, the cook and Sergeant Castrava arrived with dinner. A large, covered,
silver platter with small pieces of roast pork loin, and a mound of steamed vegetables in a
special white wine sauce was served by the cook on beautiful porcelain plates using
brightly polished silver utensils . The three ate like there was no tomorrow and savored
every morsal.
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All was well that evening the wine served with dinner was superb, sparkling and soothing
to the palette. All three men slept well that night.
The next morning construction of the iron door began. The workers of metal formed the
massive pieces into the exact form of the cave opening. Once the door was assembled, it
took twelve strong men to place it into the opening. The hinges were securely fastened to
the granite so the door would open with as little difficulty as possible. Once the door was
in place, a deadbolt was assembled that could be chained and locked.
With the door firmly in place, the interior guards would no longer be needed. This would
free up at least six men for other duties at the station.
In the coming weeks the cave with the iron door would not only be a storage place for the
gold, but a prison for those unfortunate Comanche braves who were wounded and
captured during their frequent raids. The number of prisoners grew as the days passed.
In the same drawer that Major Garcia kept his inventory journal, he kept the key to the
iron door and a small silk map of the exact location of the facility in relation to the
surrounding mountains and canyons. He knew he would receive a new command soon
and he wanted his replacement to have complete directions to and from the facility at his
disposal.
Little did he know, his transfer would never occur.
As the days passed the Comanche attacks became more frequent and more savage. It
seemed the numbers of the Comanche was increasing as the number of troops grew
smaller.
It would not be long till the Comanche came in such numbers as to completely overpower
and kill the entire garrison at the cave storage facility.
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The troops not killed in the final raid were locked, alive, in the cave in place of the
Comanche prisoners who were released by the victorious attackers.
These unfortunate Spaniards were given very little food or water with which to sustain
themselves.
Among those able to escape the final massacre were Major Garcia, Captain Estabonne,
and Sergeant Castrava. As they rode, hell bent for leather, Major Garcia had placed his
journal and gold inventory into a shoulder bag along with the large key to the iron door
and the silk map, with that over his shoulder, his reins clutched in his left hand and in his
right hand was his blood stained sword. In his mind he held rage, hatred and a burning
desire for revenge. Somehow, someway, he knew he would bring that to fruition if it were
the last thing he ever did!
June 1899The Wichita Mountains
3Chapter 3
A Dying Mans Legacy
Once each month for the last six months, Brandon Scott Holt made the twenty-five mile
journey into the town of Indiahoma from his claim in the Wichita Mountains for supplies.
It was always just himself, his lineback Dun and a packhorse. It was a time for Brandon to
think, a time to ponder and a time to visit an old friend.
On his monthly trips, Brandon always stopped at the cabin of James Patrick Wilson.
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JP (as he was affectionately called by everyone) was a grizzly 85 year-old hard rock
miner. Brandon had befriended him during his brief , but so far unfruitful, stay here in
these rugged Wichita Mountains. JP made the best corn bread and beans any man ever
put a fork into!
To actually spend some time with the old man, Brandon would usually stay overnight at
JPs place and continue his journey to town the next morning.
Brandon sincerely liked the old man and J.P. had given him some good advice about
proving up his new claim. Like J.P and hundreds of others; Brandon had the same fever
that drew thousands of men to these ancient blue Wichita Mountains. Gold!
This trip, as Brandon came within fifty yards of JPs cabin he noticed a body spread
eagled on the ground between the cabin and small barn J.P. had erected for his stock.
Brandon spurred the horses into a gallop. As Brandon drew closer, he could see it was old
J.P. himself lying face down in an ever-expanding pool of blood. Brandon quickly
dismounted and knelt next to the injured old man.
J.P. was unconscious, his breathing was shallow and labored. Gently, and with great care,
Brandon rolled the large man on to his back. From what Brandon could see, J.P. had been
gut shot and had lost a lot of blood, judging by the pool on the ground around his body.
Brandon assumed from what he could see, that J.P. had been ambushed and left for dead.
Straining every muscle, Brandon carried all 250 pounds of J.Ps limp, rotund, body into
the cabin and gently placed him on a small, unmade cot just inside the door. Brandon
opened J.Ps bloody flannel shirt and tried to clean up the wound as best he could. He
then, with slight pressure, held his bandana on the wound to stop any further bleeding.
The shot had gone clean through J.P.s middle and out his back, just missing his spine.
Although there was no lead left in him, the large caliber bullet had likely done irreparable
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damage as it passed through his internal organs. The bullet had left a large two inch hole
where it exited J.P.s back.
Brandon was sure that J.P. was far beyond any hope of making it for long.
While caring for the old man, Brandon noticed that J.P.s cabin had been ransacked. All
of JPs belongings were strewn about and nothing was where it belonged.
Judging by the mess, it was clear that somebody had wanted something and they wanted it
bad enough to kill to get it.
After having been unconscious for about an hour, J.P. finally regained consciousness. As
he came back from the brink, he looked into the eyes of his benefactor. Brandon, where
am I? J.P. croaked out with his graveled voice. Youre on the cot in your cabin, youve
been shot up pretty bad and lost a lot of blood .
My God, the last thing I remember I was heading out to the barn to tend the stock. J.P.
gasped through his blood stained lips. It dont hurt much, but I know its bad! he choked
on the blood in his throat.
Dont talk anymore. Im going on into town to fetch Doc McCoy. J.P. grabbed Brandon
by the shoulder and said, Aw come on Brandon, by the time you get there and back, you
know Im gonna be long dead! Brandon knew this was true. Then what do you want me
to do? J.P smiled and said, Please, just sit and stay with me till Im gone? I dont relish
being alone when I die. Brandon nodded silently in the affirmative. J.P. managed a weak
smile and slipped once more into unconsciousness.
Only a few minutes passed and J.P. was awake again. But this time, he was white as a
sheet and very soft spoken. Brandon, youre a good friend and youve always treated me
right. I dont have no kin, so I want to give you the only thing I have of value besides this
place. Oh come on J.P., dont talk that way. No Brandon, Damn it, I mean it! J.P.
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was ashen colored and now in great pain. He pointed a crooked, shaking, finger at the
fireplace, The third stone from the bottom, left side of the hearth, pull it out! Brandon
walked to the hearth and knelt down to remove the stone as J.P. directed. Upon pulling out
the stone, directly behind it, Brandon found a small wooden cigar box. He pulled the box
out and took it over to J.P. on the cot.
J.P. opened the small box and took out a large rusty looking key and a small silk map. I
want you to have these. J.P. handed the items to Brandon. Where in the world did you
get these? It dont matter where I got them, what matters is they will lead you to wealth
beyond your dreams! the dying man said. Because my health was so bad, I never had a
chance to do anything with them myself, but youre young and full of vinegar, you can
find the treasure for yourself. As Brandon looked closely at the two items, the dying
mans brown eyes slowly lost their gleam and depth, they became shallow and cold.
Brandon closed the eyelids that would never open again. Brandon thought to himself,
The old man faced his last enemy like the man he was. His journey is over.
Tomorrow, Brandon would have to take the body to the undertaker in Indiahoma and
report the murder to the Sheriff. Right now he had some stock to tend and some serious
thinking to do.
Chapter
On to Indiahoma
Arising with the sun, Brandon went to the barn and hitched up a team of horses to JPs
Supply wagon. He then wrapped the old mans body in a thick blanket and carried him
out where he gently placed him in the back of the wagon. After tying his own two horses
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leads to the tailgate he climbed into the seat and headed for Indiahoma.
The trip was uneventful and as Brandon drove into town he headed directly to the
undertakers office. He tied the teams lead rope to the hitching rail and went into the
mortuary office.
A large, middle aged, man sat behind a roll top desk making entries in a green canvas
journal. As Brandon entered, the man put his pencil down and stood up. Good morning
sir, my name is Mike Walker, But everybody calls me Mort cause of what I do for a
living. How can I be of assistance? The man had a pleasant smile.
Brandon extended his hand and as they firmly gripped hands, Brandon said, My name is
Brandon Holt and I have the body of my friend J.P. Wilson in the buckboard out front.
The Smile immediately left Walkers face My God man, what happened? How was J.P.
killed?
As they stepped outside, Brandon explained. I found him lying outside his cabin
yesterday afternoon but he was shot up pretty bad. I did the best I could do, but he only
lasted a couple of hours after I found him. The two men gently lifted the body from the
buckboard and carried it inside, through the office, and into a smaller room. There they
placed J.P. on the morticians work table. If you will tend to J.P., Ill go report this to
Sheriff Welch. You got it! Mort said, as Brandon headed out the door.
About three buildings down the boardwalk, Brandon reached the sheriffs office.
Through a large plate glass window, Brandon could see the Sheriff standing by a pot
bellied stove with a cup of coffee in one hand, and gesturing wildly with the other. He
was speaking very loudly to another man who was standing silently with his hat in his
hands. Damn it Jake, if I have to lock you up one more time for drunk and disorderly Im
going to throw away the Key! the sheriff was saying as Jake stood biting his thick lower
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lip and shuffling his feet. Finally breaking his silence Jake said, I know Larry, Im
nothing but a cull, but Ill try to do better, I promise! The sheriff gestured toward the
door, Get the Hell out of here Jake, before I change my mind. Jake was out the door
before Brandon could enter.
After Jakes abrupt departure, Brandon went into the well arranged, but dusty, office of
Sheriff Welch. Hello Brandon, what brings you to my office? the sheriff said. Im
afraid I have some bad news to deliver. Brandon said, I just left J.P. Wilsons body off
at the undertakers. I found him yesterday afternoon. He was on the ground, lying in a pool
of blood, just outside his cabin. He was shot up pretty bad. He only lasted a couple of
hours after I got him inside and stopped the bleeding as best I could.
I figure he was ambushed as he was going to tend his stock yesterday morning. As the
Sheriff invited Brandon to have a seat, he said, Who in the world would want to kill old
J.P.? He never hurt a soul in his whole life. As Brandon sat down he told the sheriff
About J.P.s place being ransacked and how he thought whoever killed him had been
Searching for something.
Brandon did not tell the sheriff about the key and the map J.P. had given him. Maybe
later when he had things figured out. If they would kill J.P. for it, he figured they would
do the same to him.
And since he had no idea who killed J.P. he didnt trust anyone, not even sheriff Welch.
Sheriff Welch knew that J.P. had no next of kin and there was no one to notify. So he
told Brandon he would make arrangements to have someone tend to J.P.s place till
they could figure out what needed to be done from a legal standpoint. As Brandon got
up to leave he said, Larry, If there is anything else I can do, please dont hesitate to let
me know. Thanks, Brandon. Im going to ride out there tomorrow and look things
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over. Ill keep in touch on the investigation. If you hear anything please let me know.
You Have my full cooperation. Brandon said.
After leaving the Sheriffs office, Brandon headed for the livery stable. There he left
J.P.s horses and buckboard as well as his own horses. Upon leaving the stable he went
To the general store to get his monthly provisions. By now, word about J.P.s death was
getting around town. As Brandon entered the store, the owner, Jeffrey Macklin said,
Well, it sounds like youve had your share of excitement for the month. Brandon
smiled and said, Jeff, Ive had my share of excitement for the year! Can you believe
anyone would harm old J.P.? Jeffrey came around the counter and put his hand on
Brandons shoulder, I guess there are those who would kill anyone for the right reason.
What can I do for you today Brandon, your regular monthly supplies? Thanks Jeff,
the usual fare if you please. And he handed Jeff his list. Brandon then went to the gun
rack and picked up a brand new Winchester repeating rifle. I hear this is a mighty fine
weapon? He said as he tried the action. Jeff looked up from the list and said, I think
its one of the best ever made, but some still prefer the Spencer. Put this one on my
bill Jeff and throw in a couple of boxes of ammunition, if you please. Jeff smiled and
added the rifle and ammunition to Brandons bill. You gonna shoot something?, Jeff
said half smiling. You never know when a varmint might show its ugly head. Brandon
said. There seems to be some in the neighborhood. Could I leave all this stuff here
overnight Jeff?, Im going to stay over at the hotel tonight and go back to my claim in the
morning. No problem. Jeff said.
As Brandon was stepping out the door, Jeff suggested, Why dont we meet at Kathys
place in the morning before you leave, and well have some breakfast. That woman sure
knows how to put together a mans breakfast. And she aint bad to look at either Great
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idea, Ill see you at sun up. Brandon said as he walked on out the door toward the hotel.
The sun was beginning to take its nightly plunge into the Western horizon and darkness
would soon flood the unlit streets of Indiahoma.
After Brandon checked in at the hotel, he headed over to Kathys place to have some
Dinner. When Brandon entered the caf he picked a table nearest the door and seated
himself. As he looked around the dining room, he noticed two men in an animated
discussion, seated at a table on the opposite wall near the kitchen entrance. The men were
unknown to him and he paid them no mind. At that moment, Kathy came out of the
kitchen area with a pot of coffee and a large cup, she came directly to his table with a big
smile on her lovely face. Brandon, its so good to see you. The news around town is
youve had some real excitement in your life today? Well Kathy, if you call losing a
friend excitement, then Ive had more than my share. Kathy poured the black coffee into
his cup and handed Brandon a menu. Why in the world would anyone want to kill old
J.P.? Brandon took a sip of the steaming hot coffee and said, I think I know why
Kathy, but I need some time to figure it all out in my mind. Once I do figure it out, youll
be the first to know. Brandon handed the menu back to Kathy and said, Ill have the
Steak and mashed potatoes, please, with lots of gravy.
Across the room, the two strangers were continuing their conversation. Jeremy Walters
and Jordan Colter had not been in Indiahoma for long. Their recent stay in Arizona had
been less than satisfactory. Jumping claims and cheating at cards had almost gotten them
hanged. But, as luck would have it, they had fled the jurisdiction of the local Marshall
at precisely the right moment in time. Now they were concentrating their efforts on the
unsuspecting miners in the Wichita Mountains with some limited success. As Jeremy
took another sip of coffee, Jordan said, Its too bad we wasted our lead on that old Coot
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yesterday, he didnt have any of the stuff we were told about, at least not wheres we
could find it. We did every thing but tear the damned cabin down. Jeremy sat
his half empty coffee cup down with a thud and snarled, We should have burned the
place to the ground. Jordan looked over at Brandon and Kathy talking and said, I heard
that jackass is the one who found the old man, said he was still alive when he found him.
Reckon, the old toad told him anything? Jeremy looked over in Brandons direction and
said, How could the old man tell him anything, he didnt even see us. He was
unconscious the whole time we was tearing the place apart. Thats why we thought he
was finished.
Jordan grabbed Jeremys wrist and said, I dont mean about us, I mean about what it was
he was supposed to have. The key and the map. Jeremy wiped his mouth on his coat
sleeve and said, You may have something there my friend, the old man could very well
have told that fool where the stuff was hidden. He might have it in his possession right
now! Jordan said, He aint dumb enough to carry it on him, but it might be in his room
at the hotel. The two men got up quickly, threw some money on the table and left the
caf.
As the men left, Brandon got a good look at their unshaven, rough hewn, faces and their
dirty trail dusty clothing.
There goes a couple of real winners. Kathy said as she placed his meal on the table.
They have been around town for the last two weeks, Im told they have a
camp just a few miles outside town. Brandon cut a small piece of steak and just before
inserting it into his mouth said, I imagine Sheriff Welch knows all about them. As he
chewed the tender beef, Kathy said, I hope he does. I just know they are up to no good
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This Man Named Holt
Earlier the next morning while Brandon was having breakfast with Jeff Macklin, these
same two men had picked the lock on his second floor room and went through all his gear.
The men didnt even try to hide their actions; the room was a total wreck. Fortunately,
Brandon had been smart enough to keep the key and map on his person and not in his
room. Since this unfortunate event, Brandon had to change his plans about returning to
his claim that morning. Instead, Brandon went to Sheriff Welch and told him the whole
story, even about the map and key.. But since Brandon had no real proof the men had
actually committed a crime there was nothing Sheriff Welch could do.
Brandon next decided he had to find a safe place for the precious items he carried.
Finally, an idea came to him, it seemed the perfect solution to his problem.
Brandon went back to the hotel and asked the desk clerk for an envelope. The desk clerk
handed him a small manila envelope from under the counter. Brandon extracted the two
items from his boot, and placed them into the envelope. He then wrote a short note to his
wife Allison and sealed it with the items to be mailed.
Brandon left the envelope with the hotel clerk. The clerk was instructed to keep the
envelope in the hotel safe until morning and then it should be posted to St. Louis.
Brandon flipped the clerk a shiny Morgan Silver Dollar.
Since his plans had changed drastically he decided rather than spend another night in the
hotel he would head back to his claim right now. So Brandon headed for the livery stable.
to get J.P.s wagon, his horses and his own gear. He tied his own horses to the end of the
wagon and headed for Jeffs store to get the supplies he had purchased the previous day.
Jeff helped him load the supplies onto the wagon. As Brandon climbed up to the wagon
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seat, he placed the new, fully loaded, Winchester rifle on the seat next to him. Jeff said,
After all thats happened you better be mighty careful. I will. Brandon said as he
gathered the reins and headed the wagon and horses out of town.
During the last few hectic hours, Brandon had decided it was time to go home to
Missouri. His wife Allison had been patiently waiting there, waiting for him to send for
her, waiting as she had always done.
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