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    United States Marshal Sam Bass - Casualty of War
    United States Marshal Sam Bass - Casualty of War
    United States Marshal Sam Bass - Casualty of War
    Ebook53 pages51 minutes

    United States Marshal Sam Bass - Casualty of War

    By John Thurmond

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    About this ebook

    Raised in an orphanage and deemed by the nuns who looked after him as another "Casualty of War," John never knew his real last name. It wasn't until years later, by fate, that he took a name that would become the signature of his true calling in life.
    Hired simply because of the color of his skin, a benefit as seen by Judge Isaac Parker, Sam Bass quickly became one of the west's most infamous U.S. Marshals. Because he was black, he often found mistreatment from the whites he was sworn to protect, but he never let that interfere with the completion of his duties.
    For many years, Bass roamed through the Indian Territory at the direction of Judge Parker. Then, when folks thought he was beginning to enjoy his less than moral means of recovering outlaws, he was taken out of field work and left to move prisoners from the jail to Judge Parker's famous gallows. Bass didn't let that hold him down, however, and he found a means of exacting his revenge on the very ones who tried so hard to strip him of the dignity he fought his whole life to acquire.
    Sam Bass retired from the U.S. Marshal's service after one final job for Judge Parker, and himself. Only then was he content to live out the remainder of his days sitting in his rocking chair and fishing in his creek, all the while holding onto two secrets no one would ever know.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOutlaws Publishing LLC
    Release dateAug 13, 2024
    ISBN9798227876386
    United States Marshal Sam Bass - Casualty of War
    Author

    John Thurmond

    John has since left this world for a better place.

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      Book preview

      United States Marshal Sam Bass - Casualty of War - John Thurmond

      Copyright 2019 by John 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 Pale Horse Publications.

      For information contact: [email protected]

      Cover design by Pale Horse Publications

      Edited by Ann Mealler

      Published by Pale Horse Publications

      April 2021

      10987654321

      Chapter One

      My name John Harris and I want to share my story with you. The real story of how I became Sam Bass, U.S. Marshal.

      My earliest childhood memory is of some nuns cooking griddle cakes on an old woodburning stove. The smoke was burning my eyes and I was crying, but I couldn’t tell the cook that as I had not yet learned to talk. The nuns were talking about the Civil War being over and wondering what they were going to do with all the orphaned kids that kept showing up at the doors. 

      I hadn’t learned how to talk very well, but I could understand what they were saying. I must have been two, maybe a little younger, at the time. I remember it vividly because I got swatted for crying. That made me very mad and it wasn’t long that I learned how to talk, determined that I would never happen again.

      I never remembered anyone ever leaving the orphanage, just more kids arriving all the time. I had a favorite that was warm and made me feel good in the winter. When I outgrew it, I saw it on another kid that was smaller than me. I guess it became his favorite shirt. It seemed like that shirt went on forever, never getting to leave that building.

      On sunny days, the older boys got to go up on the roof and play. It had a tall fence around it. Mainly, we just dreamed of going outside and into the streets. Me and another boy named Bob Ford always played together. Bob wanted to be a bank robber when he got older. He always told me that when we got old enough, the nuns would kick us out in the street and we had to find a job and another place to live because we would never be able to come back to the orphanage.

      Bob figured the best way to earn a lot of money was to rob a bank. It sounded like a good plan to me, so we practice robbing each other. We made ourselves some guns out of wood and hid them in our pockets. We robbed each other every chance we got. Of course, all we ever had was paper money we made ourselves, cut out of old newspapers we’d found in the nuns’ room.

      Bob jumped me one day in the staircase between the floors, beat me up, and robbed me of my money. I gave him a cussing and one of the nuns overheard me. I got sent to the head nun’s office. The nuns at the orphanage always called me John. It was the only name I ever knew. I never had a last name until I was around fifteen years old.

      Me and the other boys were never allowed to leave the orphanage. It was just a big, cold building somewhere in St. Louis, Missouri. We sat in a classroom and learned how to read and write, and a little math. We had a hot bath once a week.

      Sometimes us boys would sneak up on the roof in warmer weather and watch freight wagons and

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