The Last Wild West Town - Whiz Bang City Read online

  “I’m going to kill Fowler right after breakfast Doc.”

  “You can’t kill him Don Jose. He has to go to trial.”

  “There ain’t gonna be a trial Doc. I’m gonna force him to draw on me. It will be a fair fight.”

  “You’re a knothead sheriff. A regular knothead. Do you know that?”

  “No I didn’t Doc. I thought I was a knucklehead.”

  “You’re that too!”

  Peeling off a five dollar bill from a hefty roll, Don Jose handed it to Sam to pay for his food and for Doc’s too. The waiter returned with four dollars change.

  “Keep the change Sam. Split it with Ma and tell her the ham and eggs were good - and please make sure you inform her her that the grits were even better!”

  Doc wandered off to get some sleep while Don Jose headed for his office. His deputy, Bart Tremmers, told him that he and Big Blake taped up Fowler’s side and threw him in one of the cells where he was still asleep.

  “Good work Bart. Now here’s what to do. When he wakes up you tell him that he’s charged with murder and that there will be a trial just as soon as the judge gets here. Give him breakfast and lunch. Don’t turn your back on him and make sure he’s cuffed to the bars while you’re in the cell. I don’t want him getting away. I’ve got things to do today, but I’ll be back about supper time. You make sure that he’s still here.”

  “Don’t worry Sheriff he will have zero chances to get away.”

  “Okay Bart, but don’t be thrashing him cause I want him in the best possible shape when I get back. Give him coffee or anything else he wants except booze. He’s to be alert and sober at supper time.”

  Chapter Five: Pains, Rains, and Trains

  You might think that since Whiz Bang was a rowdy, dangerous place full of desperadoes and gunslingers; that all the locals would be riding sturdy horses. There were a few old cow punchers who shied away from motor cars, but most of the men loved their automobiles.

  The average citizens all ran Fords which cost less than six hundred dollars brand new. The rich crowd preferred 54-hundred dollar twin six cylinder Packards, or Pierce Arrows at seven thousand dollars.

  E.W. Marland, the discoverer of the Osage oil, ran around in an eleven thousand dollar Locomobile. Most folks, including some of the wealthy ones, thought that was a silly name for a car. But Marland, who by then had gone into politics, was so rich he didn’t care if anybody thought he was ‘loco’.

  The roadways of the era were not suited for long distance travelling so the train was still preferred for most citizens wishing to go back East or on west to San Francisco and such.

  The Acheson, Topeka, and Santa Fe came to town in 1923 and built a bustling railroad station on Main Street across from the Whiz Bang House. Passengers could go as far west to California or head eastward to Chicago without changing trains.

  On Main Street there were still a few hitching posts for horses along the side of the wide roadway, but cars were by far the most popular means for getting around Osage county.

  Vickie Larkin’s place, shielded from the sun and wind by a glade of Redbud trees teeming with garlands of pink flowers, was about five miles out of town. Though Don Jose had ridden many broncos in his revolutionary days, he was far happier in his ‘flivver’. He had a brand new electric start model which cost an additional twenty dollars.

  The majority of buyers didn’t want to part with two sawbucks for the option and stayed with the sometimes dangerous system of crank starting their vehicles.

  After a final check with Deputy Tremmers and a look in on his prisoner, Alvarado pushed his starter button and motored down highway 18 East for about three miles until he came to the fork leading to the Larkin ranch. The road narrowed into a one lane path with ruts on either side and a hump of dirt and grass in the middle. His tires picked their way through the grooves that sometimes got so deep that the center mound scraped his undercarriage.

  Vickie Larkin spotted the sheriff’s car through her kitchen window and had coffee on the table by the time he knocked on her front door.

  “Mrs. Larkin, I’m very sorry about what happened to Gawk. I got his killer in a jail cell and I promise you that very soon he’s going to pay the ultimate penalty for his crime”

  “Thanks sheriff. I appreciate you saying it. But why are you so formal today? I’m still Vickie.”

  “I know that. I was just trying to show respect. How’s your patient?”

  “He’s doing better. He had some lunch a while ago and is taking a nap. Let me pour you some coffee and in a few minutes I’ll wake him up so you can talk to him. You’re the reason he came to Oklahoma.”

  “Doc Galen told me that Vickie. I’d like to find out why.”

  As he sipped the coffee and ate fresh baked cornbread, she asked him to help out with Gawk’s funeral arrangements.

  “I’m going to be tied up here with Chalky so it would be a big favor for me if you can talk to the undertaker and the preacher. I’d like to have the funeral in about two days.”

  “I’ll make all the arrangements and I know that a lot of people are going to want to attend the service. Gawk was a well respected man.”

  While Don Jose was finishing his coffee and the last of the cornbread, Mrs. Larkin went into the spare bedroom to check on the boy.

  “Come on in sheriff. Chalky’s awake and he wants to meet you.”

  He walked into the well kept room and was struck by the frailty of the youth. It was obvious that he had lost a significant amount of weight and his skin color was still as white as paper despite spending many weeks under the blazing western sun.

  “Hello Chalky. I’m Alvarado. Did you really walk fifteen hundred miles to see me and if so, why?”

  “My pa. He was Corporal James Hidalgo. He talked about you all the time. I can tell you every detail of how you led the 200 against a force of 5000 and cut a swath right through them, allowing the surviving men of the Pancho Villa army to escape the slaughter that already had taken 10,000 lives.”

  “You’re Jimmy Hidalgo’s boy?”

  “Yessir. And Pa said that you were the biggest hero of the Mexican revolution. “

  “There were a lot of heroes Chalky and your Pa was one of the biggest. I did lead that bee sting right into the middle of the enemy but I never could have done it without your daddy’s help. What happened to your father?”

  “He died Don Jose. That’s why I have come to you. After Pancho Villa’s army disbanded, Pa settled in Lone Pine, California. He met my Ma and they fell in love. Starting a little spread outside of town they had me a year later and were doing pretty well. The farm was an abandoned property they bought from the Lone Pine bank. They were getting pretty good crops and doing fairly well. From the time I could walk and talk I helped Pa in the fields. While we worked he spoke endlessly of his glory days with you and Pancho Villa. He never forgot what you did at Agua Prieta.”

  “As I told you before Chalky, your father was as much a hero that day as anyone else.”

  “That’s not what Pa said. He told me that everybody would have been killed if you hadn’t rallied the men. As the years went by, I never tired of hearing the stories. A little bit after my 13th birthday my Ma got sick and died. Pa not only lost my mother but also seemed to lose his spirit and his mind. He was never the same. About the time I hit 14 he died, mostly from a broken heart I guess.”

  “So after your Dad died, you decided to come to see me?”

  “Not at first. I tried to run the farm. I was doing okay for a few months until the bank men came. They said they were foreclosing the mortgage and they kicked me out.

  “I didn’t have any relatives or anyplace to go. The only real friend my Pa ever had was you, so I decided to look you up. Seth Perkins at the Lone Pine General Store was kind to me. He did some checking and found out where you were. I bought some supplies and maps from him and left Lone Pine on foot. As Mr. Perkins was packing up my order,
he told me that there were only seven payments left on the mortgage when the bank foreclosed on me.”

  “Bankers are heartless sometimes Chalky. Maybe in a while, I’ll take a little automobile trip with you to Lone Pine and we’ll have a talk with those bankers. In the meantime you stay with Mrs. Larkin and get better.”

  Back in the kitchen Don Jose whispered... “Vickie that boy looks really bad. Is he going to make it?”

  “Doc Galen said that at first it seemed likely he’d die. But after just one day here, he was much improved. When Doc left, he said he thinks Chalky is going to make a full recovery though it might take several months.”

  “Well I owe that boy something because of his father, so I’ll make arrangements to move him in town….”

  “Oh no Sheriff, please let him stay with me. What with poor Gawk gone, the best thing for me right now is to feel needed and be useful.”

  “If you’re sure you don’t mind, that’ll be fine. And it’s probably also the best thing for Chalky right now.

  Promising to check back in a few days, Don Jose headed back towards the jailhouse where he had unfinished business with Lute Fowler.

  It was close to one o’clock when he parked in front of Ma Glockner’s - being drawn there by the delicious smell of fried chicken that overpowered everything else for a hundred feet in all directions. Don Jose decided that his dealings with Fowler could certainly wait until a little longer.

  Doc Galen was sitting by himself at a table near a window, so he wondered… “Hey Doc, is there room for one more at your table?”

  “I can squeeze you in. Come on over.”

  “What are you readin’ Doc? The latest medical journals?”

  “Don’t be a wiseacre and act like you don’t read the Whiz Bang just like everybody else.

  This is the new issue and it’s a good one. Captain Billy even mentions our town. He says that in the town named after this publication, ‘Whiz Bang City’, you need cold cash to have a hot time!”

  “That might be funny Doc if it weren’t so true.”

  “He mentions you – by name! Captain Billy writes, ‘When in Whiz Bang City - eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow your bootlegger might be captured by Sheriff Don Jose Alvarado!”

  “I guess that Captain Billy hasn’t heard that prohibition skipped over Osage County,” laughed Don Jose. “Maybe you better write a letter to the editor and tip him off Doc.”

  “No I don’t think I should, it might give the revenuers ideas,” countered Doc. “Wait until you hear this next one Sheriff. It’s a bit racy, are your ears over the age of 21?”

  “You see the size of my ears Doc. They were grown up before I was!”

  “Yes, you’re all ears, it’s plain to see. This here’s a pretty funny story….

  “BOBBY NELSON, the neighbor's boy, is the worst kid in the world for betting, and the unusual feature of it is he usually wins. Bobby's father took the matter up with the school marm to see if she could break him of the gambling habit, promising her a reward if successful.

  The next morning when Bobby came to school he bet the teacher that she had warts on her knees and the school marm, knowing she did not, and thinking she had an opportunity to win a bet from Bobby and by so doing, discourage his betting habit, accepted Bobby's challenge.

  After school that evening, the teacher pulled up her dress and showed Bobby that he was wrong and won the two dollar bet. She then called on Bobby’s father.

  "Mr. Nelson, I have broken Bobby of the betting habit. It was a little embarrassing, but this is how it was — Bobby bet me two dollars I had warts on my knees and in order to make him lose and cure him of the betting habit I accepted his challenge."

  "Oh no teacher! Why did you do it? Bobby bet me this morning ten dollars that he would get to see your knees before the day was out!"

  Before the Doc could read any more silliness from the Whiz Bang, Sam came over to take their orders, followed by the zaftig Ma Glockner herself, her abundant silver hair pulled up into a bun.

  “I’ll take care of these two boys Sam. I’m pretty sure I know what they want.”

  While Sam busied himself clearing away tables, Ma sat down and chatted with Doc and the Sheriff …“How’s Mrs. Larkin fellas? Does she need anything? Should I send some food?”

  “Nice of you to ask,” said Don Jose “she’s doing just fine. She’s helping out Doc by taking care of one of his patients.”

  After hearing the latest news about Chalky and the funeral preparations, Ma volunteered the use of her home for the wake and the funeral and also said that she’d provide the food.

  “Whichever of you goes out there first, tell Vickie not to worry about a thing. I’ll handle everything on my end. Now if you gentlemen will excuse me I’ll go see if your fried chicken is ready. I’m sorry to disappoint you Don Jose, but I don’t have any grits this afternoon. You’ll just have to make do with mashed potatoes, gravy and cornbread”

  “Ok Ma, for you I will suffer,” he laughed.

  After lunch the sheriff checked in at the jailhouse and was told that the prisoner was sore but he was fine.

  “He was in good spirits after I told him what you said about the trial and all Sheriff.”

  “Thanks Bart. He’s probably happy because he’s always gotten away with gunning down people before. A judge might let him go again, even though he drew first.”

  “I was thinkin’ the same thing Sheriff Alvarado.”

  “You’ve done a good job Bart. I’ll be back in a couple hours to relieve you.

  The lockup consisted of three cells on either side of the sturdy jailhouse, which had been fabricated of red brick with tempered steel bars. The oil companies had spared no expense in building one of the finest cellblocks west of Boston. It was generally at least half full but on this particular day Fowler was the only occupant.

  Shortly after the sheriff left, Bart heard the grating of a tin cup raking across the cell bars.

  “What do you want Lute?” he asked as he put down his newspaper, got up from his desk and strode into the cellblock.

  “That office out there don’t run itself. I’ve got more important things to do than come in here to find out why you’re making all that noise. If you’re trying to break out that way I have to tell you that those bars are made of…”

  “Stop talking nonsense Deputy. I wanted you in here to ask you to make a phone call for me. When I go to trial I want a real lawyer standing up for me. Call Alfalfa Bill Murray. His office is in Tulsa. Get him on the phone for me. I need him here by tomorrow night.”

  Alfalfa 'Bill' Murray

  Cigar chomping ‘Alfalfa Bill’ Murray was an eloquent public speaker although early on, he failed as a newspaper publisher and in politics. After multiple setbacks he took up the study of law and eventually became one of the most successful attorneys in the West. He later was elected Governor of Oklahoma.

  At one time Bill lobbied for separate “Indian” states to be admitted to the Union. He was a champion of underdogs and would probably jump at the chance to fight Don Jose Alvarado – especially because, in a defacto sense, he would be fighting the oil companies. As his nickname suggests, Alfalfa Bill was a farmer at heart and had no love for the petroleum industry.

  “I don’t have the authority to let you call that lawyer,” Bart said. “The sheriff will be back soon and you can take it up with him.”

  Later when the deputy told Don Jose about the request, the sheriff said, “Go home now Bart. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  As soon as he had left, the sheriff went into the cellblock.

  “Did you call Alfalfa Bill for me?”

  “You don’t need a lawyer Fowler. I’m letting you go.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me I’m releasing you. I’m going to unlock your cell and then before you leave, we’re going over to the Bird Cage and have a little drink together.”

&n
bsp; Lute couldn’t believe his good luck. With a big smile on his face he clapped his hat on his head and strapped on his twin colts.

  “You lead the way to the Bird Cage Lute,” said Don Jose, “I will be right behind you.”

  “Howdy Sheriff. Howdy Lute. I’ve got a table reserved for you right in front of the bar,” said Oil Can Slim, as they walked in. Setting a bottle of Rye and two glasses on the only vacant table in the saloon, Slim directed them to sit down.

  Slim acquired his nicknames from two things. ‘Slim’ came from the fact that at 400 pounds - he wasn’t. The ‘Oil Can’ came from his fondness for beer which people in Osage county called ‘oil’. On a bet Slim would pour a gallon or more down his throat just like it was coming out of oil cans.

  As if they knew something was in the air, scores of rig workers, farmers and cowpokes jammed into Whiz Bang’s second biggest funhouse.

  All eyes were on the sheriff and Fowler. In hushed voices many people questioned why Fowler was out of jail and what he was doing in the Bird Cage with the sheriff.

  After two or three drinks Lute was beginning to feel like his old self. He began to get talkative.

  “You’re okay Sheriff Alvarado. I’m sorry about shooting Gawk, but you gotta remember he came after me. Then when you said I didn’t need a lawyer I thought sure you were up to something. But now that there’s going to be no trial, you’re right. I don’t need a lawyer.”

  “Oh there’s going to be a trial Lute.”

  “But you said tha…….”

  “Fowler, you’re going to get a trial right here in the Bird Cage!” Don Jose was shouting now loud enough for everyone to hear - although it suddenly got so quiet in the big room that he could have whispered and they still would have heard it even above, in the second floor bedrooms.

  “You’re going to get a trial by fire. We’re going to draw on each other. First fire wins! You kill me, you go free. If I kill you then you take one for Gawk. I don’t have many friends in this job. Other than Doc Galen, Larkin was about my only one and you murdered him.”

  “Finish your drink then stand up and make your play,” yelled Don Jose, his booming voice spilling out even into the street where a huge crowd had gathered as word of the strange happenings in the Bird Cage started going round town.