Jake Moss

PROLOGUE

JAKE MOSS was born on an East Texas ranch-plantation. The owner, Hiram Jenkins, took a liking to the intelligent, good-natured youth and taught him to read, write and speak properly. In trusting Jake so completely, Hiram also taught him to shoot and made him the family's personal bodyguard.

When Hiram died, the estate was inherited by a nephew from Houston. Jake, who was married by this time and the father of a ten-year-old son, was stripped of his gun and placed back into manual labor. When the land and the household, which included the slaves, were sold off, Jake was purchased separately. His wife and son were bought by a salesman gathering stock to be sold through-out the west. Assuming Jake would escape, he was kept in chains for six months. When he finally gave his word he would not run off, the chains were removedand that very same night, Jake went looking for his family.

This is the Story of His Search.

1

JAKE AND THE RAM

It was the middle of May in 1862 when snow came down off the Rocky Mountains onto the little mining town of Rockbed, Wyoming, as if God suddenly decided to bury that hell hole once and for all. The old prospectors and mountain men all swore they had never seen that much snow so late in a year.

Henry Porter, a tall, sunny-faced Englishman who had purchased more than five thousand acres of prime sheep grazing land in the Wind River Valley, was preparing to leave after moving to Rockbed from Europe ten years earlier. The snow wasn't the reason Porter had decided to sell his land and move to California, but it would have been as sound a reason as any. He had sent his wife, Cynthia, and their three-year-old daughter, Emily, on ahead. Henry was planning to follow them as soon as he settled his business.

Rockbed, at that time, had a stagnant population of 200 people, 90 percent men, and 99 percent criminal. It nestled at the edge of the Wind River Valley against the base of the Grand

Teton Mountains. The only man in Rockbed who had enough capital to purchase Porter's land was the only wealthy man in townBig Cal Bodecker, who was a large, self-centered, clean shaven man with the temper of a hogtied badger. He owned Rockbed from the largest building, the 10-room Rockbed Hotel, to the smallest shacks which he allowed to squat on the cold north end of the small hamlet. Every horse, gun and man for a hundred miles in any direction belonged to Cal. And everyone knew that Rockbed's reputation as the meanest little town west of the Mississippi was due to one man, Cal Bodecker.

If Henry Porter was robbed of the $10,000 Cal paid him with a smile, it would come as no surprise to anyone.

You may as well stay in town tonight, Cal said friendly-like. Ain't no sense in trying to make it back to the ranch in this blizzard.

Henry heard a few men snicker and he knew exactly why.

Later that evening many of the town's men were drinking in the bar of the Rockbed Hotel. Henry Porter sat at a table with Cal Bodecker, who was purposely attempting to get Henry liquored up, but to no avail. The Englishman, meanwhile, was trying to fathom a way out of town without getting shot in the back.

The manager of the hotel was a squeaky little runt who looked as if he could hardly belch without falling down. He came into the bar, grinning all the way across the room to Cal's table. Hey, boss, you ain't gonna believe this. There's a damn slave out in the lobby who says he wants a room for the night. I told him we don't cater to no darkies, but he won't leave. Says he wants to talk to the owner.

When Cal rose, he signaled for two of his gun hands to follow. Henry Porter decided to go along.

What you want, boy? Cal said to the young, handsome black man, who had a Colt .45, Navy pistol slung low on his hip.

The blizzard drove me to the lights of your town. I need a place to stay.

Is that right? said Cal. Well, why don't you just trot along out back and stay with the rest of the animals?

I got a five dollar gold piece if you'll let me spend the night in a room.

What if I told you it'll cost you twenty dollars? Cal asked, attempting to trick the man into revealing how much money he had.

The stranger looked at Bodecker's two gunmen and then at Henry Porter, who smiled warmly at him.

What do you say, mister?

I say you can have the floor of my room, if you want it?

Well, I say he can't, Bodecker snapped.

If he was my slave or manservant, he could stay with me.

Yeah, maybe he could. But we can all see this saddle tramp ain't no slave or manservant to nobody, Cal said, becoming peeved at Porter's suggestion.

Well, it's up to you, cowboy, said Henry. Will you consent to being my slave for the night?

No, but I'll consent to being hired for the night.

You're hired. If you gentlemen will excuse us, Porter said and waited for the clerk to lead the way. Cal finally nodded, allowing them to go.

In the nearly bare hotel room, which was approximately ten feet by twelve feet, there was a single bunk and a three-drawer dresser topped with pitcher, basin and oil lamp. After they entered and bolted the door, Henry Porter tossed a wool blanket from the bed to the cowboy. I hope this will keep you warm.

It'll be all right.

Once the cowboy had wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and sat against the wall, he looked at Porter. Why did you do it?

Because I'm frightened, Porter replied honestly.

If you're scared of them, I don't blame you.

You're not afraid of them, are you?

"No, I guess I'm not. When you've faced death as many times and as many different ways as I have, you sort of lose your fear of everything.

Are you afraid to die?

"No. But I don't want to because I'm free now, and

freedom is wonderful."

If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing up in this part of the country?

Looking for my wife and son. There was word of a Negro woman and boy on a ranch near Worland. The boy was too old and the woman, though pretty, was too large to be my Amy.

Porter smiled and said, Can you use that gun you're wearing?

If I couldn't I wouldn't be wearing it, and I surely wouldn't be here.

How would you like to make five hundred dollars?

Doing what?

Seeing that I get out of Rockbed and all the way to California alive.

I know why you want to get out of Rockbed, but why do you want to go to California?

My wife and daughter are on their way to Sacramento. I'm supposed to join them there.

Why didn't you go with them?

I had to stay here to sell the sheep and farm.

Did you sell it to Mr. Big Wig downstairs?

Yes.

You might as well have given it to him.

Well, do you want the job?

The cowboy thought for a moment. If I take the job, I get paid first, and you do everything I tell you.

That means I have to trust you completely.

That's exactly what it means.

Now Porter hesitated and, after staring at the cowboy skeptically, he took a deep breath. It doesn't appear as if I have any choice, does it?

Not to me it doesn't.

All right, you're in charge, said Porter.

The cowboy stood up, tossed the blanket over on the bed, pulled his Colt .45 and checked the chambers.

I don't even know your name.

It's Jake. Jake Moss. I was born a slave in Texas twenty-nine years ago and I own neither hill nor house. I got three notches on my gun, and none of them were back shots. Anything else you want to know?

I guess that just about covers everything. My name is Henry Porter.

Jake stood with his hand out waiting to be paid. The Englishman pulled off his money belt, turned his back to Jake, stretched the belt out on the bed, took out five $100 bills and handed them back to Jake.

How much you carrying?

Porter spun around in anger. Seeing the smile on Jake's face, Henry relaxed and said, I guess this is where the trust begins, isn't it?

Jake nodded.

He paid me ten thousand dollars. I have it all in here.

All right, said Jake. Put your belt back on and let's get ready to leave.

Leave?!

If we go to sleep in this room, we'll never wake up.

The two men packed their stuff, climbed out of their bedroom window and dropped down into a snow bank. Jake Moss peeked into one of the side windows and saw Cal Bodecker huddled in a corner conference with his gunmen. Jake assumed they were discussing an attack on him and Henry Porter.

The snow continued to fall and bury Rockbed as Jake and Henry made their way to the livery stable. They selected four of the best horses, saddled two of them, and rode out into the night heading for Porter's ranch. It was a clear, crispy, snow-bound morning when they arrived. When Henry took a few items out of the house to the stable, placing them in a buckboard, Jake asked what he was doing.

Cynthia wanted me to bring certain things to California.

I'm sure they're not as valuable to her as you are, said Jake. Take only what you can carry in your saddlebags and your pockets.

Porter turned forlornly to the house, lowered his head and said softly, What should I do?

I'd burn it, if it was mine.

Why?

You want them to have it?

Henry looked toward Rockbed, shook his head, took one last look at the five-room house he had built mostly with his own hands, and said to Jake, You do it.

Without hesitation, Jake walked into the living room, smashed an oil lamp against the wall, and struck a match.

###

The sheepherder and the cowboy were traveling south on the Old Bison Trail that would eventually take them to the Utah Territory, south of the Teton Mountains. Two days later they were 20 miles north of Riverton when they came to a trading post. Porter wanted to stop for supplies, but Jake suggested they bypass the small, modest establishment.

Surely you don't think they could have caught up with us, do you? Porter asked.

They could, if they know about this place and where you're headed. Do they?

I might have mentioned it, but I think you're assuming too much. Besides, we're nearly out of supplies.

All right, said Jake, but you keep your hand on your gun until we're away from here.

I'll go in and purchase what we need. Why don't you wait out here and cover us?

Porter entered the trading post cautiously. It appeared empty. Anyone here? he called out and pulled his gun. Suddenly, two of Cal Bodecker's men came up from behind the counter.

Hearing the shots, Jake Moss rushed into the building. Henry Porter had killed the two gunmen, but was lying on the floor with a wound in his left side and another in his right shoulder.

Oh, God... Porter groaned.

Jake knelt beside him and looked at the wounds. Don't you worry, Henry, I'm going to patch you up real good.

In less than a blink of an eye, Jake snatched his gun from its holster when he heard movement in the back. You better come on out of there!

The proprietor, a large, wide, bearded man with anxious eyes, stepped into the main room. He was nervous and had his hands high in the air as he moved cautiously toward Jake.

You own this place?

Yes, sir, I sure do, the man replied.

Are you a bad man?

No, sir, I am not. I'm God-fearin'.

Put your hands down. What's your name?

Maynard Wolfgang.

You got a bed in that back room, Maynard?

Yes, sir, I do.

Come here and help me get Mr. Porter back there so we can patch him up.

Maynard said he could carry Porter by himself, and he proceeded to lift the Englishman with ease.

Jake spent the rest of the day tending to Henry, but he was honest with the sheepherder by saying the chances of him surviving were slim if they kept moving. Porter insisted he wanted to continue. He pleaded with Jake to take him to California, and then handed him the money-belt.

Reluctantly, Jake rigged up a hammock between two horses, placed Porter on the canvas and they continued south along the Old Bison Trail. Luckily the snow stopped falling the next morning, leaving the sky clear and the air warmer.

Two days later the sun was about to set on the Little Popo Agie River when Jake suggested they set up camp. They could cross the water in the morning. Porter was growing weaker. Concerned, Jake said they should try and find a doctor.

No, said Henry. I'll be fine. Besides, the law may be after me for killing those two men. We must go on.

You're going to die if we keep moving.

Please, Jake!

No, we can't.

Well, at least let me rest tonight and see how I feel in the morning.

Do you want to see your family again?

Of course, I do and I will. Please, just see how I feel in the morning.

Jake placed Porter's bedding under a wide pine tree and built a campfire nearby. After changing Henry's bandages and tucking him in, Jake made up his own bedding on the other side of the fire.

They were an hour into the night when two lawmen by the names of Stallworth and Hillman approached their camp. Stallworth was the taller, humorless and meaner-looking of the two.

All right, get on your feet! he shouted just as Henry Porter awoke. When Stallworth kicked Jake Moss's empty bedding he felt the barrel of the Colt .45 at the back of his skull.

Both of you drop your guns, Jake said, pressing his weapon even firmer against Stallworth's head. The men did as they were told.

We're United States Marshals, Hillman exclaimed. We just want to ask you a few questions.

About what?

About Mr. Bodecker's two men that were murdered at the trading post.

It was self-defense, Jake explained.

That'll be decided by a jury.

Before or after they lynch me? Step over in front of the fire and turn around.

As U.S. marshals we can track you down anywhere in the country, Hillman warned Jake.

And if you run now, we can find you and shoot you on sight, Stallworth stated.

You boys are making a good case for me to kill you.

And then you'll have the entire United States Government after you.

Even that’s better than being lynched.

Speaking almost incoherently, Porter said, Gentlemen, let me explain what happened at the trading post.

You don't have to explain it, Mr. Porter, Jake said. I killed those men, but I'm not going to kill these.

"No,