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THE BLACK RIDER
Mel Waldman
I
It was a lawless country. Every year there were more thieving and killings. The sheriff tried to control things but townsmen just didn’t cooperate. At night the men and women didn’t keep to their own houses. So there was trouble-plenty of trouble.
Now there were good folks. And they wanted to get rid of the bad folks. Problem was-some of the good folks turned bad and some of the bad folks turned good. And no one knew who was who.
The sheriff slept light and kept his eyes wide open. He wore a mean look on his face. When folks asked him what was wrong, he said: “Townsmen ain’t doin’ right. An’ them hired killers are getting’ in my way. An’ the Black Rider still rides tonight. Jest set right still, folks. Gonna find him tomorrow. Jest wait an’ see.”
II
Three miles above Custer City, on the banks of French creek, a notice was posted up against a big pine tree. It read: $500 Reward: For the apprehension of a young notorious outlaw known as Deadwood Dick or The Black Rider. He was last seen in the area of the Black Hills. For further information, contact Sheriff Roy Slaughter at metropolitan Saloon, Deadwood City.
The notice was a large placard tacked up in plain view of passers-by. It was seen by everyone who took the route north through Custer gulch in order to reach the infant city of the Northwest-Deadwood.
One day a horseman rode by and noticed the placard. He guided his horse out of the stage road. Then he rode over to the foot of the tree where the notice was posted. He read the notice a few times. A long, wide grin stretched across his dark face.
Somewhere between 16 and 20, the young man was tall and muscular. His chest was broad and deep and he had square, iron-cast shoulders. His limbs were long and like bars of steel. The boy was strikingly attractive and possessed a captivating beauty. But he looked strangely different. Part of his beauty was destroyed by his unusual garments. Clothed in a tight-fitting habit of buckskin, the color of jetty black, he looked like an oddity in the wild Far West.
A thick black mask covered the upper portion of his bronze face. Momentarily, the boy tilted his broad black hat down over his eyes as the ferocious heat assaulted him. His large hands, hidden in a pair of kid gloves, wiped the sweat from his face. Beneath his majestic form was a thoroughbred steed as black as coal.
In a little while, the nameless horseman rode off. In the years ahead, he would carry many names and identities. All of them smelled trouble. And hunters seeking his flesh.
III
In the beginning, Bob Hawkes was a brave, loyal scout, a peace officer and soldier. His record as an Indian scout was impressive. More than any other man, he was responsible for the capture of Geronimo. After Joe Scales, the famous Indian scout, had been shot up by the Apache Kid, Hawkes trailed the old Medicine Man for hundreds of miles.
Over six feet tall, straight as an arrow shaft and without an ounce of fat on his frame, Hawkes was a strong and fearless man.
Young Hawkes was a wanderer. In his teens he ran away. Later on, he worked for the Overland Mail. He drove a team, herded mules, and worked on big ranches in Arizona. Overcome by wanderlust, he took off for California. There he met Joe Scales. Scales took him back to Arizona as a Mexican interpreter.
For a while, Hawkes lived with the Apaches. When Geronimo left the reservation, Hawkes and Scales went back into the scouts. Hawkes was the intermediary for the army in the Indian peace talks.
Hawkes also served as a Pinkerton operative. He tracked down and arrested train robbers. He made the spectacular arrest of Harvey McCoy, a notorious outlaw. Then he walked into the Pinkerton office in Denver and resigned. Hawkes said: “You have a fine organization but I ain’t got the stomach for it no more.”
And then Hawkes changed. He soiled his record as a law officer, Indian scout, and honest cowhand by turning hired killer.
Hawkes next appeared in the Hole In The Wall as an exterminator of rustlers. Eventually, he’d enter Brown’s Hole looking for rustlers and the infamous Black Rider. By killing The Black Rider, he’d become the most famous man in the wild west.
IV
John Love was born a slave on a hill in Arkansas. After the Civil War began, his master took him and several other slaves and moved farther south. For a short while, Love served a group of Confederate officers as orderly, cook, nurse, and scout. Love stole fruit, chicken, or other food that could be used in the officers’ mess. He worked hard and was well liked. Then one day he vanished. Some claim he was seen riding a thoroughbred steed as black as coal.
V
Love drifted down through Texas and into Mexico. According to some folks, Love became a clown performing with a rodeo in Mexico. There he met a Mexican lad named Jesus Torres. The two young men became partners in stealing horses south of the border. They swam the horses across the Rio Grande and sold them to Texas cattlemen. Eventually, they moved north and west, making their way into the northwest corner of Colorado, where the borders of Wyoming, Utah, and Colorado met near the secluded valley of Brown’s Hole.
Now, other folks claim that Love and Torres only became partners for a short time. Then they separated and Love headed toward Deadwood City. So the rumors went.
VI
In the spring of 1875, rumors spread that Deadwood Dick, a.k.a. The Black Rider, had been seen passing through the Hole In The Wall. In the summer of 1875, John Love joined the Tip Gault gang of Brown’s Hole. The wild bunch stole horses for fun.
One day the gang spotted a big herd of horses being driven toward Wyoming cattle country. For several days they scouted the herd. They decided to stampede and scatter it. According to their plan, they could steal some of the horses without risking a head-on fight with the owner and crew.
Two days later, one of the horses spooked and ran out of the herd. The gang roped it and prepared to use it. They planned to tie sagebrush to its tail and drive the frightened animal back toward the herd. Maybe the frantic horse would start a stampede. While Jack Bean held a tight rein on the horse’s head, Charlie Lowe brought up the sagebrush. But just as Lowe was tying the sagebrush to its tail, the horse kicked out with both feet and knocked Lowe to the ground. Lowe lay there unconscious. His jaw was broken and his chest crushed.
Two of the gang took the injured man back to their hidden camp. The other two chased the horse over the hill and into the moving herd. When the animals stampeded and scattered, the two thieves rounded up many of them. Foolishly, they included in their roundup some of the horses of a local rancher.
When the four thieves were reunited, Love learned that Lowe had been unable to make it back to camp. About a half mile away, he had been left under some trees. Love agreed to act as a nurse since he had experience tending wounded men during the Civil War. He left the camp to watch over the dying Lowe. While Gault and his men searched the countryside for the rest of the scattered horses, Love stayed with Lowe for a day and a night. And the following day Lowe died. In the meantime, an angry local rancher was tracking his missing horses.
Love walked back to camp, got a spade and returned to dig a grave. He dug until the darkness came. Resting, he looked at the dead man and the grave.
In the distance, Love’s three friends rode back to camp. They turned out their horses and began to make supper.
Suddenly, the shots pierced the darkness. Love jumped into the new grave he had dug. Unarmed, he spent the long night crouched in the grave.
From time to time, he heard the sound of horses. He thought the killers were coming for him. Inside the grave, he waited.
The next morning, he buried Lowe and returned to the campsite. Tip Gault and his gang were dead. They had ridden into an ambush prepared by the local rancher. Love took everything that was left in the camp and hurried off.
Love wandered around the West. Although he was seen heading back to Brown’s Hole, some folks saw him over in the Black Hills. Well, maybe they saw Deadwood Dick or The Black Rider. Maybe
VII
Bob Hawkes showed up in the Hole in The Wall. He bragged he was an exterminator of rustlers and for sure, he was the best hired killer in these parts. He liked being seen in the company of the cattle barons. He enjoyed their fine cigars, imported wines, and whiskeys. The barons slapped him on the back and listened carefully to his tales of adventure.
Hawkes swaggered down the streets of Cheyenne. Intoxicated with power and his blood-money jingling in his pocket, he pushed his way into a saloon. He watched men cringe before his killing eyes. All men cringed before him, he thought.
Yes, Hawkes was a skilled butcher and proud of his assassinations. He’d wait patiently for hours in a driving rain or drizzle. And he’d chew on raw bacon while waiting for the perfect shot. With the solitary crack of a rifle shot, he’d kill each victim. No evidence was left behind except a small rock under the victim’s head. The rock was his trademark-reminder to all that Hawkes was the greatest killer in the Wild West. But to insure his fame, he would kill The Black Rider. So he headed for Brown’s Hole for the big showdown.
VIII
It was a lawless country. And the sheriff worked hard to make Deadwood City a decent place. He cleaned up the town. And Sheriff Roy Slaughter became known as the toughest sheriff in the West. Yet he was sad and bitter. At night, he’d mutter: “An’ them hired killers are getting’ in my way. An’ The Black Rider still rides tonight. Jest set right still, folks. Gonna find him tomorrow. Jest wait an’ see.”
But the truth was, Sheriff Slaughter never found Deadwood Dick. And in the past few years, The Black Rider had vanished. No one had seen him. And no one had the nerve to bring him in. Until Bob Hawkes told the folks in the Hole in The Wall that he was gonna get The Black Rider. And the news spread throughout the land. Hawkes was heading for Brown’s Hole. Well, so was Sheriff Roy Slaughter.
IX
Hawkes rode down into Brown’s Hole looking for rustlers and The Black Rider.
Ben Lee and John Love were friends. They had built large ranches in Brown’s Hole and were considered fine citizens. Their past of cattle stealing was long buried. Except, Hawkes didn’t forget. And three days after he arrived in Brown’s Hole, he rode to Lee’s ranch. Hawkes crept up to Lee’s door and shot him as he ate breakfast.
Now, it was time to kill The Black Rider. Hawkes had a chance to kill two birds with one stone. A few years earlier, he had figured out that John Love and The Black Rider were one and the same man. With the perfect shot, he’d get two men and fame and glory.
X
It was a driving rain. Outside, he waited for Love to come out of the cabin. Lee’s funeral was today and Love was going to pay his respects. Word was out that Hawkes was gonna kill Love. But Love was no coward. And he wasn’t going to leave his ranch and friends.
Hawkes chewed on raw bacon in the rain. In a little while, Love came out of his cabin. Alone, he walked slowly. Just one perfect shot and Hawkes would be the most famous man in the West. The rain was still heavy as he aimed and fired.
There was an explosion. Hidden in the rain, the roaring shot rushed forth. The man fell to the ground. The other walked over to the body. He looked down at the man. No sign of life. When he moved the still body, he knew that the man was dead. Bob Hawkes was dead.
XI
Slaughter cried out: “Hawkes is dead, Love! So don’t shoot. Or I’ll killya too!” Slaughter approached Love. Then the two men returned to Love’s cabin.
“If Hawkes was right, I been lookin’ fer you. Fer years an’ years.”
“You takin’ me in?”
“Ain’t got no real proof. Jest a lot aguessin’. Why d’you reckon he thought you was The Black Rider?”
“Don’t know.”
“Maybe he was right.”
“Maybe.”
The two men looked at each other. “If I letya go, The Black Rider never rides agin,” said Slaughter.
“The Black Rider has retired.”
“An’ Deadwood Dick?”
“Gone.”
Sheriff Roy Slaughter returned to Deadwood City alone. And The Black Rider never rode again.
