Homer Bolton: The Sheriff of Duncan Flats by Mark Goodwin - HTML preview

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            Chapter 12 - Heading North Again

 

           

            While visiting Tampa, I bought the local paper and saw that a small town up north was looking to hire a Sheriff. Since that was the direction I was planning on going, I ripped out the ad and headed in that direction. The name of the town was Duncan Flats and it was in Northern Montana, again close to the Canadian border. I didn’t get the chance to see any part of Canada when I was in Broken Hearts, The need of a job and the urge to cross the border for a look-see was all it took to hasten me on my way. I was really worried that somebody else would have been hired before I got there.

           

            I left Tampa on the first train going north. It was headed for Oklahoma City. From there I would have to make more connections to get up to Duncan Flats. I wasn’t sure at that point what they would be but I knew going to Oklahoma was putting me in the right direction.

           

            Once I arrived in Oklahoma, two days after leaving Tampa, I checked in at the ticket office and learned that a train would be leaving for Jackson Springs the next morning. I was somewhat disappointed by the delay but there was nothing I could do about it. I found a place to stay for the night, left early the next morning, bought my ticket and I was again on my way. It was long after sundown when we arrived in Jackson. I was only 200 miles or so from my destination but again, I would have to find overnight accommodations.

           

            The next morning I found myself on a freight train, this one bound for Tall Pines, Montana. Once there, I would need to catch a stagecoach to go the extra twenty-five miles to Duncan Flats. I arrived early enough in Tall Pines. There was plenty of sunlight left but I found myself delayed. There wasn’t any stagecoach to the Flats for another two days. I couldn’t believe my luck was turning so bad. I was sure at this point that I would arrive too late and somebody else would have been hired as Sheriff.

           

            Those two days were the longest two of my life. Finally, on Friday, June 10, 1867, I arrived in Duncan Flats. I went straight to the Post Office in order to find out who I had to see about the Sheriff’s job. I was told to go see Ben Crawford over at the bank. Ben was both the bank manager and the town’s mayor.

           

            Mr Crawford saw me right away and we had what I considered my first formal interview. When I told him I worked as a Deputy in Broken Hearts, his business-like manner faded and he seemed to become more friendly. As it turned out, he was a long-time buddy of Sheriff Abraham. He paused for a moment or two and then said he remembered how Abe had told him of hiring a Deputy to work for him. I guess Abe must have said a few good things about me because Ben informed me that I could start the job on Monday if I really wanted it. Of course I did! Having the weekend free worked out well because it gave me a chance to settle in and become familiar with the town before I began my duties.

           

            I found the White Rose Inn and went in to see if I could lodge there but they had no vacancies. They told me to try Maple Creek Lodge over on Pine Street. I remember thinking how stupid that seemed but I didn’t dwell on it long. I was able to secure a small room and was told that I probably could move into a bigger room in a month when one of their other lodgers left. Big room, small room, it didn’t matter just so long as I had a place to stay. The owners of Maple Creek were the town doctor and his wife. She took care of the lodge and he had his practice in town.

           

            I spent the weekend going here and there trying to meet the townsfolk. I never told anybody that I was going to be the town’s Sheriff. They were going to find out soon enough. All I wanted was to make a few friends and size-up things so I would get an idea of who might be the troublemakers and what kinds of trouble might occur in town.

           

            I even went to church that Sunday. I think the last time I went to church was for my Grand-Pappy’s funeral. I was eight years old.

           

            After a wonderful meal of steak and baked beans, I went to my room to relax before my big day.

            Before going to bed, I made some notes of the things I had learnt over the weekend just to make sure I didn’t forget anything. I was sure some of the information was going to help me ease into my new position.