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    Black Horse Saloon
    Black Horse Saloon
    Black Horse Saloon
    Ebook82 pages1 hour

    Black Horse Saloon

    By John Thurmond

    ()

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    About this ebook

    US Marshal Sam Bass, the first black marshal, was living an easy life. He'd retired from riding the trails and chasing outlaws, and was comfortable with just being Judge Isaac Parker's right hand. While at the saloon one evening, he met up with a traveling whiskey salesman, who offered to sell him two guns.
    When Bass saw the old Colt .45, its bluing gone and the nick in the barrel, he knew it was the exact same gun he'd been told was evil by a voodoo queen some years back. All of a sudden, Sam found himself being visited in his dreams by the same voodoo woman, telling him to take the gun and give it to a Texas Ranger by the name of Beacher Tolbert. Sam decided that once he'd fulfilled that mission, he'd move on to New Orleans and settle down.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOutlaws Publishing LLC
    Release dateMay 8, 2024
    ISBN9798224485529
    Black Horse Saloon
    Author

    John Thurmond

    John has since left this world for a better place.

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      Book preview

      Black Horse Saloon - John Thurmond

      BLACK HORSE SALOON

      JOHN THURMOND

      COPYRIGHT © 2019 BY Johnna Misty Thurmond 

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

      The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copywritten material.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

      This book may contain views, premises, depictions, and statements by the author that are not necessarily shared or endorsed by Outlaws Publishing.

      For information contact: [email protected]

      Cover Art by Michael Thomas

      Cover design by Outlaws Publishing

      Edited by Ann Mealler

      Published by Outlaws Publishing

      April 2021

      10987654321

      Chapter 1  

      After semi-retiring from US Marshal Service, I, Sam Bass, the only black man ever that was a US Marshal for Indian Territory, still moved prisoners for Judge Isaac Parker from the lockup to the courthouse, but only the dangerous ones. I actually never retired. I just stopped working every day. I still had my badge. Judge Parker knew I would just strap my old double barrel shotgun to the necks of the prisoners and lead them to trial. What kind of idiot would try to escape when you have a shot gun strapped to your neck with a belt run through a ring welded at the end of the sawed off barrels of an old ten gauge shot gun with double hammers and triggers? 

      I always put on a good show parading an outlaw down the street, and always stopped to talk to the town folks. With both hammers cocked back and my fingers on the triggers, I would just walk the prisoners right on into the court room and sit them down before I removed the belt and my shotgun. And, I always told the judge, I will be right outside if you need me.

      I never counted up the money I borrowed for my retirement from the Hollister Bank one night. When I finally got around to it, it kind of scared me some. There was more there than I figured on. The total came to over twenty-five thousand dollars. ‘I can’t ever spend that kind of money in Fort Smith," he thought. ‘Old Judge Parker will know where it came from. He’s already asked me twice about the robbery and shoot out that night.’

      I had already told the judge about me leaving Frederick, Oklahoma after hanging the man he sent me there to hang with Judge Parker’s rope. The man was a black farmer and sentenced to hang by the neck until he was dead. Seems after a dance on Saturday night, he killed his wife for flirting with another man. He blamed it on a horse he startled when they were walking home that night, but there weren’t no horse tracks where he claimed it happened. The sheriff found a bloody axe handle in his barn, and the judge sentenced him to hang. 

      With him being the first man to be hanged in the new state of Oklahoma, and not wounding to cause a riot, Judge Parker had sent a black man to get the job done. It just happened to be me and it was the first hanging in the New State of Oklahoma. Judge Parker sent me, a black US Deputy Marshal, to hang the man. 

      After getting the job done, I left town just before dark, not wanting to spend the night in Frederick, Oklahoma. The man I had just hung probably had a hundred friends in and around town, so I headed east, going back to Fort Sill where I had rented a buggy so I could catch a stage going back to Ft. Smith, Arkansas the next morning. 

      Realizing I handed eaten since that morning, I was awful hungry. So, I stopped in Hollister, Oklahoma, about twelve miles east of Frederick, for supper. After paying my food bill and leaving at dusk, I could hear gun shots behind me. Turning around and going back, I encountered some men firing at the front windows of the bank. Storming up the sidewalk, hollering what’s going on here, the banker told me he was being robbed. Having my shotgun with me, I just blew out all the windows and front doors and ran into the bank and blew ever thing away I could see, including the back door. I ran outside and shot at some riders going south toward a little town called Loveland. I told the banker I seen them headed southeast and they got away. 

      Send for the sheriff over at Frederick. He can track them down in the morning. I needed to get back to Ft. Smith, Arkansas with the judge’s hanging rope. If I’m late, he will have my hide tanned, I told the banker, then left town. 

      Now, that’s the story I told Judge Parker. What really happened was, after eating my supper in the Hollister Café and hearing the banker tell the owner of the café, If I ever see you serve a black man in here again, I will call your bank note and you can either pay up or leave town yourself, I got kind of upset. 

      Not wanting to cause any trouble, I paid for my meal and left town. I pulled my buggy around behind the bank and forced the back door in just as the sun went down. All the while I was thinking, ‘Well, Mr. Banker, I will just call your note in myself and clean you out.’

      I cleaned out the safe (that wasn’t locked) and was fixing to leave when the first shots rang out.

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