Chapter Four
The money was safely hidden and Shamrock and Abe had managed to avoid being caught by the posse, so there were was no way to make any connection between Houser and the bank robbery. All Houser had to do now was find some way to leave town without arousing suspicion. Three weeks after the robbery took place he put his plan into operation. Making his move, he waited for the summons. It came, as he expected it would, the very next day after he put it in motion.
“You sent for me, Your Honor?” Houser asked, standing in front of Judge Marshal Craig.
The judge, who was a tall, lean man with a full head of white hair, shook his head and made a clucking sound.
“Brad, Brad, Brad. I am so disappointed in you,” the judge said.
“Disappointed in me? Why, what are you talking about, Your Honor? I don’t understand.”
“This is the affidavit that you gave to George Gilmore, is it not?” Judge Craig said, pushing a form across the desk.
“Oh,” Houser said quietly.
“You did sign this, didn’t you?”
Houser sighed. “I . . . I’m not sure.”
“Mr. Houser.” Judge Craig had dropped the first name. “It is a simple question. Did you sign this affidavit that you presented to another lawyer, knowing even as you signed it, that it was a lie, or didn’t you? And I remind you, Mr. Houser, that in the time I have been a judge, I have seen your signature a hundred times or more. So I ask you again. Did you sign this affidavit?”
“What . . . what is going to happen?” Houser asked quietly; the question, and the expression in his voice, admitting the guilt.
Judge Craig pulled the document back across his desk and looked at it for a moment as he shook his head.
“You are a lawyer, Mr. Houser, and you have been a very good one. To be honest with you, I was grooming you to take my place someday. But after this”—he took in the paper on his desk with a casual wave of his hand—“after this, that is no longer possible. Surely you’re aware that for committing such an act as falsifying an affidavit, you could go to prison for up to five years,” he said.
“What? Your Honor, surely you aren’t going to send me to prison!”
“I don’t want to. And it was caught so quickly there was no real damage done as a result of the false filing. Why did you do such a thing, Mr. Houser?”
“I thought I was looking out for my client.”
“You thought wrong. Don’t you see that, by what you have done, you have put your client in even greater jeopardy?”
“Yes, I suppose that is so. But, Your Honor, is there any way I can avoid prison?”
“Yes, there is a way. If you’ll sign a confession and repudiate this affidavit, I’ll drop the charges.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Houser said. “And I promise you, I’ll never do it again.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll never do it again,” Judge Craig said. “At least, not as a lawyer in Texas.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I intend to have you disbarred.”
“No, Judge Craig, please! Do you have any idea how embarrassing that would be? Why, I would be so humiliated that I could never face anyone in this town again.”
“You should have considered that before you knowingly lied.”
Houser lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“What . . . what will I do? All I know is the law.”
“I’m sorry,” Judge Craig said. “But there is nothing I can do. You are an intelligent and well-educated man, Brad. I’m sure that you’ll be able to find something to do. It just won’t be the practice of law.”
“Yes,” Houser said, nodding. “Yes, I’ll not let this get me down. But whatever I do, I can’t do it here. I hope you understand, Your Honor, I’m going to have to leave Sulphur Springs. I’m probably going to have to leave Texas. I . . . I just can’t stay here.”
“Oh, I fully understand. I’m sorry, Brad, but I’m sure you realize that you brought this on yourself. I wish you good luck, wherever you go.”
* * *
The next afternoon a few of Houser’s friends came to the depot with him, to see him off. Robert Dempster, the banker, was there. So was Sheriff Peach. Rosemary Woods, who ran the Saddle and Stirrup Saloon, was there as well. Rosemary had always entertained the notion that someday she and Houser would be married.
That was not a notion Houser shared.
“I don’t understand why you are leaving,” Dempster said. “Since the bank was robbed, we need a lawyer now, more than ever before.”
“It was Judge Craig who suggested that I leave,” Houser said.
“Why?”
“I . . . I did something wrong. I signed a false document.”
“Hell, you mean you lied about somethin’?” Sheriff Peach said. “Who the hell ain’t told a tall tale now ’n then? I don’t know why that would make you think you have to leave town.”
“You don’t understand, Sheriff. I am a lawyer, an officer of the court. Falsifying an official document is the same thing as committing perjury. Why, if Judge Craig didn’t have such a good heart, I could have wound up in prison.”
“But you ain’t goin’ to prison, are you?” Sheriff Peach asked. “I mean, if you was, wouldn’t the judge have said somethin’ to me?”
“I’m not going to prison, but it’s something almost as bad. I’ve been disbarred.”
“What does that mean?” Rosemary asked.
“It means I can’t practice law anymore.” He turned his attention to the banker. “So, Bob, even if I were to stay, I would no longer be able to represent you.”
“That’s all right, honey. I’m sure Mr. Prescott would hire you, and you could run the Saddle and Stirrup Saloon with me,” Rosemary offered.
“No, I couldn’t. I appreciate the offer, I really do. But you folks have no idea how humiliating a disbarment really is. There is no way I could stay in Sulphur Springs, or even in Texas, and hold my head up.”
The sound of a whistle signaled the approaching train.
“Well, we’re goin’ to miss you around here, Brad, ’n that’s for sure,” Sheriff Peach said.
“Take me with you!” Rosemary shouted impulsively as the train approached.
“I can’t. I don’t know where I’m going, and I don’t have enough money to support the two of us. But I will get in touch with you as soon as I have settled somewhere.”
The train rattled to a stop, the arriving passengers disembarked, and the conductor stepped down from the train. Lifting his hand to cup it around his mouth, he called out, “All aboard!”
With a final wave of good-bye, Houser, who had never loosened his hold on the small valise he clutched to him, stepped onto the train and settled in one of the day coach cars.
As the train pulled away, he took a tighter grip on the valise, drew it closer, and smiled. His plan to leave the town had worked perfectly, and he was leaving with over $88,000 in cash. Though he had shared his destination with no one, he was going to Chugwater, Wyoming. He had chosen Chugwater as his destination by the simple act of closing his eyes over a map of Wyoming, circling his finger, then bringing it down. When he opened his eyes the town closest to his finger was Chugwater.
At the next stop after leaving Sulphur Springs, Houser upgraded his ticket and moved from the day coach to the Wagner Palace Car. Two days later, he was approaching his destination.
* * *
Practically the entire town of Chugwater, and many from the valley, turned out for Clifford Prescott’s funeral. Prescott, who had been a colonel in the Union army during the war, received the Medal of Honor at the battle of Davenport Bridge, Virginia, where, according to the citation, “By a gallant charge against a superior force of the enemy, he extricated his command from a perilous position in which it had been ordered.” He was being buried in his uniform, and he lay in an open coffin with the medal, a five-pointed star suspended from a small representation of the flag, pinned to his breast.
After the service in the church the coffin was closed and the pallbearers, Clyde Barnes from the Cross Fire Ranch, Dale Allen of the Pitchfork Ranch, David Lewis of Trail Back Ranch, Merlin Goodman of Mountain Shadows, Webb Dakota of Kensington Place, and Burt Rowe of North Ridge, carried the coffin out to the hearse. The pallbearers were made up of the largest ranch owners in the Valley of the Chug.
Because Duff’s ranch was the largest of them all, to him went the honor of offering his arm to Martha Prescott and walking with her as they followed her husband’s coffin out of the church.
By the time they reached the cemetery, puffed-up clouds filled the sky like a flock of grazing sheep, while gusts of wind moved leaves around and caused the black mourning ribbons to flutter in the breeze.
The townspeople gathered around the open grave as the Reverend E. D. Sweeny of the Chugwater Church of God’s Glory, gave the final prayer.
“Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our brother Clifford Prescott departed, and we commit his body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the resurrection unto eternal life.”
Martha dropped a handful of dirt onto the coffin, as did Harlon, her son.
Duff and the other ranchers went directly from the cemetery to the depot to tell Martha and her son good-bye.
“Mrs. Prescott, are you sure you’re doing the right thing by selling the ranch?” Burt Rowe asked.
“It is my son’s idea,” Martha said.
“Have you given this a lot of thought, young man?” Burt asked.
“I’ve given it very little thought,” Harlon answered. “Mother is perfectly free to remain here in this”—Harlon looked around with an obvious expression of distaste on his face—“godforsaken desert, if she wishes. But, if she wants to live with me, and to see her grandchildren grow up, then she will come to Memphis. I’m sure we can find her someplace to live that is sufficient to her needs.”
The whistle of the southbound train interrupted any further conversation.
“Is there anything we can do for you? Look out for your ranch?” David Lewis asked.
“That isn’t necessary,” Harlon said. “I have made all the arrangements necessary for Twin Peaks to be sold.”
“We will miss you, Martha,” Mary Beth Lewis said.
“Oh, and I will miss you as well. I will miss all of you,” Martha said as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Get ahold of yourself, Mother,” Harlon said. “You will make new friends in Memphis.”
* * *
On board the approaching train, Brad Houser was sipping a whiskey that had been delivered to him a few minutes earlier by the porter. He was getting special treatment because he was the only one in the car. The train was approaching the town of Chugwater, and he was enjoying the scenery through the window. The most noticeable feature was the Chugwater Foundation, which was a high-rising cliff that was mostly brick red, though the color was periodically interrupted by streaks and spots of a light bluish-gray shade.
Even before he left Texas, Houser had begun growing a well-trimmed Vandyke beard. He was wearing a three-piece suit of the highest quality and a gold chain that formed a loop across his chest. Removing the gold watch that was attached to the chain, he opened it and checked the time. It was three o’clock, almost the exact time that the railroad schedule said they would reach Chugwater.
“Mr. Houser,” the conductor said, approaching his chair.
“Yes?”
“We are in Chugwater, sir. Your destination.”
“Thank you.”
“I do hope that your trip has been satisfactory.”
“Oh, most satisfactory,” Houser said, reaching for the valise. The valise had not left his side from the time he left Sulphur Springs, Texas, though several times he had been offered the opportunity to “check it through.”
The entire trip, including buying new clothes and traveling and dining first class, had cost him less than $250, which meant he still had $88,000 in cash.
* * *
Duff watched the train roll into the station and stop with a hiss of steam and a squeal of brakes.
“What about the hands who worked at Twin Peaks?” Dale Allen asked. “Have you made any arrangements for them?”
“I have dismissed them all.”
“Harlon, there are cattle there,” Burt Rowe said. “Someone has to look after them.”
“What is there to look after? Cows eat grass and drink water. Surely they can do that on their own.”
As Duff listened passively to the interchange, he saw a passenger step down from the train. The passenger wore a neatly trimmed Vandyke beard and was exceptionally well dressed. He was clutching a valise, holding it with both hands as if frightened that someone might take it from him.
“I have already made arrangements for Mr. Turley and Mr. Cooper to stay on, until the ranch is sold,” Martha said. “Mr. Turley has been the foreman for some time, and Clifford always set a great store by him. He also thought that Mr. Cooper was a good hand. I’m sure they will be of big help to whoever buys the ranch.”
“Mother, I had no idea you had done that, and there was no need for it. It is an unnecessary expense,” Harlon said, his irritation with her action making his voice quite loud.
“I believe it is necessary,” Martha replied quietly, but firmly.
“I’ll check in on them from time to time,” Rowe promised.
“All aboard!” the conductor called.
“Gentlemen, we appreciate your service at father’s funeral. And now, we must take leave of you.”
Martha took one last look around as if hesitant to leave.
“Come, Mother,” Harlon said, taking her by the arm and escorting her onto the train.