Boulder was a mining town. The mountains just to the west of town were veined with silver, coal and sizeable deposits of gold. Because of the coal and silver mines burrowed into the mountains, there were camps of miners just out of town. Besides the men who worked the company mines, numerous prospectors worked claims all over the mountains. Boulder grew daily as more miners arrived. Businesses sprang up to service them and opportunists moved in to separate the miners from their money. It was telling that we had more saloons, dancehalls and bawdy houses than we had anything else. I thought policing such a wide open town would be nearly impossible.
Bob Randolph saw things differently. Bob had roamed the west for years, and had seen towns even worse than Boulder. He used ideas that worked in those towns and adapted them to his jurisdiction. His first order of business was to convince the Judge Magistrate to levy a five dollar a week fee on the establishments that catered to the miners' pleasure. With that money Bob hired six new deputies he called peace keepers. He lured the men from the coalmines by paying them double what they were making by tunneling into the Flat Iron Hills west of town. Bob picked large men with even dispositions. Two of the deputies patrolled the streets while one stayed at the jail. Each man on patrol was armed with a pistol and a pickax handle.
Running afoul of the peace keepers landed you in jail for three days on bread and water, not to mention a head made lumpy by a judicious application of axe handle therapy. Bob and I took turns patrolling on busy nights. Bob armed himself with one of the short coach shotguns because he was most familiar with that weapon. He wore it on a sling that hung the weapon on his right side at waist level. His shotgun and his short stature soon earned him the moniker "Sawed-off Bob". Bob did not impose draconian regulations on the miners and cowboys who visited town. He did, however, post a set of rules of unacceptable conduct in each place in which the men reveled. It only took a month for the miners and cowboys to figure out it was much better to follow the rules than it was spending three days in jail nursing the lumps and bruises administered by the peace keepers.
My job as chief deputy was to police the county. I handled everything from missing animals to murder. Much to my annoyance, Bob had spread an embellished account of my part in the fracas with the Pruett Gang. In Bob's version, I'd shot Pruett off his horse from a half mile away and dispatched two others in a duel at point blank range. As a result of Bob's fanciful stories about me, I soon had the reputation as an avenging wraith thirsting for the blood of the lawless. I'm sure that such a reputation might have come in handy were there any lawless elements on the loose. That was not the case though, because the few acts of violence I handled were all related to gold and silver claims and were, for the most part, easy to solve.
The bad elements that once resided in the county mostly departed for greener pastures when the Army expanded Fort Collins and stationed a battalion of Buffalo Soldiers there. The Negro cavalry men were seasoned Indian fighters up from the New Mexico Territory who aggressively patrolled fifty miles in every direction around Fort Collins. The soldiers' presence less than a hard half day's ride away actually made Boulder more secure than Denver. That's why Pruett attacked us on the Denver side of Boulder. All of those facts combined meant that my duties as Chief Deputy of Boulder County were not in the least exciting. The only thing that kept me in town after the first month was Colette and my friendship with Bob.
February 1867 was a brutally cold month, even in the lower elevations of the Rocky Mountains. At our elevation we didn't receive much snow. Mother Nature took care of that oversight with ice crystal fogs that the locals called pogonip. When the pogonip blanketed the land, it was so bitterly cold it took your breath away. The weather was bad enough to keep the miners from coming into town. Boulder was a virtual ghost town as everyone stayed indoors as much as possible. It was great being house bound with Colette for days at a time — at first. Then, as the days together piled up, we both realized that, except for the smoldering passion we shared, we had little in common. Colette's solution to the problem was to try and change me. I had my first inking of Colette's plans for me when I returned from three days up at the Gold Hill mining camp.
Gold Hill sat on a mountainside above Left Hand Canyon, in the northwest portion of the county. Gold Hill, a boom town with a population of over six hundred, was the location of the first Colorado gold strike in 1859. Most of the town's population were miners who lived outside of town on their claims. The actual built up portion of the town was one street with three or four buildings on either side of it. Gold Hill could not grow the way Boulder could because there was hardly any water in the area. By contrast, Boulder was hard by Boulder Creek, a large year round source of water. I was called up there because a prospector had been beaten to death with a shovel while working his claim. I arrived in Gold Hill just before dark, and took a room at the Gold Hill Inn.
The next morning I braved the bitter cold and started poking around the dead miner's claim. I questioned his neighbors and found out who his friends were. I tracked down his friends and questioned them. The third man I interviewed broke down and remorsefully admitted killing his friend. The two had gotten into a drunken argument over a card game. It was too late to travel back down the mountain, so I manacled the man to the foot of my bed at the inn. I had someone from the inn's staff fix him a pallet on the floor for the night. We left soon after sunrise the next morning, me riding Zeke with my prisoner walking in front of us. Thankfully, the day warmed up above zero and the sun shone brightly.
It was late afternoon by the time I had my prisoner secured in the jail. I wrote out my report for the Judge-Magistrate, including my recommendations for punishment. The man wasn't a cold-blooded killer, and was genuinely remorseful for what he had done. I reckoned ten to fifteen years in the territorial prison would be punishment enough. I headed to Camille's place and the room I shared with Colette, only to find that Colette was booked for the evening. I was tired from the trip but did not feel like staying in her room alone, so I walked over to the Silver Strike Saloon for a shot or two of tequila.
I stayed at the saloon and traded outrageous lies with a couple of off duty peace keepers until nine that night. I only drank a couple of shots to warm my innards. The rest of the time I sipped a mug of beer. Bob walked into the saloon at nine so I joined him on the rest of his rounds. Bob had settled into his position as sheriff nicely, and was hugely popular with the town's citizens. Bob's knowledge of the law and his even handed approach even gained the respect of the rough-neck miners and cowboys. We were sitting at the Flat Iron Saloon having a cup of coffee when I told Bob that I was thinking about heading back to Wyoming as soon as it warmed up some.
Bob was surprised and unhappy about me considering leaving, but he understood how I felt. After all, he had drifted around for almost two decades before deciding to settle down.
"I hate to loose you Jeb, you are a hell of a deputy, but I understand how it is. Are you taking Colette with you?"
I told him I did not think so and explained about us drifting apart. That seemed to be news to him, as his eyebrows arched up in surprise.
"You might want to talk to Colette about that, Jeb. I think she is of a different opinion," he said.
I found out what Bob was alluding too later that night as Colette and I recovered from a vigorous bout of loving.
"Jeremiah, you need a better job in order for us to marry," Colette said primly and out of the blue.
"I do?" I asked, my surprise making me stupid.
I felt her head nod on my shoulder before she sat up against the headboard, pulling the continental quilt up with her.
"Yes, you do," she continued. "You are a smart and talented man; everyone says that. We can live a grand life if you apply yourself. Mister Webb told me just tonight that he would hire you starting at twice what you are making now. With that kind of money, we could buy a nice house and start a family."
I sat up also and searched her face in the pale red light cast by the glowing coal embers in the room's small two burner stove. I was sorry to see that she was not smiling, because I had the faint hope she might have been joshing me.
"Colette, I think the world of you, but I'm nowhere near being ready to marry and settle down. I still have some catching up with life to do to make up for the years I lost to the war. As for working for Webb, he can forget about that event ever occurring. His hands are too dirty for my comfort."
"Richard is not like that at all," she retorted hotly.
It caught my attention that she focused in on what I said about Richard Webb instead of my not being ready for marriage. As I sat there silently appraising her, she had the grace to blush and turn her head. I gently cupped her chin and pulled her face around.
"If you have feelings for Webb, why not let him know? I want you to be happy, Colette; maybe you would be if you admitted to yourself that you were with the wrong man," I said softly.
Colette and I talked late into the night. We worked out that we were not meant to be together in anyway except physically. We made love one last time before falling asleep. I packed up my things the next morning as she cried. With a last hug and a small kiss, I trundled out of her room and moved my belongings down to the jail. Severing my relationship with Colette had left a lump in my throat I had not expected. I did not love her, but I had feeling for her nonetheless. It saddened me that I would not be spending my nights in her arms any longer. However, now that we had split, it would be much easier to leave Boulder and return home.
Bob talked me into staying in town for a couple of weeks so I could train one of the peace keepers as my replacement. I agreed and even sat in with Bob as he interviewed three of them for the position. I agreed with his choice and, the following morning, Mathew Drexel and I headed out to make the rounds together. Mathew learned quickly and was probably much more suited in temperament for the job than I was. It took me eight days to take him around the county and introduce him to my contacts at the mining camps, towns and ranches. As we rode I briefed him on what I had learned about each place we visited. When I finally rode out of Boulder, I was confident that Mathew was much better prepared for his duties than I had been.
I had supper at Camille's with Bob on the night before I departed. Camille dined with us, as did Colette and Robert Webb. My companion for the evening was the ebony haired Simone. Camille kept the evening from being about anything except my going home for a visit.
"You'll be back to see us before long, Jeremiah," she stated. "You will return because you have such good friends here and such fond memories."
I played my last bit of music on Camille's superior violin that evening. That fine instrument was yet another thing that I would miss about Boulder. Bob and I excused ourselves around nine and ambled down to the Silver Strike Saloon. Bob wanted to stand me a drink and say adios in surrounding more natural for both of us. We stood at the bar, each with a double shot of tequila, and reminisced about the last four months. We had a good laugh at some of the things that had happened to us. Bob summed it up nicely when he said, "We kept stepping into defecation, yet ended up smelling of roses." I was not going home empty handed. I left Boulder with a new horse and almost six hundred dollars of my reward money.
I spent my first night on the trail at the Fort Collins Wells Fargo bunkhouse. I ended up staying at the bunkhouse because I ran into Grady Miller at the same saloon in which he and I shared a drink back in November. Grady knew all about Bob being the sheriff of Boulder County, and was amazed at the results Bob had achieved. My having resigned as deputy did not surprise Miller. He said he had not expected me to stay on as long as I had. He said, "I do not see you putting down roots for a while, Brock. Your life thus far has been too full of adventure for you to suddenly settle down. When you grow bored with Wyoming again, look me up in Denver. I might have something of interest for you." I thanked Miller for the offer of the bunkhouse and told him that if I ever returned to Denver I would drop in to see him.
I rode up to my family's house in the early afternoon of a gorgeous late winter day. The temperature was probably no higher than the mid twenties, but the bright sun beating down made it seem warmer. I did not see anyone about, so I dismounted the pinto and led all three of my animals toward the barn. I was impressed at how much work had been done around the homestead. Despite the weather, two corrals had been built, one on either side of the barn. The split rail fence from the front of the corals extended down to the creek in one direction and into the wood line in the other. The framework for a second, even larger barn had also been erected and the roof was half shingled. Rocks were piled in two locations a hundred feet on either side of the house and a large stack of debarked logs sat next to the stones. I was almost at the double doors when Alice came barreling out of the barn. I had just enough time to brace myself before she catapulted her small body against me.
"Jeb, it is so good to see you," she squealed.
Alice's squealing brought Ruth and Joshua out of the barn, where they had been cleaning stalls and spreading hay. Josh tried to act as if he was not excited my arrival. Instead, he solemnly held out his hand. "Good afternoon Uncle Jeb," he intoned formally. I ignored his hand and pulled him into a hug with the arm not full of Alice.
"Hello you two, are you staying out of trouble?" I asked teasingly.
Josh nodded his head affirmatively, but Alice stuck her tongue out at me and crossed her eyes. I burst out laughing because they gave the answers I expected to hear. I released the youngsters and turned my attention to Ruth. Alice and Josh had grown enough for me to notice, but Ruth had changed into an almost entirely different person. Ruth had always been tall, the same as her mother. She still was, however she had rounded out in all the places that had been flat before. Even her simple loose frock gave testimony to her budding figure. My brother's sturdiness and Anne's willowy shape combined to give Ruth a slender, yet curvy figure. Ruth was two months away from turning fifteen, yet she was already about five feet-seven inches and weighed probably one hundred and twenty pounds.
I looked her up and down, and then asked the youngsters, "Who is your new grownup friend?" Alice and Josh hooted with laughter as Ruth blushed crimson. "That's no grownup," Joshua crowed, "that is just Cousin Ruthie." Being embarrassed by her younger cousins did not prevent Ruth from gliding over to me and kissing me softly on the cheek. "Welcome home Jeremiah," she said, her voice soft and sweet.
Josh and Ruth walked to the house while Alice helped me put away my horse and mules. She jabbered excitedly as we worked. She kept telling me how happy she was that I was home. To hear Alice tell it, no one in the family understood or listened to her except me. Rachael brought our conversation to a halt when she came bustling into the barn. She had tears in her eyes when she stepped into my outstretched arms. I gave Rachael a kiss and hugged her; she squeezed me tight and laid her head on my chest with a sigh. "I missed your arms sweet baby. How long are you going to be here?" I think I made her day when I told her I was staying for a while. I managed to extricate myself from Rachael's grasp and finish bedding down my livestock before the three of us headed to the house.
Ma greeted me at the door with a firm hug. I was thrilled that she appeared healthier and happier than I had seen in two years. The first thing she did after the hug was to thank me for writing her. I had posted a letter to the family in care of the Cheyenne Trading Post about every three weeks. Ma, Rachael, Curtis and the children were the only ones home when I arrived. JC and Sean were helping Abraham Tellers finish a tool shed while Anne and Florence visited with his wives.
The greeting JC gave me when he and the others arrived home was close kin to embarrassing. He hugged me almost as tight as Rachael and Alice had. JC and I were closer than most blood relatives. Four years of grinding war, countless long days of boredom, punctuated by minutes of stark terror and shared hardships, had bonded us together in a way that no accident of birth could duplicate. I would take a bullet for JC and he would for me. JC was much more demonstrative of his feeling than I; no doubt his Italian blood had something to do with that.
I took JC out to the barn to show him my new horse. He took advantage of us being alone to express his unhappiness towards my leaving in the first place. "Like it or not, Jeb, your entire family depends on you. They count on your steady strength of character to keep them all safe. Anne and Florence rely on Sean and me to some extent, but we all feel much more secure when you are around. You have too many responsibilities to go traipsing off whenever the fancy strikes you."
I inwardly cringed when he used the word 'responsibility', because I hated that word and loathed the concept. I did not ask for nor did I want the responsibility for anyone, or, with the exception of Zeke the mule, any thing. I know that makes me sound petty and selfish, but so be it. I wanted a life of my own for a while; I wanted the youth so callously stolen from me by the war. My brain saw what JC was alluding to, but my soul yearned for something more. That inner conflict had been what caused me to leave last November. I shrugged noncommittally and told JC that I would think about it.
I did think some about my responsibilities and, with plenty to do now that the weather was warming, I dedicated myself to being a productive member of the family again. One of the casualties of my leaving was my relationship with Rachael. I was honest with her and told her all about Colette. I mentioned before that I thought Rachael's and my physical relationship was one of nearness and convenience. I thought she loved me as I felt about her, not in a romantic way, but as very close friends. I was wrong in every way it was possible to be. Rachael was deeply hurt that I had left and taken up with another woman and had very little to do with me after that. I was astounded by her reaction and I felt horrible that I had hurt her so.
The day after I arrived home, Curtis, Alice and I resumed felling trees and dragging them back to the creek. The logs we were bringing back would be the outer walls of houses for JC and his family, and for Sean and his. We were going to build the two houses at the same time, foundation to roof. The houses would be the same size but each would have a slightly different layout and façade.
The preparations made prior to starting the new houses, combined with the experience we gained building the first cabin, meant that the next two went up faster and easier. We were also able to make the first house more livable at the same time. By the middle of June, each part of the family was comfortably ensconced in their own snug home. I contributed labor to the construction but I helped the most by making two trips to North Platte, Nebraska, the western terminus of the Union Pacific Railroad. I went to North Platte because windows and milled doors were available there. Grenville Dodge, JC's partner and the chief of construction for the Union Pacific, was bringing in huge quantities of building materials to construct a major rail yard in North Platte. Dodge was selling us the items we needed at his cost. Since the Union Pacific was absorbing the cost of transporting the goods to the frontier, it was quite a boon to us.
JC, Sean and Dodge were deep in business together when I returned from Boulder. They had made elaborate plans for the town of Cheyenne and were actively working them. Their plans called for a town of sorts to exist even before the railroad arrived later that year. Because of their plans, I was able to start my freight business hauling supplies and equipment from the advancing railhead to Cheyenne. On July 4, 1867, Grenville Dodge, JC Colbert and Sean McDougal officially proclaimed the city of Cheyenne into existence. In less than a month, over a thousand people had streamed into town looking to get rich with the coming of the railroad. The new residents bought wood from a sawmill that JC and Dodge owned and started building businesses and homes at a frantic rate. Abraham Tellers ran the mill and Joseph Barton supervised the logging crew. The equipment for the sawmill was delivered by Georgia Jeb's Freight Service.
Dodge and his new partners bought out the trading post and turned it into the town's first general store. When the new settlers arrived, everything they needed to exist including land, building materials, supplies and equipment had to be purchased from the Cheyenne Company owned by Dodge, Colbert and McDougal.
We saw much more of Grenville Dodge after the Fourth of July. The closer the Union Pacific tracks neared, the more time he spent with JC. JC's house was finished by then and Dodge was a frequent guest there. I still had mixed feeling about Dodge. On the surface he seemed a good man and there was no denying that he was helping my family. Yet, he still made me uneasy. For lack of a better description, he seemed too good to be true. My unease grew when he and Rachael developed a romantic interest in each other.