Chapter 24

 

 

 

Ten years had passed since John Mather’s Crazy Hole time-traveling adventure that almost ended his life.

So far, nobody had used Crazy Hole for time traveling. But this was about to change.

A young man had a dream…

It was hot, and the day also came with a clear blue sky in an old western town built out of wood. The town was also dusty since it was located smack in the middle of the desert. But it was home to a few people who wanted a better life.

Snoozing at his desk was the Town Marshal. His name was Dalton Trevor. He wore white cowboy boots, white pants, a white shirt, and a white cowboy hat.

Marshal Trevor sat in his wooden chair behind his desk with his boots propped up on the top of the desk. His hat was tipped down over his eyes. This was his usual after-lunch nap.

The door to Marshal Trevor’s office busted open.

“Marshal, Marshal, the bank’s being robbed by the infamous outlaw Blue Earl and his gang of hooligans,” said an old man out of breath from running from the bank.

Trevor jumped up to his boots and whipped out his Colt 45 Peacemaker pistol with an ivory handle out of its holster. He opened up the revolving cylinder. It had six bullets. He spun the cylinder then closed it. He was ready and glanced over at the old man. “I’ll take care of those hooligans. Don’t you worry,” he said, then strutted over to the door.

The old man looked confident Marshal Trevor would save the day. He followed Marshal Trevor out of the Marshal’s office.

Marshal Trevor strutted down the dusty dirt street of the town that was void of any town folk.

He strutted close to the bank, where he heard gunfire and a female scream inside.

The door to the bank busted open. Outlaw Blue Earl, who wore all black and five other outlaws that also wore all black raced out of the bank, holding cloth bags obviously stuffed with cash. They wore a blue bandana covering their nose and mouths.

“Stop Blue Earl!” yelled out, Marshal Trevor, and gave them a glare that he wasn’t fooling around.

Blue Earl and his five gang members stopped dead in their tracks. They gave Marshal Trevor their one-eyed evil stare with snarls.

“It’s for your own good if you leave us alone,” yelled out Blue Earl while he and his gang whipped out both of his pistols and aimed them at Marshal Trevor.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, and Blue Earl and his five gang members all dropped to the dirt dead from Marshal Trevor’s rapid pistol fire and accurate pistol aim.

Marshal Trevor twirled his pistol a few times then shoved it back in his holster. He puffed out his chest since he was the man.

The entire town folks cautiously came out of their hiding places. They saw the dead outlaws in the dirt street. “Trevor! Trevor! Trevor!” they all started chanting to show they loved Marshal Trevor.

Marshal Trevor looked proud while he glanced at the chanting town folk. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. “Ahhh!” he shrieked out like a little girl, as this sudden hand on his shoulder scared the crap out of him.

It was really Wednesday evening on September 14th, 2016, and not a hot and dusty day in the old west.

Dalton Trevor woke up from his dream. He had his face plastered on an opened page of his “Arizona Old Western Marshals and Outlaws” textbook while he was sat at a desk.

His face was on the page about famous old western Earl “Blue” Olson and his gang that roamed the New Mexico and Arizona territories in the eighteen-eighties robbing banks, stagecoaches, and trains.

He saw a picture of Blue Earl Olson and his five-member gang that consisted of; Frankie Nixon, Deke Olson, Bo Johnson, and Hank Bush. Deke was Blue Earl’s kid brother, and Blue Earl was extremely protective of him. Blue Earl was also known to have holsters with pistols on his right and left hip. He was famous for being an expert shot with either hand.

Dalton was not an old western town Marshal. He was, in fact, a twenty-three-year-old young man that wore a Security Guard’s light blue shirt and black pants uniform. He fell asleep at the desk while studying his textbook and had a dream about living in the old west. The only weapon Dalton was allowed to carry was a flashlight and a small pepper dispenser.

Dalton heard a guy chuckling. Dalton was a little dazed and confused from his dream and didn’t have a clue where he was at the moment.

“Sorry, Dalton. I didn’t mean to scare you,” said seventy-three-year-old Roger Willoughby standing near his cleaning cart.

Dalton looked at Roger and now realized he was at his part-time nighttime Security Guard job, the Aero Place Company located in Phoenix, Arizona. “You didn’t scare me, Roger,” said Dalton to the nighttime janitor.

“Oh, I scared you. You screamed like a girl,” said Roger with a little chuckle.

Dalton blushed and got a little embarrassed. “I was dreaming I was an old western Marshal. I shot and killed six outlaws that just robbed the bank.”

“You and this old western fascination. You were born a hundred years too late,” Roger said with a chuckled, then he wheeled his cleaning cart away to go clean some rooms down the hallway.

Dalton yawned, got up from the desk, and walked away, heading in the opposite direction of Roger. It was time for another round of the plant to make sure the place was safe.

He glanced at a clock hanging on the wall. It was ten that evening, and he had one hour left on his shift.

Seven hours had passed, and it was September 15th, 2016. It was Thursday morning.

Dalton was sound asleep in his bed at his efficiency apartment located in the Wild Cactus Apartment Complex located in Phoenix.

The alarm by his bedside table blared that annoying sound.

Dalton’s eyes opened. He glanced at the clock, reached up, and shut it off.

He flipped the covers off his body and got out of bed.

He stood up, stretched, and yawned.

He moped his way over to the bathroom.

After he was cleaned up, he got dressed in his western shirt, Levi blue jeans, and brown cowboy boots.

An hour had passed, and Dalton parked his 2005 blue Honda Civic in one of the student parking lots of the University of Phoenix campus.

He got out of his car, and his eyes lit up with a grand of an idea. He removed his iPhone from his belt and typed his “Hey Shelly. Let’s meet for lunch. I have seen or heard from you in a week. I miss you,” text message. He pressed the send button and walked off with a spring in his step, knowing she would respond soon, and he would have a lunch date.

Dalton walked through the campus and headed off to class.

He was now sitting at a desk in a small classroom. He got in class a little early and was the first one in the room. His cell phone soon rang out with a horse galloping sound bite. He smiled and removed his iPhone off his belt. He opened up the text message app and saw he had a message from Shelly. He was anxious to read it.

“Sorry. Busy all day,” was Shelly’s response.

Dalton’s heart sank to his feet. He typed a “How about tomorrow?” message back to Shelly. He put his cell phone back on his belt. He started to worry. He still had bad luck with women. They at first appeared interested then soon started to brush him off. It hurt, and he tried not to let it get to the best of him. But he had a hunch Shelly would agree to meet tomorrow.

Chrissy Barron, a nineteen-year-old education major, entered the classroom. She immediately scanned the class and saw Dalton sitting at his desk. She had a hint of a smile seeing Dalton since she secretly had a crush on him. She didn’t know why, but Dalton had been on her mind the first second she laid eyes on him. And she was a little nervous about trying to approach him. So she sat down two rows directly across from Dalton’s right.

Five minutes had passed, and the professor entered the room. Dalton and Chrissy were in thirty-four-year-old Professor John Mathers “Arizona Old Western Marshals and Outlaws” class. Dalton was majoring in Criminal Justice and decided to take Professor Mathers class as an elective. He figured it would be an easy course since he already knew a lot about old western history anyway.

“Good morning, class,” said John Mathers entering his classroom with his briefcase in hand.

John walked over and placed his briefcase on the top of his desk. He opened up his briefcase and removed the “Arizona Old Western Marshals and Outlaws textbook he authored and dedicated to his grandfather Mickey Mathers.

“Okay, today we’ll talk about some of the old western towns around Phoenix that once were full of life,” he said while opening up the book.

Dalton opened up his textbook and caught a glimpse of Chrissy peeking at him. He had noticed her in class and thought she was cute but didn’t want a plain-looking girl. He wanted Shelly, who had a shapely body with her short black hair. Chrissy had shoulder-length hair, blue eyes, and an average body but still not as curvy as Shelly’s.

Dalton looked away from Chrissy and was all ears while John started his lecture.

“Okay, let us talk about the small towns that were once thriving around the Phoenix area.

During the next hour, Dalton learned that…

The town of Oak Creek was once located six miles northwest of Miners Needle in an area a few miles to the west of today’s unincorporated area of Tortilla Flat. The town was close to the Salt River. Oak Creek was founded in 1867 and was abandoned around 1887. The only remains of Oak Creek are a few faded tombstones lost in time amongst some bushes.

The town of Stone Valley was located in what is now Desert Ridge. It was founded around 1869 and abandoned in 1895.

The town of Rattlesnake was once located near Sun City. It was founded in 1873 and abandoned around 1892.

The town of Mountain Rock was located in what is now Gilbert. It was settled around 1877 and abandoned in 1894.

All of these towns circled around the town of Phoenix, which was settled in 1867. This was where most of the residents of those abandoned towns moved for grander opportunities.

The Butterfield Overland Stagecoach made daily runs to all of the towns, as a trail linked all cites together. The main office of the Butterfield Overland Stagecoach Company was located in Phoenix.

A train rail line also ran from Dodge City to Albuquerque then to Phoenix. By 1880 it had stopped at Oak Creek, Stone Valley, Cactus City, and Rattlesnake before ending in Phoenix.

The Southern Pacific Railroad Company operated the train rail line with its main office located in Phoenix. Greedy management eventually bankrupted the company in 1902, and the rail line was abandoned after the train was sold.

The class was now over.

Chrissy took an occasional glance at Dalton while he left the classroom with the other students. He didn’t notice.

It was now noon, and Dalton sat in the food court eating a hamburger with fries. His head was buried in one of his Criminal Justice textbooks.

“Mind if I join you?” said a female voice.

Dalton glanced up from his book and saw Chrissy with a tray of food in hand. “Sure,” he said and didn’t recognize her.

Chrissy sat down. Her heart raced as she finally decided to be brave this afternoon and approach Dalton. “I’m Chrissy Baron,” she said and extended out he hand across the small table.

“Dalton Trevor,” he said, shaking her hand and glanced at her. “Do I know you?” he said, as something suddenly felt familiar about this girl.

“I recognized you, as I’m also in I’m in Professor Mathers Arizona Old Western Marshals and Outlaws class,” she said while her heart raced and was still nervous with approaching Dalton.

Dalton looked at her. “Oh yeah, I remember you,” he said.

It was quiet for a few seconds while Dalton ate his hamburger, and Chrissy started to eat her chicken sandwich.

Dalton decided to break the silence. “What’s your major?”

“Education. I want to become a teacher.” “What’s your major?”

“Criminal justice.”

“So, you want to become a policeman?”

“Actually, my dream is to become a US Marshal. Travel the county after the bad guys and put them behind bars.”

“Sounds like an honorable profession,” she said.

“As is teaching,” said Dalton.

They just had some idle chat while they ate their lunch.

Ten minutes had passed, and they were done.

“Well, I need to head off to another class,” said Dalton while he stood up with his tray in one hand and his textbook tucked under his left arm.

“Me too,” she said, standing up. “Thanks for eating lunch with me,” she added.

“You’re welcome,” said Dalton. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Yes, you will,” said Chrissy, and she walked away with her heart racing about finally get up with the courage to approach Dalton.

Dalton walked away. He stopped and turned around and took a glance at Chrissy. He was actually glad she ate lunch with him. He now thought she was cute and really enjoyed her company during lunch. He was looking forward to meeting her next week and forgot about Shelly turning him down for lunch.

He emptied the contents of his tray in the trash and placed the tray on the top of the trash can.

He walked off to head to his next class and forgot all about Shelly, not responding to his request to meet for lunch tomorrow.

Dalton’s day was over, and he ate a quick dinner and headed off to his night shift security guard job.

It was a quiet shift.

During his dinner break in the employee break room, he chatted with Roger on what he learned about those small towns that once thrived in the Phoenix area during the old west.

“You know, I do recall my granddaddy telling me stories about Oak Creek and Stone Valley,” said Roger.

“Man, I wished I had ancestors that lived here during the old west. That way, I could have heard some real-life stories,” said Dalton, a little jealous of Roger. “Tell me something.”

Roger thought for a few seconds. “Okay, well, great-granddaddy Felix Willoughby owned the livery stable in Oak Creek. He was also the town Blacksmith and was friends with an old Indian named Merijildo. He was a well-known tracker back in those days.”

“A tracker?”

“Yes, a tracker. The Marshal of Oak Creek and Stone Valley often used Merijildo to track down outlaws that tried to hide in the desert after doing a bank or train robbery.”

“That makes sense for those times.” “Any interesting stories about his Merryjilldo tracker,” said Dalton screwing up pronouncing the Indian’s name.

Roger chuckled, as he knew he would be wasting his time trying to get Dalton to correctly pronounce that name. “The only one I remembered was when Merijildo was called to help track down Oak Creek’s town Marshal Clint Bartley.”

“Why track down a Marshal? Did he go over to the dark side and became an outlaw.”

“Oh no, he went missing.”

“Missing?

“When”

Roger took a second to think about that story he was told. “Oh, I believe it was around eighteen eighty-three.”

“Did they ever find him?”

Roger thought for a few seconds. “No, probably left town and headed to Phoenix, if that was my guess.”

“Yeah, that’s probably what happened. I can imagine Phoenix offered more than Oak Creek,” said Dalton.

“Probably,” Roger said, then he glanced down at his watch. “I better get to cleaning those toilets. He got up and walked away and shoved his lunch trash in the trash can.

He left the break room.

Dalton got up and shoved his lunch trash in the trash can.

He left the break room and decided to make a round around the plant to make sure it was safe.