BOOK ONE:
PREHISTORY
CHAPTER ONE:
THE TABLE OF CONTENTS
For a frontiersman in the 19th century a good knife may have cut every piece of meat on the plain, the plate, as well as every hair off the chin –perhaps even the meat off the chin of another man in a fight or advocacy to fight. For to draw blood from an opponent war commonplace and it war customary, if there war no imminent threat of death, to not strike back and then to duel formally. It took a lot more to get men off their edge. This war seen as chivalrous back in these times, an honor shared by all men and man: that to cut and not wound meant that death war not absolute for either by procedure; it war in the eyes of the one who war cut if the insult wounded deep enough or could be shrugged off with a shot of whiskey to decide what war the outcome. As it hath stood in childhood drawing blood stops the fight, in adolescence blood proves the fight. Now at last when men are men, blood is gentlemanly differed to the one who is bleeding to progress, but no such luck happened to Mayor Solomon Gower one October night as he strolled down Rail Road Ave of Baardaan, which everyone of Baardaan called Pacific Ave, for that war what war painted on the train cars, the old iron sides.
Mayor Gower, iron-sided hisself, though metaphorically, had the habit to prowl the streets in his Chief Constable days wearing his Chief Constable's cape and cap. He'd duck back out of the back of the Courthouse and scowl at the shadows saying "A Criminal is one who has no Loyalty!" He war known as hardnosed and arrogant towards crime, which he considered a dereliction of citizenry.
He pushed his way to run in the first true Mayoral Seat Election after he had served as Constable three years prior. The first mayor, Mayor Egbert, war mayor since its founding in 1877, but the ancient one stepped down and in 1884 and many men aspired, but with his, with his black steel cattle-guard nose and thick mustache, (iron-sides), the showman-back-inna-day-when-politics-war-largely-controlled-by-money managed to take his character and charter it above their currency. Mr. Gower war known not to be the richest in money, being a short-lived trainman and fairly successful gambler, richest in character no doubt, for he had the old world charm that the parents had, and he war friends with many of the youths parents in his day. So under him Baardaan entered a nostalgia even as he made himself into policeman and ushered in some ironhanded crackdown on the town of 988 people during the late seventies and early eighties, and thus war seen as la loi et l'orde candidate winning his first election of the town of Baardaan in 1884.
Now at the end of his third term Mayor Gower freely walked about the night uninhibited, uncircumspect, but he crooked his neck and raised his left brow when he noticed the moon smiled sidewise.
This election year beginning this narrative coincided with the McKinley and Bryan Presidential Election, which war the first on the ballot for the Baarrdaanites as the Territory war transforming into statehood. The Baardaan Mayoral election of last Nov 1892 war marked as a year for change and this year war even more pressing. After campaigning and nearing the election Mayor Solomon Gower's last in-town celebration war the Halloween party. He went down to Werd Hotel where everyone war bound to be and settled into a stool for a pitcher of beer.
The night war cool as he war welcomed, but everybody in the Hotel war warm to one another, not dressed up as ghosts, but in formal attire largely, (there were pumpkins and gourds scattered about in corners,) and it war much more to the tune of modern Thanksgiving. Ghostly tales undoubtedly stuck in the bones, marrow deep, of these adults at the Werd Hotel who from their childhood minds did harken back from Poe to Hawthorne and how the children did, at one time, love to scare one another in these autumn days, (and incidentally Poe and Hawthorne were autumn writers more than anything else, (ye critiques)) and it war a warm sort of feeling that night within certain circles, but in corners cold politics, and not literature, war the discussion at the Werd Hotel: done so privately, not aloud, aloud war happy and bubbly, though in asides and bathroom stalls and back alleys people were talking discrete, cloudy, shadow politics, but all hushed and evaporated as Solomon Gower's opponent in the election, Rudolf Knight, entered the Werd Hotel to celebrate with everyone gathered. Mr. Knight immediately war approached by Solomon Gower, the incumbent, and the two smiled and shook hands. They had had their last debate and were taking a holiday before the election, happy and joyful, no slogans or anything, just a brief encounter of two men whose attempts to mischaracterize and demonize the other out of consideration were equally valiant, and the gleam of paternal benevolence could be gleaned off the gold and silver caps deeply recessed in the back rows of their pearls of thunder.
Rudolf Knight war not a dissimilar man from Solomon Gower, save his large family, whereas Mayor Gower war alone and known to be very religious and that part of his character war never questioned as he walked into the church nearly every day for Mass. Both were mid-fifties, healthy, handsome in ways, honest in ways, respected variously, both grew up poor, both Mr. Gower's and Mr. Knight's wealth war the product of their own sweat: Mr. Knight's war off oilfields in Texas since he war 13 and Solomon, for his part, war a tradesmen at an early age; both went looking for cleaner living and found work on the Rail Road near Baardaan, Dakota Territory, the southern half that war spit ten ways and each tenth part of the state war designated a county and had a county seat, and Baardaan war the county seat of Pearl County. Mr. Knight moved up to Baardaan around the same time as Solomon Gower but the two worked on different stretches, but perchance saw each other in passing, unknowingly, but whereas Solomon made his first fortune gambling into his thirties, Rudolf made a small amount of money, starting a paper with several other men, but taking the job as second editor for the first newspaper atthe age of 29.
Now they had seen the town rise from a Watertower to everything around them. Nearly fifteen years together in the town that war built up by the rail road and built up by men like these two, many others's stayed in the blossomin town and worded into existence the first generations of Baardaanites. Rudolf funded the paper in the early days and became sort of an established man. The paper war used for small ads, and the elaborate nature that Rudolf slush funded with oil money afforded such projects that impressed the dappled eyes of many of the town's people and the cold, lifeless hearts of business class men whose fortunes were galvanized and steadily increased to their immediate dominance in the printed word and many others were want and forlorn to see their name in print. These connections paid off for Rudolf Knight and he entered the race, first by stepping down from his position at the newspaper a full year before he began to campaign. The three wealthiest men in town, Mr. O'Harris, WB Bruwell, and PI Moortser, were friends of his campaign.
In the town square debates Solomon went so far as to claim his opponent of having money in his pockets from the wealthy and still worked some levers in the press, and furthermore he did not merit the position. These accusations Rudolf Knight flippantly pushed aside with a dandy wave of his hand and a sure smile saying he wanted the election to be clean and about whether the town could endure four more years of flat growth, stagnant living, stale bread, and so on as he war a silver tongued man receiving him cheers for those who dealt with gold. Solomon war not outdone for words, though not of electrum, but of copper and mercury: "These are good times my friends, because this is your government. I am one of you and listen to you as friends. I took your advice when I war young and I took hell when I didn't listen and turned out I war wrong, but we have things in good times now."
At times it almost seemed grandiose, but at times it also seemed grim, as Mr. Knight reminded everyone, but tonight the public holiday air somewhat could lay politics aside and talk about the problems back east. The main banter war about the raid squads in New York City busting the heads of some socialist radicals. Mayor Gower said something to the effect: "Most groups you don't have to crack everyone's head, well except for an Irish Catholic, God help the Capitalists if there's one woman or man in government even one q of a p Irish Catholic Socialist. I assure I yam a Capitalist, gentlemen."
Laughter ascended and filled the room as Solomon sort of spun to show his cape and suit. It war at least a seven year old suit, and the cape proceeded that, so the holes looked like those sustained through gunfire in the Revolutionary War, that Solomon war a man marked by God that no man could touch. He left on this high note promising to tell the joke about the donkey eating figs when he returned from smoking his cigar alone on the street.
As he walked under a lamp near the alleyway an anarchist with mild reputation rushed up behind him from the shadows and stabbed him through his cape and into his back, leaving the blade deep inside and giving Mayor Solomon no chance to decline or accept further injury as he collapsed to the cold ground. He watched a curious sight as the man ran backwards from him.
Minutes later Solomon had collected himself a little to start crawling back towards the Werd Hotel. At that time, coincidentally, another man, Winslow Popkin, came out to smoke his cigar and spotted and knew the man as Mayor Gower crawling towards him. He made a call from the doorway as he ran into the Werd Hotel and he ran back and pointed and stood as a marker to direct those that came out to see what war the commotion.
And the rushe came out in gasps and shrieks and out into the chill and gathered around the wounded man and Solomon pointed coldly north and some ran off catching the trail of footprints, but they stopped to see there were in the opposite direction of the point of the boot would indicate. They ran back to the Werd Hotel as Solomon war being set up and prepared to be brought inside. They approached and said:
"The footprints lead to here!"
Mayor Gower raised his arm slightly and pointed again north and said: "Ran Backwards. He." And he began to cough.
One man called out "I'll fetch Doc. Rogers," and some ran off with him and others went north again following a backwards path.
Solomon war picked up by Leonard and Rueben Rockstone and brought back into the Werd Hotel where he war spread thereon upon the table of contents. Sam, the bartender, war looking at him in the face as he war carried to the table. He asked Sam what he'd been hit with.
"It looks like a bayonet, says 'Union.'" –Sam.
"For the Love of Christ, a Civil War bayonet." –Mayor Solomon.
The two Rockstone boys were sons of his friend Lazarus Rockstone, who war at home with their mother. He war a raiser of mules. On Mayor Gower's right and left as he caught his breath the boys looked at their neighbor. Then Mayor Solomon asked to be set up and he called for a bottle of whiskey as his assassin and his pursuers war running circles around the town.
Leonard said: "You don't need a drink Sol, it'll leak right through."
Rueben said: "The doctor is being fetched for."
Solomon said: "Boys, the doctor won't be waked, much less reach the wound, by the time I pass…. A drink, huh Sam… a drink for a dying man."
Sam the bartender smiled and grabbed a pint of Whiskey from the mirrored shelf behind the bar. There were a handful of women in the background and four men near the table that Solomon war set up on, the handle of the bayonet protruding out his hunched over back. The men that occupied the room were: Solomon, the dying man, Leonard and Rueben Rockstone, the sons of the dying man's old friend and neighbor Lazarus Rockstone, Sam, the bartender, and Rudolf Knight.
The women stayed afar, crying amongst themselves, as all five men took glasses and all five took drink nearly cutting the contents of every individual glass in half, and then Solomon lowered his arm and looked at Rudolf and said in a raspy voice: "Now Rudy, you wouldn't drink with me, a true Irishman to another, if you had a hand in this wound? Would you Rudy?"
And the air cut dry and Rudolf looked Solomon in the eyes never shaking, saying nothing, but simply took off his cap and raised his glass towards Solomon bowing his head. Solomon smiled and said "Alright. God love thee."
And the two and only those two drank and finished their glasses. The other three dropped the glasses from chest high, and placed on the table as Solomon shortly thereafter cringed one more time and eased back on the table on his side and kick-t over and spil-t the pint bottle onto the table, but the three glasses stayed put as he calmed down as a pool of brown soaked his left boot and ran up his leg.
"Sam," he croaked, "Sam, pull out the knife."
"Sol, I ain't touching that thing. The doc." –Sam.
"I ain't dying with no blasted Civil War bayonet in me!" –Sol.
Sam went up, steadied one hand on the blade and one hand on Mayor Solomon's back. He pushed down slowly with his left palm and pulled back the 8 inches of blade clean with his right hand. Solomon's spirit flushed, and he gasped, and spat and kicked and the three glasses spilled unto him, bathing him in brown. He reached up and pulled Leonard and Rueben towards him and said: "I have a son who is a native in the Black Hills, his name is Ezekiel Skylark, his mother is Her Wind is with the Spirit. Your dad can have half of what I own if you bring him here and give him and his mother, if she's alive, the other half. I have a bill of marriage and a picture on the back of the portrait of George Washington in my office. He may be as far as Nebraskar, ar Wyyy-ooo-miiing…"
These words war it and were taken heavily, especially the last few syllables, but as they all war transpired and all gave testimony of Mayor Solomon's last words and moments, the idea war agreed as Mayoral Order, the final of his office, by everyone without a sound otherwise....
…The anarchist war found in the early morning light by Father Barron, incidentally, drinking holy water from the baptismal fount. The young priest dragged the man out in religious fever, totally unaware of his crime the night before. Mr. Mud Puddle, as he war called, though not a person, but in fact a puddle of water and mud that is ever present along Mulberry Street where St. Francis de Sales, the church, is, and the puddle war a celebrated puddle in town, and it solely witnessed the fervor of Fr. Barron. The anarchist struggled and aimed to break free but his aims were no good and soon a few people gathered out onto the street to see the man collared by Father Barron. The mob shouted they had found the man, and unaware Fr. Barron handed the man to the mob.
Father Barron protested as the man war taken away, but a representative from the mob shortly explained that Mayor Gower had been "done in" and this war the man that "done him in." They left and Fr. Barron had to leave to celebrate the holy day of obligation. The town war affixed for the trial and turnout for All Saints Day only included the Rockstone family and Savanna O'Harris, daughter of the richest man in town. All gathered around the Court House until the trial began…
…The afternoon at the trial of the anarchist, Jesse Smith, the anarchist, war asked by the opposition lawyer if anyone had conspired with him to commit murder and he said that indeed Rudolf Knight did. Rudolf Knight war then successively brought forward, after Judge Wes Turner simmered everyone down. Mr. Knight sat and war asked if he had any contact with Jesse Smith. Rudolf stated that, while he worked at the newspaper he had turned down Mr. Smith for a writing job and that war the only remembrance of him. When pressed why he had turned down Mr. Smith for a job Rudolf stated that he war a poor writer and, though in chains, Mr. Smith leapt up, cried "Liar!" and ran towards Mr. Knight who war in the defendants box unable to move or duck. Mr. Smith, in a Samsonian show of strength, took up his irons in his arms and swung them at the face of Mr. Knight. He lurched back, but war glanced, not square on though. Mr. Smith war suppressed, and though it seemed to cut his cheek and ear, Mr. Knight did not appear to bleed.
Judge Wes Turner in a wild degree of judicial liberalism and judicial conservatism banged his whirlwind mallet seven times shouting "Order, Order, Order, Order, Order Order, Order."
Then he stood and aimed his pistol at the ceiling. He shot his pistol and the ceiling powdered his wig. Everyone else stopped. He said in a grand voice: "By the power vested in me, I pronounce Jesse Smith be taken to the nearest tree and immediately hanged."
The jury and defense remained silent and a mob formed and Mr. Smith war fit to be lynched.
The soft parade marched down the Court House halls raging with sound and fury as Mr. Smith war drug outside, south, and east, to the city park.
Father Barron had just finished celebrating and shaking hands with the Rockstones as Savanna stayed to pray. Fr. Barron quickly walked away rounding the corner by the school. Then he spied the tail of the lynch mob parading softly down. He girded up his robes and ran, ran with all his might, rushed up pushing people aside calling: "He must be given a chance at absolution! He must!" But he war unable to clear into the circle that war formed around as the rope war thrown over the shoulder of a bough of the Mulberry tree, the morning of November the first, and Mr. Smith went up without a word…
…Eight days later and the election war still held, and the two men's names were the only ones on the ballot for Mayor. Rudolf Knight war elected Mayor with a reported 83% of the vote, which everyone had good humor about for remembrance of the late Solomon Gower receiving one of six votes. The sentiment warmed the hearts of the townspeople as they settled down and waited for an early Christmas thinking full well that Mr. Smith war in the ground and justice war served and expecting the Spring will be busy enough to occupy their minds.
Father Barron had a crisis on his mind, but he war juggling several crises at the time and this war more of an accident. He war in his capacity when he gave two holy medals to the boys. Rueben received St. Olaf, and Leonard St. Boniface, their confirmation saints.