July 29…
I didn’t know Trent Tolliver and his band of miscreants were after me, and it wouldn’t have especially bothered me if I had known. Oh, I wouldn’t underestimate the guy, but I wouldn’t be scared of him, either. And if I had been told that he had killed Kelly Atkins and Allie Summer, there wouldn’t have been a place on this earth where he could have hidden from me. I would have blown his head off faster than a rattlesnake’s, and with a whole lot less of a bothered conscience about it. A rattlesnake does at least some good on this earth.
But I wasn’t cognizant of any of that. And Trent Tolliver would have played fair—or, at least he would have looked me in the eyes before he shot me. Some people, however, are just downright cowards, and unfortunately, that’s who I bumped into. Actually, I didn’t really bump into him.
Here’s the tale….well, with a little side trip first.
I hadn’t made up my mind—I couldn’t make up my mind—about when to go to River Bend, or even if I should go. Or wanted to go. I did want to see Kelly Atkins. At least I thought I did. I was wandering in that direction, but doing it without haste, and the closer I got to River Bend, the more indecisive I became. It was the Julie and Robin thing again, and I’ve been through that before, so I won’t go through it again. I wondered if I was being a wimp over the whole matter, and maybe I was. But try telling my heart and guts that. The once burned, twice shy thing, etc. etc.
I had lost two women whom I loved more than life itself. I didn’t want to lose a third, and I knew that I could feel very, very strongly about Kelly Atkins. I was afraid to let that happen.
You’re a wimp, Conners…
The mind knows things the heart would never agree to. And the heart feels things that the brain can’t even begin to comprehend.
I was beginning to think I ought to open my own philosophy shop. I might as well have people pay me to spout this garbage.
I wonder what Robin’s doing right now…. I’d only had that thought about 3 million times in the past year. Why do I still love her so much? I did nothing, from the day I met her, but love her with all my heart…and she left me... I didn’t like where my brain was taking me, so I tried…I tried…to shift my thoughts…I wonder what Kelly is doing right now…
To answer that question, Kelly Atkins was standing at Nicholas Backstrom’s grave, thinking, I wonder what Rob is doing right now… In other words, trying to forget someone she had loved very deeply, but who had done her a great wrong, by…shifting her thoughts to somebody else.
Why do I still have feelings for this man? Meaning, of course, Nicholas Backstrom. It’s been over half a year now…when is he going to leave me alone?
Kelly absently pulled the weeds that covered the small tombstone under which Nicholas Backstrom lay. Why am I pulling these weeds? He wouldn’t care…
She probably would have agreed with Rob Conners’ philosophy that “the mind knows things the heart would never agree to. And the heart feels things that the brain can’t even begin to comprehend.” Then, with a determination to finally put Nicholas Backstrom behind her, Kelly arose and walked away from his grave.
Determined to go forward, and not look back.
Determined never to come back to this cemetery and pull the weeds that overran Nicholas Backstrom’s headstone.
Determined not to let Backstrom, or Rob Conners, or anybody else control her life any more.
If she could get her heart to agree to it, of course.
But, leaving Kelly Atkins aside for a moment, the doings in River Bend since Trent Tolliver and his gang had visited are fairly interesting and we will return to them by and by.
Rob Conners has his tale that needs telling first….
The cold/rain front that had moved in was lingering a bit and as I wound my way through some boulder-strewn hills, I was getting a little chilly. So I stopped Ol’ Paint and put on my jacket. I also spotted the red and blue scarf Kelly had given to me the day I had left River Bend and I wrapped it around my neck. It felt good.
I was riding along the main road to and from River Bend, probably 60 miles from town. There was actually another, smaller town, that, if I stayed on this road, I would come to before I reached River Bend. It was named Wickerville and was about 30 miles from Clearwater Valley. It wasn’t a very big place, maybe a third or half the size of River Bend, and it was nestled in the mountains that bordered Clearwater on the north. I had begun to climb the foothills of those mountains, and that was one reason the temperature had dropped.
It was early morning and I had come to a straightaway in the road when my part in this tale came to an abrupt end—at least from my point of view. The straightaway was delimited on both sides by undulating hills; to the north, the terrain was rocky, with boulders scattered all the way to the top of what was probably a 500 foot peak—500 feet above the road, of course. I was minding my own business—there not being anyone else around whose business I could have minded—riding slowly, and singing a little ditty as I enjoy doing. Then something hard struck me in the head. I had spotted a shiny object just off the side of the road to my right—to this day, I don’t know what it was—and leaned over and turned my head just a little to investigate. It was at that point the world turned completely black, about a split second after I heard the sound of a rifle shot…
Vernon Hatter was one of the “cowards” Rob Conners had mentioned early in this chapter. He was nothing more than a bandit, who made his living by highway robbery. And assault. And sometimes murder. He traveled around a lot, all over the West, so he had never been caught; indeed, nobody had the slightest idea that he was the man behind a string of robberies and killings from southern California to the northern Dakota Territory. Hatter would ambush unsuspecting unfortunates in desolate, isolated country, shooting them from afar, and then absconding with whatever wealth they might have on them. He figured that somebody that far from civilization must have at least some money to get to wherever they were going. And usually he was right. His average haul was about $100, which gave him a few weeks of pleasure, and then he’d strike again. Rob Conners just happened to be the next victim of Hatter’s brigandage.
Hatter was hidden behind a boulder up the mountain to Conners’ left. He waited until the horseman had passed him, then he slowly eased his way into firing position. It wasn’t too difficult a shot—about 150 yards, and Vernon Hatter was a near marksman. He usually aimed for the middle of the body, just to be sure. Not all of his targets died; he didn’t really care if they did or not, as long as they didn’t see his face and be able to recognize him. Hatter lifted the rifle to his left shoulder—he was left-handed—and aimed…this current victim bent to the right a little as Hatter fired. The bullet struck Conners in the head and he immediately fell from his horse to the ground. Hatter muttered to himself, “A headshot. Well, that’s ok. In fact, that’s better than a body hit.” He grinned to himself. “Poor sucker never knew what hit him.” None of his poor sucker victims ever did.
He twisted his way through the boulders and down the hill to where his latest poor sucker lay. There was a substantial amount of blood flowing down Conners’ face. Hatter did a quick search of the prone body; he tried to never hang around his handiwork very long lest someone else show up along the road.
“Ah,” Vernon Hatter exclaimed when he found a wallet in a back pocket. He opened it and delight spread on his face. He took out a wad of money and counted almost $200. “Nice day’s work,” he said to himself. Then he spotted something else in the wallet that made him smile and gave him an idea. It was a card, the size of a business card, and, I suppose that’s what it was. It read “Rob Conners, R&R Ranch, Whitewater.”
“So I just shot Rob Conners,” Hatter said aloud. He looked down at Conners, still smiling. “He’s about my size and weight, and has blonde hair, just like me. It might be nice to be a famous gunman for a while. I think I’ll take this…,” meaning the card. Then he eyed the scarf Conners had around his neck. “That’s pretty. Looks warm, too. He don’t need it.” So, Vernon Hatter freed Rob Conners of his gift from Kelly Atkins and wound it around his own neck. “Mm, it is warm. I wonder if Conners made this himself.” He checked the body again and found the letter Rob had written to Kelly Atkins. He read it briefly. “Aw, how sweet. A letter to his honey. Well, it’s signed ‘Rob,’ so that’ll help prove I’m Rob Conners….” He folded the envelope and stuck it in his shirt pocket. A further search of Rob’s clothing produced nothing, then Vernon looked around for his victim’s horse. Ol’ Paint was standing a good 30 yards away, just watching. “I don’t suppose you’ll come over here and let me search his saddlebags, will you, horse,” he called out to Ol’ Paint. Whether the horse understood him or not, he shook his head, turned, and trotted off into some trees. “Well, probably wasn’t anything in those bags anyway but clothes and food.” He was wrong about that; Conners still had about $1700 in his saddlebags and Vernon would loved to have had it. But he wasn’t going to get it.
Having taken all he wanted, Hatter stood up and whistled. His horse came cantering over, and the man spoke to him. “Well, Shylock, we got a pretty good haul today. Let’s head to River Bend and see what kinda fun we can have there, shall we?”
The horse didn’t seem to care where they went.
But Vernon Hatter was going to River Bend.
Or at least he thought he was.
“Boss, where we headed now that we kilt that Atkins woman?”
“To find and kill Rob Conners. And Allie Summer.” was the response Trent Tolliver gave to Hank Frobisher’s question.
The six outlaws of the Tolliver gang were following a narrow path down the mountain that wound through some pines and junipers. They had hidden out for a couple of weeks well into mountains, fearing a posse would be after them. Figuring that a posse would have given up by now, and getting antsy for his revenge, Trent brought his men down from the hills in the direction of River Bend again.
“Scuttlebutt has it that Conners hangs around this area a lot,” Terrell offered.
“Yep,” Trent replied. “And that’s where we’re going.”
“But, boss, we cain’t go into River Bend. We might be recognized,” Hank said.
“People might recognize me or Terrell. Maybe Ed. But they wouldn’t know you, or Ricky or Duck. We’ll camp out in the mountains a few miles out of town and I’ll send Ricky and Duck in to scout around, see if they can get any info on where Conners might be. We’ve been a little lucky so far in finding the Ranger and that Atkins woman. Maybe our luck will hold a little longer and we’ll find Conners soon.”
It did. Or at least, they thought it did.
It probably doesn’t take much smarts to figure out what’s about to happen…
Vernon Hatter wanted to get to River Bend, but he found a saloon and brothel in Wickerville so he spent a day there. He was able to increase his stash of money a little via a poker game in which he cheated, and before it was discovered that he had done so, wisdom and spinelessness convinced him to renounce the pleasures of Wickerville and go in search of more in River Bend.
He had had a little fun with his alias, however.
As he was in the middle of the card game, and was piling up some good winnings, somebody asked him, “What’s your name, anyway?”
Nonchalantly, while he was dealing, Vernon responded, “Conners.”
A few pairs of eyes narrowed at him. “You wouldn’t be Rob Conners, would ye?”
“That’s me.” He pulled the card he had stolen from Conners out of his pocket and showed it to his cardmates.
They all glanced at it, and one of them said, “You got a rep of being pretty good with a gun.”
Vernon looked at the man who was talking. “Do you want to find out?”
The fellow backed off and a little fear came to his eyes. “No, no, I don’t. I was just commentin’…”
Vernon liked the man’s reaction—fear. And he smiled. “Well, then, let’s just play cards, shall we? And everybody play fair so there won’t be any need to resort to guns. Ok?” Which he thought was a hoot, since he was the one cheating.
But there was general agreement with that assessment, so the card game continued with no violence. Vernon wasn’t too concerned, actually. He fancied himself pretty good with a gun, though not in Rob Conners’ class. But certainly better than these yahoos he was playing with now.
Having had his fill of Wickerville, off to the big city rode Vernon Hatter, aka Rob Conners…
August 2…
The mountains to the north of Clearwater Valley were a little too rugged for a major thoroughfare to navigate, so about 25 miles from town the road turned southeast and snaked in and through less imposing geology. Some 17 or 18 miles from River Bend, the road forked, one wing heading south in the direction of Whitewater and the other continuing on into Clearwater Valley. It turned back northeast at the North Pass and, in about 10 miles, the weary traveler arrived in River Bend
There was an alternative route, however, a slender pathway that squeezed its way through boulders and trees and along narrow ledges that dead-ended on the main road to River Bend, about 12 miles from town. It was this route that the Tolliver gang had taken; Trent wanted to stay off that main road, in case some errant lawman ventured by. It wasn’t a lawman they ran into.
Once they reached the River Bend road, they saw a sign that pointed to the left and read “River Bend, 12 miles, give or take a few feet.” Trent said, “Let’s move back up the road two or three miles and find a place to camp. I don’t want to be too close to town.”
So they headed west, away from town, looking for a possible campsite. After riding about a mile, they spied a lone horseman heading towards them. He was far enough away that Trent thought he might not have seen the whole gang, especially since Hank, Ricky, and Duck were lollygagging about 50 yards behind.
Trent stopped and rode back to them. “There’s a horseman coming. You three hide in the trees. I doubt we’ll need you, but just in case, I want you in reserve.”
“Reckon it’s a lawman, boss?” Hank asked.
“I don’t know, but I’d rather him see three of us than all six.”
So, the three men disappeared into the trees at the side of the road. Trent, Terrell, and Ed Monger got off their horses, and the elder brother checked his horse’s shoes, acting as if something might be wrong with one of them. A few minutes later, Vernon Hatter rode up.
“Howdy, boys,” he said. “Got a problem?”
“I think my horse is fixing to throw this shoe,” Trent replied, examining the horse’s back left hoof. “I’m going to try to fix it to where it will stay on till we can get to River Bend.”
“Well, ‘fraid I can’t help you with that,” Vernon replied. “Not much with horses. You fellows from River Bend?”
“No, just passing this way. Never even been there actually,” Trent lied. The fewer the people that knew they had been in River Bend, the better he figured it would be.
But that piece of information provided Vernon Hatter an opening—an opening which cost him his life. Since these men weren’t from River Bend, they wouldn’t know Rob Conners by face. So, it was time to puff out his chest again.
“It’s a nice place,” Vernon replied. “I’ve been there a number of times. By the way, my name is Rob Conners. Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
The three men on the ground stared at him, and in a way that spooked Vernon a bit. Trent spoke. “You’re Rob Conners?”
“Yeah,” Vernon replied, a little hesitantly. “Here’s my card,” he said, fishing out the business card and holding it out to Trent. He definitely didn’t like the way these men were looking at him. “You heard of me?”
“Yes, we have,” Trent said, and he, Terrell, and Ed Monger turned to face the man on the horse. They didn’t bother looking at the ID being extended to them. “My name is Trent Tolliver. I suspect you’ve heard of me, too.”
Vernon hadn’t, and looked blankly at Trent. “Well, no, I’m sorry. I can’t rightly say that I have…”
“Oh, yes, you have. Or at least you’ve heard of my brother. Tristy. You shot him a few weeks ago, Conners. Killed him. And I’ve been looking for you ever since. Nobody who kills a Tolliver lives to brag about it. This is our lucky day, fella, and your last one on earth.”
“Now, wait a minute, Mr. Tolliver, I’m not really—“
The three Tolliver men were standing in a shooting pose. “I hear your good with that gun, Conners. Go for it. We’ll give you a chance.”
“You said I could have a shot at him, Trent,” Ed Monger said, flexing his hand over his gun butt. “I’ve always wanted to test Rob Conners. I know I can beat him. Draw, mister,” he said to Vernon Hatter. “Let’s see how good you are.”
“Hold it,” Vernon replied, desperate now. “It’s three against one, and I’m really not—“
“I never figured Rob Conners to be a coward,” Trent said. “This just proved to me what you believed, Terrell. That he dry-gulched Tristy. He never could have beaten Tristy straight up.”
“You got three seconds, Conners, then I’m shooting,” Monger said.
Vernon Hatter was scared to death—and with good reason. He didn’t know what to do, so he spurred his horse and made a run for it. He didn’t get five feet until Ed Monger drew, fired, and hit him dead in the heart. Vernon grunted and fell from his horse. The horse kept running down the road.
The three Tolliver men walked over to Vernon Hatter’s prone body. They stood over him a few seconds. He was as dead as dead gets. Terrell saw the card the dead man had been holding and leaned down and picked it up.
“It’s Conners, all right,” he said, handing the card to Trent. He and his brother looked at each other. And they both smiled.
“We got 'im,” Trent said. Then, to Ed Monger, “Good job, Ed. You’ll get a bonus for that.”
“I just wish he would have drawn,” Monger replied. “But Conners isn’t the only man with a gun reputation who’s actually a coward. When faced with a real challenge, they’ll chicken out every time.”
The other three men had come up by then. “Is that really Rob Conners?” Hank asked, and Trent handed him the card. “Aw, boss, you know I cain’t read,” and he gave the card to Ricky Sata.
Ricky read it and nodded. “Rob Conners. Man, what a break to run into him like this.”
“Not really,” Trent said. “We knew he hung around River Bend, so it was only a matter of time.”
“What are we going to do with his body?” Terrell asked.
Trent scratched his jaw in thought for a minute, then smiled again. “Well, we can’t hang around here too long, so I don’t want to bury him. But let’s make sure people will know never to mess with the Tollivers again.”
He gave some quick instructions to him men, and within 10 minutes, the body of Vernon Hatter—aka Rob Conners—was lying on the side of the road with a wooden gravestone above the head. That gravestone read: “Here lies Rob Conners. And the same fate awaits anybody else who ever kills a Tolliver.” Trent then dropped the identification card onto the chest of the corpse.
Satisfied, Trent Tolliver looked at his men and said, “That’s two. Now for the Ranger woman.”
“Where do you think she’ll be?” Terrell asked.
“I don’t know, but let’s disappear into these mountains again for a couple of weeks. Once Conners’ body is found—and this grave marker we’re leaving—I expect a posse will be after us again. Give that a little time, then we’ll find the Ranger.”
His men all nodded, mounted, and rode back into the mountains.
Vernon Hatter—aka Rob Conners—stared sightless at the sky, his marauding days finished
Caz Lacey was a small rancher who lived in the Clearwater Mountains about 16 miles from River Bend. He’d found a small valley with water and grass and had carved out a decent living, if not a wealthy one. He’d been around the area for over 20 years. He hadn’t been able to get any land in Clearwater Valley because when he moved to the area, Jim Perry and Randolph Sanders had gobbled it all up and split it between them. How that ended is part of the tale told in the book Whitewater.
Anyway, everybody knew Caz and liked him, and at least once a month, and usually twice, he’d hitch a wagon into River Bend for supplies. He had a good garden, too, and some chicken and goats, so he did some trading for items he needed. The day after the confrontation between Vernon Hatter and the Tollivers, Caz decided to go to town.
He traveled the main road, and naturally, he saw the body of Vernon Hatter lying on the wayside. Since the Tollivers hadn’t bothered to bury Hatter, coyotes, wolves, flies, and buzzards had already begun to feast. The body was unrecognizable, but Caz saw the gravestone marker. His eyes widened.
“That’s Rob Conners? Naw, cain’t be.”
He stopped and got out of his wagon and went over to the cadaver. He grimaced at the sight and smell, and again, the scavengers had done enough of a job that Caz couldn’t really tell, for sure, that it was Conners. But, like Rob Conners, this dead man had blonde hair. And Caz read the sign…
He shook his head in sadness. “The Tollivers got him. Conners kilt one of the brothers a few weeks ago. And now they got ‘im. What a shame. He was a good feller.” Caz sighed. “Well, I reckon I better haul his body into town.”
It wasn’t a very pleasant job, picking up the bloated remains of the corpse, but Caz had seen a lot blood and guts in his life, so this didn’t bother him too much. He laid the body in the back of his wagon and covered it with canvas. He also took the grave marker and business card. “I reckon Marshal Baker will need this, too.”
So, with another sigh of remorse, Caz Lacey drove his wagon into River Bend.
Caz got a few waves as he directed his wagon down the main street towards the marshal’s office, and he waved back. Nobody could see the body in the back so he got no questions about it. He pulled up in front of the law office.
He went inside and saw Ben Baker doing some paperwork. Ben looked up and nodded at him. “Caz,” he said in a simple greeting.
Caz was uneasy, not because he feared Ben, but because he had to be the bearer of bad news. “Marshal, I got somethin’ outside I reckon you ought to see. And I think yore gonna be none too pleased with it, too.”
Ben’s face showed concern and he stood up. “What is it, Caz?”
“The body o’ Rob Conners. The Tollivers got ‘im.”
That stopped Ben cold—and left his blood cold. “Are you sure?”
Caz just motioned with head and Ben followed him outside.
A few people were passing by and they turned their heads to watch Ben and Caz. It was a little unusual to see Caz with the Marshal, so that aroused some interest. “I got ‘im in the back of the wagon, Marshal.”
Caz uncovered the body. Ben grimaced. “How do you know it’s Rob Conners? That body is unidentifiable.”
“I picked this up off his body,” Caz said, handing the business card to Ben. “And then, there was that headboard lyin’ above him.” And he pointed at the grave marker.
Ben quickly read the card and headstone. His jaw tightened and he gritted his teeth. “I’ll find Trent Tolliver and blow him to hell if it’s the last thing I ever do…”
By this time, a crowd was gathering. “What’s going on, Marshal?” somebody asked. “Who is that dead man?”
Caz responded. “It’s Rob Conners,” and he held up the grave marker. There were several gasps.
“But, how do you know, for sure, it’s Conners? I mean, that body’s been eaten by buzzards so bad ye cain’t tell who it is.”
But then a voice spoke, a female voice, a trembling voice, a voice that sounded like it was in agony. A voice that could barely be heard.
“It’s Rob.” And everybody turned and looked…at Kelly Atkins.
“How can you be sure, Miss Atkins?”
Kelly closed her eyes and dropped her head, the pain, almost a panic, building within her. Tears started streaming down her cheeks. But she managed to say, “Because I gave him that scarf he’s wearing….” And she turned and ran off, crying, her heart shattered, overwhelmed with grief and anguish, the hurt almost unbearable…a hurt she knew was greater than the pain she felt at the death of Evan Dryer/Nicholas Backstrom. Oh, Rob…Rob…Rob…Rob…why did you leave? Why? Oh, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you… Which, of course, is exactly the opposite of how Kelly Atkins felt.
Ben Baker sighed wearily. The wagon holding the body of…Rob Conners…was surrounded by a crowd. A silent crowd. A crowd that stared at that dead body. A few men pulled off their hats in respect. A few sniffles could be heard from the ladies. And Ben Baker reached down and slowly lifted the end of the red and blue scarf that Kelly Atkins had indeed given to Rob Conners several months before. The scarf that Vernon Hatter had stolen.
Ben let the scarf drop from his fingers. He then spied something in the victim’s shirt pocket. He pulled it out. It was an envelope with Kelly’s name on it. Ben pulled out the letter, scanned it, and saw “Rob” as the signature at the bottom. And he recognized Rob Conners’ hand writing. “Well, that cinches it,” he said softly. He would give the letter to Kelly later.
Deputy Turley Edwards was standing next to him. “Take care of the body, will you, Turley?” Ben said. Then, without a further word, the Marshal of River Bend turned and walked back into his office.
The congregation around the wagon watched him. One man spoke for the whole group. “I’d shore hate to be Trent Tolliver when Ben Baker finds out where he is….”