A MURDER IN ROSEVILLE The Western town of Roseville stood dark in the pre-dawn hours of Thursday, the fourteenth of May, 1877. Only two sounds permeated the quiet reverie of this early hour; one being the steady peal of the blacksmiths diligent hammer, the other, the pounding cadence of the hammer driving the final nails into the gallows, set to be used when court let out. Chad Jennings sat on his bunk in the jailhouse, pondering his fate, and wondering how he came to be in such a sticky predicament. Guarded by two appointed deputies, for fear of vigilante justice, he listened to the clock ticking to the beat of his heart. The trial, which would surely find him guilty of the murder of the local schoolmarm, would be speedy at best. No lawyer would be present to speak on his behalf, and the jury, he felt sure, had their minds made up before he was ever tried. The judge who was to preside over this carnival act of justice, was unkempt, unshaven, and the smell of whiskey on his breath proved to be the only sustenance he’d partaken of in days. This court of fools would find Chad guilty merely on circumstantial evidence, and nothing he could say for himself would change their minds. But all Chad Jennings was guilty of was being a stranger in town, and after having been seen speaking to Miss Maples, the schoolmarm, and having dinner with her later that evening, the day before she died, was all the jury would need to hear to convict. Miss Maples had been born and raised in Roseville, where her plain Jane looks and forthright attitude, had relegated her to a life of loneliness. She was merely twenty four years old, but already branded an old maid. She was found on the morning of May 12th, by the local sheriff, after the bell, calling her students to class, never rang. Miss Maples was tied, gagged, and draped across her desk, apparently raped and killed by a cowardly villain. The sheriff had only one clue to go on, and for now, he kept it to himself. Sheriff John Pressley, J.P. to his friends, was an honorable man. He was not bought and paid for, like most men were who lived in Roseville, and certainly not on the payroll of Big Mike Rose. Sheriff Pressley was racing at breakneck speed, with time against him, back to the town of Roseville. J.P., following a talk with his prisoner, had ridden away on the morning of the 13th, the day before the trial, to check on the credibility of Chad’s alibi. With only hours left before the hanging, J.P. was galloping to save an innocent mans life. According to Chad, the remuda of Mustang ponies were being held about twenty miles outside of town, awaiting word from him on when to bring them in. Chad also told the Sheriff that Doc Benson was in the camp seeing to an injured cowboy, that was too hurt to travel. That was the reason Chad had come to town early, to fetch the Doc. The Doc said he knew the area where the camp was set up, and would go ahead, while Chad gathered some supplies. The town of Roseville was founded by Big Mike Rose, some twenty odd years ago, after settling with a herd of fresh young mossy horns, and with the backbone to backup and protect his claim on all the land an eye could see. He first built the Livery, then the Five Card Stud Saloon. The Roseville Regal Hotel, then the Roseville Bank and Loan were next. Big Mike, on an insider tip from an unscrupulous federal official, had staked this territory on the knowledge that the railroad would one day lay down their tracks near this vicinity. Soon, the General Store, the Gunsmith Shop, Doc Bensons Apothecary and Dentistry left no doubt that Roseville was on the map to stay. With a brand new Church and Schoolhouse built, it wasn’t long before the settlers arrived to announce that this was their home for future generations to plant their seeds, and raise their crops and families. The afternoon before Miss Maples was found murdered, she had entered the General Store, in hopes of finding her new dress she’d ordered from the Sears Catalog. Dejected on the lateness of her parcels arrival, she hastily headed out the door, where she ran smack dab into Chad Jennings. Chad had just arrived in town, and after sending Doc Benson out to the herd, was headed into the store, when he plowed into Miss Maples, knocking her to the floor. “Excuse me ma’am,” said Mike. “I’m terribly sorry,” offering her a hand up. “I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry, and should’ve watched where I was going. Are you hurt?” Seeing as how the man had been so polite, and generally concerned with her well being, she immediately forgave him, saying, “I’m fine, thank you. It’s not everyday we have such polite and courteous strangers come to town.” Chad immediately doffed his hat, and said “Ma’am, I am new to this town. I am here for the horse auction to be held on Saturday, and by the way, my name is Chad Jennings. Now, I don’t mean to be forward, but seeing as to how your not wearing a wedding ring, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me this evening? A sort of peace offering, if you will.” Well, the blush that befell Miss Maples cheeks would have paled the reddest rose, and realizing that her dance card hadn’t any foreseeable attendees, she decided to accept, saying, “ I would be honored Mr. Jennings, and by the way, my name is Miss Madeline Maples. My friends call me Mattie, and you Mr. Jennings, may call me Mattie.” This time it was Chad’s turn to blush, and with his ears the color of a bright shiny apple, he said, “Okay Mattie, but only if you call me Chad.” Mattie told Chad that she was the schoolmarm, and had some papers to correct, and that he could pick her up there around 5:00 p.m. Chad said he would meet her there, and continued on into the store for some possible’s he would need for his return trip to Colorado. Chad was the foreman at the Barbed Circle K ranch, owned by Thaddeus Kraft. Big Mike Rose had sent out telegraph messages several months earlier as to the date and time of the horse auction. Chad had a good eye for horse flesh, and was a pretty good judge of men, but now he awaited the fate of his on vulnerable character, and the only man able to help him was galloping towards him with a tin star pinned to his shirt. After dinner with Mattie, Chad walked her home, which sat adjacent to the school house, and thanked her for the company. Then Chad walked to the livery stable, mounted his horse, and with his few store bought goods, headed back to the campsite, where the remuda was being held. He was anxious to see about the injured man, and to hear what the Doc had to say. The Doc said he would be staying with the injured man until his fever broke, and asked Chad to go into town the next morning, and grab a few things the Doc needed. Chad never made it to the Doc’s office, for as soon as he entered town, he was suddenly corralled. It was all that J.P. could do to keep this man from being lynched right there on Main St. So the Sheriff took Chad into custody, appointed two deputies to help in case of a riot, and then proceeded to question Chad. So, the next morning early, the Sheriff rode out to the camp to see if Doc Barlow could corroborate Chad’s story. The blacksmith, working late on the evening of the 11th, even verified that Chad picked up his horse around 6:30 p.m., and headed out of town. But the town was in such an uproar, they immediately determined that he must have come back during the night. As the Sheriff raced back to town, he surely hoped he would make it in time, for the towns people were just itching for a hanging. As J.P. entered town, the court had just adjourned, and the men were physically dragging Chad to the gallows. The Sheriff drew up before the steps to the hangman’s noose, and with rifle in hand, and the support of his two deputies, J.P. proceeded to lay down the facts. The mob, being hostile, didn’t want to hear his facts, so one of the deputies let loose with his scattergun. The Sheriff said, “Now that I have your attention, you will listen to what I have to say, and then maybe we can get to the bottom of this tragedy. In the first place, this man Chad Jennings, is guilty of nothing, except being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Doc Barlow is out to the campsite with an injured man, and has verified that Mr. Jennings was there all night. You even heard Bob, the blacksmith, state that Mr. Jennings left around 6:30 p.m. the night before Mattie was found. During the struggle with Mattie, the clock was knocked from the wall, and stopped running. The time on the clock was 5:00 a.m. Apparently Mattie had something to do that required her to get an early start, and either she surprised someone in the school house, or they were already there waiting in ambush.” At this time, the Sheriff started mingling with the crowd, and as he spoke, made his way towards the Saloon, where a crowd of cowboys and drifters were loitering. The Sheriff studied each face with care, for he still held an ace up his sleeve. So, as he slowly inspected each mans face, he noticed a man leaning against a post, with his head bent down, and his hat pulled low. Feeling that his instincts were correct, J.P. lowered his hand to hover just above his Colt .45 pistol, and then announced to the crowd. “On the morning Miss Maple was murdered, I inspected her body carefully, since Doc Benson was out of town, and what I found was blood under her fingernails. This tells me that the murderer must surely still be carrying the scars from this confrontation.” By this time, the Sheriff was standing directly in front of the man with the lowered hat, and as the crowd began to separate, the mans hand flashed for his gun. He may have been fast, but J.B. was ready, and as the drifters gun cleared leather, the Sheriff drilled him in the chest. It was not a fatal wound, for the Sheriff didn’t want to deprive these good towns folks of their right to a hanging. The last sound heard as the gun fell silent, was the collective gasps of the onlookers. As the drifter hit the ground, so did his hat, and there for all to see, were three jagged scars, still red, like the blood beneath Miss Maples fingernails.
Posted on: Thu, 09 Oct 2014 04:16:27 +0000
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