Frank Harris

“ Dazed by the rapid progress of the plot, indignant, too, at the trick played upon me, I took up the nearest revolver and looked at it almost without seeing it. The Sheriff seemed to take my gaze for that of an expert’s curiosity.
“It shoots true,” he said meditatively, “plumb true; but it’s too small to drop a man. I guess it wouldn’t stop any one with grit in him.”
My anger would not allow me to consider his advice; I thrust the weapon in my pocket:
“I haven’t got a buggy. How am I to get to Osawotamie?” ”

“ In silence I finished my whisky, feeling that every one was against me for some inexplicable cause. I resented this and stayed on. In a quarter of an hour the rest of the crowd had departed, with the exception of Morris and a few of the same kidney.
When I noticed that these gamblers, outlaws by public opinion, held away from me, I became indignant. Addressing myself to Morris, I asked:
“Can you tell me, sir, for you seem to be an educated man, what I have said or done to make you all shun me?”
“I guess so,” he answered indifferently. “You took a hand in a game where you weren’t wanted. ”

“ The space between the bar, which ran across one end of the room, and the billiard-tables, was the favourite nightly resort of the prominent politicians and gamblers. There, if anywhere, my questions would be answered.
On entering the billiard-room I was struck by the number of men who had come together. Usually only some twenty or thirty were present, half of whom sat smoking and chewing about the bar, while the rest watched a game of billiards or took a “life” in pool. ”

“ It owed its importance to the fact that it lay on the cattle-trail which led from the prairies of Texas through this no man’s land to the railway system, and that it was the first place where the cowboys coming north could find a bed to sleep in, a bar to drink at, and a table to gamble on. For some years they had made of Kiota a hell upon earth. But gradually the land in the neighbourhood was taken up by farmers, emigrants chiefly from New England, who were determined to put an end to the reign of violence. A man named Johnson was their leader in establishing order and tranquillity. ”

“ What the motive of the crime may have been we do not worry ourselves to inquire; a crime, an outrage upon justice and order, has been committed; that is all we care to know. If anything fresh happens in this connection we propose to issue a second edition of this paper. Our fellow-citizens may rely upon our energy and watchfulness to keep them posted.
“Just before going to press we learn that Sheriff Johnson was out of town attending to business when Judge Shannon called; but Sub-Sheriff Jarvis informs us that he expects the Sheriff back shortly. ”

“ These men “meant business.”
Presently the door on my left opened—Sheriff Johnson came into the room.
“Good evenin’,” he said; and a dozen voices, one after another, answered with “Good evenin’! good evenin’, Sheriff!” A big frontiersman, however, a horse-dealer called Martin, who, I knew, had been on the old vigilance committee, walked from the centre of the group in front of the bar to the Sheriff, and held out his hand with:
“Shake, old man, and name the drink.” The Sheriff took the proffered hand as if mechanically, and turned to the bar with “Whisky—straight.” ”

“ Fortunately our County and State authorities can be fully trusted, and we have no sort of doubt that they can command, if necessary, the succour and aid of each and every citizen of this locality in order to bring the offending miscreant to justice.
“We now place the plain recital of this outrage before our readers.
“Yesterday afternoon, as Ex-Judge Shannon was riding from his law-office in Kiota towards his home on Sumach Bluff, he was stopped about four miles from this town by a man who drew a revolver on him, telling him at the same time to pull up. ”

“ A negro boy slouched in with a bundle of newspapers: “This yer is Jedge Locock’s, I guess?” “I guess so,” was my answer as I lazily opened the third or fourth number of the “Kiota Weekly Tribune.” Glancing over the sheet my eye caught the following paragraph:
“HIGHWAY ROBBERY WITH VIOLENCE. JUDGE SHANNON STOPPED. THE OUTLAW ESCAPES. HE KNOWS SHERIFF JOHNSON.
“Information has just reached us of an outrage perpetrated on the person of one of our most respected fellow-citizens. The crime was committed in daylight, on the public highway within four miles of this city ”

“ I laughed, “the more I read the more clearly I see that law is only a sermon on various texts supplied by common sense.”
“Wall,” he went on slowly, coming a pace or two nearer and speaking with increased seriousness, “I reckon you’ve got all Locock’s business to see after: his clients to talk to; letters to answer, and all that; and when he’s on the drunk I guess he don’t do much. I won’t worry you any more.” ”

“ Williams spoke first:
“Sam Johnson, you sent for me, and I’ve come.”
The Sheriff answered firmly, “I did!”
Their hands went up, and crack! crack! crack! in quick succession, three or four or five reports—I don’t know how many. At the first shots the Sheriff fell forward on his face. Williams started to run along the side-walk; the groups of men at the corner, through whom he must pass, closed together ”

“ The robber pocketed the watch and money, and told him he might tell Sheriff Johnson that Tom Williams had ‘gone through him,’ and that he (Williams) could be found at the saloon in Osawotamie at any time. ”

“ I hain’t perhaps got the right end of it; anyhow, you might hev noticed the Sheriff hes lost the little finger off his left hand.—Johnson, they say, got right up and lit out from Pleasant Hill. Perhaps the folk in Mizzoori kinder liked Williams the best of the two; I don’t know. Anyway, Sheriff Johnson’s a square man; his record here proves it. An’ real grit, you bet your life. ”