Just Justice: ‘Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold’

By Bob MacDonald

Jake Bonny, orphaned since a tender age, had spent his childhood and early years living and laboring on his uncle’s barge. The tedious life on the vessel and the Arkansas River came to be Jake’s entire existence until, one day, he broke free of his kinsman’s domineering hold over him.
Travelling by foot, he made his way westward until arriving in Tombstone. By chance, he stepped into the role of an unofficial assistant to the town’s elderly town marshal.
As time passed, he befriended an affable identity of the district, but this happy-go-lucky sidekick was backshot and gunned down while walking the streets. From that moment onwards, Jake spent his days seeking those responsible; to wreak his vengeance upon them. But hard-case outlaws, brought in from the Indian Territories, by a corrupt businessman, stood in his way.
Cattle rustling and the smuggling of alcohol, to and from south of the border, by longriders among the willows make for a perilous existence for under-manned lawmen, added to his perils.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob MacDonald
• Release date: Aug 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463319567

Bob MacDonald

Bob MacDonald is a retired West Australian Police officer of thirty years experience. Bob's last day at school was his 14th birthday - commencing work, the very next day, in a timber mill in his home town of Pemberton, West Australia. He later self-educated and enlisted in the West Australian police force, retiring as a superintendent in the Internal Investigations Branch of the Professional Standards portfolio. Since retirement Bob has been working at remote aboriginal communities in Central Australia, Papua New Guinea and the Solomon Islands. He also did a tour of duty on the island nation of Cyprus with the United Nations Blue Beret Peacekeepers.

Book preview

Chapter 01 – On the Arkansas River

Jake Bonny sat on the rickety jetty, watching the waters of the Arkansas River swirling below his feet. The heavier than normal winter rains had brought on a steady rise in the river level and with it extra work for him on his uncle’s barge.

Being 1875, the conflict between the states, known as the American Civil War, had ended nigh on a decade ago. Jake, an orphan since a small child; having lost his parents to the smallpox epidemic. Now eighteen years of age, he stood six feet and two inches in his socks. His brown hair and hazel eyes differed not from the run-of-the-mill journeyman who plied the rivers, railroad, and suchlike, but his athletic build and dashing good looks caused many a head to turn.

Little Rock, Arkansas, had been his home since losing his folks. His uncle Tom Bonny, his pa’s brother, with reservations, agreed to take care of him and from the very first day, Jake, in company with his uncle, worked on the river ferrying freight and or passengers. A small cabin built onto the barge acted as his accommodation.

Jake, during his leisure hours, daydreamt of becoming a dashing gun-totin’ sheriff of a lawless wild-west town. His practice of reading of the dime ‘Western novels,’ at the time flooding the nation, spiked his interest and imagination. To top it off, an elderly war veteran gifted him with an 1847 Colt Walker revolver for giving him passage on the barge to cross the river. His uncle, a mean old coot at the best of times, wouldn’t give anyone the steam off his piss; but knew not of many of the antics Jake got up to when out of his sight.

The gun, being a cap and ball type firearm, did not come with any ammunition. That did not stop Jake from fashioning a holster which he fitted to the belt of his trousers and practiced the ‘fast draw’ just as they did in the dime novels. His thoughts, only on rare occasions, wavered from the images splashed on the covers of the western paperbacks. However, his enthusiasm soon weakened when he realized he did not own a horse or any of the tack necessary for travel.

He did not have any ammunition for his old revolver, nor did he own a ‘John B’ hat or a decent pair of boots. Not receiving any remuneration for his labors became a bugbear with him. Okay, maybe as a kid not to be paid for his toils, but now that he fancied himself as an adult, it was churlish of Tom Bonny to expect him to slog his guts out just for ‘keep.’ And that keep stood at food, a bunk on the barge and hand-me-down clothing. Yes, Jake’s fertile mind worked overtime in resisting the unjust conditions imposed on him by the tightwad uncle.

*

One of the western novels he read featured a map of the states located west of Little Rock, and it included several of the nation’s rivers. Jake saw, by following the line of the Arkansas River, he ought to end up in central Colorado. From there, Arizona lay due southwest….. and that is where, according to the dime novels, turned out to be at which all the action took place.

With his mind made up, he began secreting away bits and pieces of non-perishable foodstuffs. Dribs and drabs of coffee, sugar, beef jerky and suchlike went into his yannigan bag, of which he hid beneath his crude bedding, in the barge’s cabin. After several weeks of preparation, Jake decided on being ready to roll ….. hanging on him finding an opportune time when Tom Bonny dallied elsewhere.

*

Waiting, waiting, waiting ….. he champed at the bit, primed and eager to hit the trail, but his uncle, the miserable old codger, continued to hang around like a foul smell. Why doesn’t he piss off, he wondered, and give him the chance to raid his larder? In his mind’s eye, he visualized the hissy fit likely to be thrown by the ungrateful watchdog when he discovered him missing.

The opportunity arose one week later when he conveyed his uncle to the far side of the river for a business meeting. When told to wait and be ready to ferry his return to base, Jake nodded in compliance. But, as soon as Tom Bonny disappeared, he untied the hawsers and began heading home.

Once ashore, he made his way, with his yannigan sack over his shoulder, to the cabin of his uncle. Once inside, he searched for items he considered may be useful in his travels. Jake, after leading a life devoid of any tangible articles of his own, behaved like a kid at a birthday party might when loading up his war bag.

He tackled the larder first and selected a couple of cured sausages, a large truckle of cheese, beef jerky strips, and a slab of bacon. As he stuffed the goodies into his sack, he couldn’t help but swear without reserve and mutter, ‘All this good stuff in here and he’s been serving me up shit, all these years. Well, that ain’t gunna happen again, you tight-arsed old coot!’

Three tins of matches, a waterproof sheet, two blankets and a hat he found hanging on a peg, joined in his swag of purloined items and foodstuffs. He used a length of rope to fashion a backpack of his yannigan bag. His bedroll followed suit and carried across his shoulders.

He nigh on left the cabin, but a second thought hit him. Oh yes, eating utensils ….. a necessity while travelling. So, a scout around rewarded him with a tin plate and cup, a billycan, and a small frypan. As he grabbed a water canteen, he laughed out loud as pictured his uncle’s reaction when he in the long run returned home to discover Jake gone and his larder stripped.

Jake felt overweighted with his load, but as he prepared to leave, he thought of something else. Fishing lines. Yes, tackle to catch the bass and catfish of the river. A sharp knife and a small whetstone joined the loot. He chastised himself for nearly forgetting such an important item as he could use a knife for many purposes and a weapon to boot.

*

By the time he got organized for his departure, mid-afternoon hovered, and he wanted to be well clear of the township before his uncle returned. He could imagine the foul temper of the man for Jake having abandoned him on the far side of the river. Then when he discovered Jake’s disappearing act, he expected hell to break loose.

Chapter 02 – Heading West

The days passed into weeks, and the weeks turned into months as Jake followed the riverbank westward. To begin with, he lived off the foodstuffs purloined from his uncle’s larder. He encountered no difficulties in catching river fish for the frying pan. Bait proved not to be a problem because earthworms were abundant in the moist waterside sands.

When he came across a farmlet or a smallholding, the practice he followed centered on volunteering his laboring services for foodstuffs. That habit met with varying success, in that he experienced being chased off by barking dogs, supplied with a sit-down meal, or given takeaway foodstuffs, or told to bugger off.

On arriving at one such property, he learnt from the homesteaders, a man, and his wife in the middle-age bracket, that he had reached Colorado. The couple welcomed him into their home and at the dinner table, on the first day, informed him how they had lost their two only sons during the war.

Jake filled the void left by the boys and the kind man and woman for the present took the place of his parents, a loving ma and pa who lingered as a faint memory in his mind. Jake enjoyed working on the property, with ‘Sleepy’ the mule and a passel of hogs. His unbridled energy and willingness to tackle any task put before him proved invaluable at the small holding.

In jake’s eyes, the waking each morning to the crowing of a bantam rooster, followed by freshly cooked corn cakes, and steaming coffee, set the day off to perfection. The couple, Jack and Mary McIntyre, provided him with a bunk, in the loft of their small cabin, and treated him in the same way as he imagined they would one of their sons.

One day, when at a loose end, he walked around the grounds of the property, noting the blossom appearing on the fruit trees which surrounded the farmhouse. Corn grew in the fields and the vegetable patch, at the rear of the cabin, abounded in greenery and assorted blossoms. He estimated his time at the farm to be near three months, or a tad longer.

He needed to move onward. His thoughts, along that line, though festering in his mind for the past few weeks, lay dormant because he could never broach the issue with either of his hosts. To the most part, in the evening and while seated at the meal table, Mrs McIntyre talked of future times and he, Jake, always featured in her plans.

His telling Jack McIntyre of his intentions to pull up roots and move on may be the best course of action. Yes, having decided on that option, he waited till he and Jack worked together in the hog pens when he made his announcement, Jack, I’ve loved every minute here on your farm and you and Mary’ve been ever so kind to me, but I must move on.

Jake rattled off his spiel in one breath. Nervousness overcame him as he fumbled for words. He halted his activities and stood with one foot propped up on a railing, waiting for Jack’s response.

The farmer paused with his feeding of the hogs and said, "Mary will be very disappointed to hear that. Just of late she and I discussed your presence here on the farm and both of us hoped for you to stay on. Mary misses her two boys awful bad, and so do I, but she has more or less looked on you as being someone to replace them.

Don’t say a thing at dinner tonight. I will tell her afterwards and break it to her in the best way I can. I’ll let you know in the morn whether you should leave without delay or put it off for a few days.

*

The tears in Mary McIntyre’s eyes, the next morning, made up Jake’s mind, for him to say his goodbyes and continue his journey westward. She, having earlier lost her boys, cared for and looked after Jake as though he formed part of her flesh and blood. Since he, never having experienced love or affection in his growing up, grew to look upon her as the motherly figure only known to him in his imaginary daydreams. The combination of those two factors turned the parting into a teary farewell ….. by both parties.

Her husband, Jack, prepared a food package and necessities, such as matches, candles and a pack of playing cards. Jake, since his arrival, had, in his spare time, either read books to advance his world knowledge or played patience with a pack of well-worn cards from the cabin’s bookshelf.

After loading up his yannigan bag, Jake made a hasty retreat from the property. Earlier, when issuing his goodbyes, he found the embracing and tears too emotional for him to repeat the dose. Now, on his way, he tried to resist from glancing back, but on reaching the tree line of a dense thicket, a quick peek over his shoulder unveiled Mary McIntyre standing in front of the cabin, staring in his direction.

He didn’t know if her eyesight prevailed well enough to enable her to distinguish him at such a distance, but when he gave her a brief wave, she responded by waving one of her arms backwards and forwards above her head. Yes, she had seen him, alright!

Chapter 03 – Tombstone

Jake continued his merry way with the municipality of Tombstone in his sights. Having bumped into fellow travelers on his hike westward, he copped an earful, along the lines of that town being the place to be. Due to silver being discovered in the hills, a small settlement thrived as miners, prospectors and adventurers began flocking to the territory.

He did not see himself getting involved in mining for the precious metal but hoped to get a job as deputy sheriff of the town site. The condition that Tombstone boasted a law office became the deciding factor whether or not he landed such a post. His youth, inexperience and naivety provided him with the exuberance to continue his journey with nothing other than positive thoughts flooding his mind.

*

Another two to three months passed and Jake found himself looking onto the settlement of Tombstone, from the heights of an abutting range of hills. Since leaving the McIntyre farm, he existed by calling at the homestead of any smallholding he came across in his travels. Provided savage dogs did not chase him off, he begged for food for his labor. If he discovered no one at home, he helped himself to foodstuffs from the fields or vegetable gardens.

In two instances, he took advantage of unattended cabins and broke in through poor security on the doors or windows. On one occasion, while snooping around in an outbuilding, the lady of the house came out blasting with a shotgun. None of the pellets hit him as the distance between him and the shooter exceeded the range of the weapon. It scared the living daylights out of him and caused him to be more alert and careful when on similar forays.

Now, as he tarried on the edge of the town, doubts and second thoughts entered his head. With not having shaved for ages, his overgrown, unkempt hair and beard allowed him to rival any of the no-hoper tramps met during his travels. His clothes, threadbare in places, had not seen a washtub for months. He sighed in submission as he realized he did not present himself as the catch of the day to any would-be employer.

*

Jake, up to this stage, had listened to varying accounts of Tombstone, but what his mind perceived and what lay before him turned out to be two different facets. He estimated the settlement housed no more than one hundred residents, and the accommodation and business houses comprised a smattering of timber constructions and a multitude of tents.

While walking up Main Street, the only identifiable thoroughfare in the otherwise higgledy-piggledy layout, two stray dogs snapped at his heels and a hobo pestered him for a handout. Jake farewelled him on his way with a non-too gentle push in the chest and the advice, Piss off, Mister. You’ve got as much chance of getting money from me as winning a beauty contest.

In his exploring, he spotted a couple of saloons, a large trading post/general store, an eating/boarding house, and three or four business houses of unclear identification. It appeared to Jake that in days gone by, someone had attempted to spruce up the main sector by splashing paint about on the facades of several buildings. The recent installation of boardwalk footpaths helped lift the desolate ambience of the town’s center.

It was at this part of the town where Jake, to his surprise, came across a sign, endorsed with the words, ‘Marshal’s Office’ hanging above the door of a weatherboard constructed building. Sitting in one of two chairs, on the sidewalk in front of the premises, sat a man of advanced years.

Good morning, sir. May I take up your time for a minute or three?

And good mornin’ to you, too, young fella, replied the seated man, grab yerself a pew and rest yer legs.

Jake dropped his yannigan bag onto the boardwalk and sat in the unoccupied chair. Thank you, sir. I will introduce myself. I am Jake Bonny ….. originally from Little Rock in Arkansas.

Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Jake. I go by the name of William Williams but answer to Bill. I dunno what got inter me folks to dub me with the same Christian moniker as that of me surname. You look as though yer’ve been on the road fer a while. Do yer mind telling me where yer’re headed?

Where headed? Well, to tell the truth, Tombstone is where I’m aiming, but now that I’m here, I fear my ambitions may have outweighed reality. I set out from Little Rock with plans to become a marshal or sheriff of Tombstone. I ain’t too sure now.

Hang on, don’t go getting too disheartened. Come inside and I’ll show yer around the office and the lockup. Then, we’ll have a brew and I’ll put a proposition to yer. C’mon, follow me.

Jake followed into the one-room office and waited while the marshal prepared a couple of pannikins of coffee from the simmering pot on the wood-burning stove, This thing is a godsend, declared Bill, as he filled the mugs, It keeps me warm in the cold weather and I use it for brewing the joe and fer heating me grub when the need be,

With a steaming pannikin of hot drink in hand, Bill showed Jake the set-up of the establishment. Two small cells abutted onto the main office and a further chamber lay behind the lock-up section. Bill pointed and said, As yer can see, we house a couple of cells. We don’t use the back room for anything as yet; there’s an outhouse around the corner. Now that yer’ve seen what we’ve to offer, let’s go out front and chew the fat.

Chapter 04 – Assistant Marshal Bonny

Once seated at the front of the office, Bill leant back and said, "I’ll fill yer in on what goes on in this sight for sore eyes, referred to as Tombstone. I am the marshal here. I hold jurisdiction over the town, and its limits only. There is a sheriff for the region, but I’ve never laid peepers on him and don’t even know his name. The same applies to the U.S. Marshal ….. I ain’t sighted hide nor hair of him, either.

"I’m an old codger, as yer can see, and I got the job fer being in the wrong place at the right time. They gave me no say in the