Who WAS "Charley Brown"?

The name shown here belongs to someone who lived, served, and died in old Pembina. His name is familiar to some of you through this blog - Charley Brown.

Who was Charley Brown?

According to Chuck Walker, author of "Sheriff Charley Brown," he "...originally joined the Confederate Army and his Grandfather (Admiral Boarman – Union Navy) and his Father - a Sheriff at the time - applied pressure and got him returned home by a Southern Sheriff. He then ran away again and joined the Union Army...Guess he was a wild kid and wanted excitement." By the time he arrived in Dakota Territory, Charley had seen his share of life, and was more settled down. He didn't get to live as long as he might have; from what I understand from Chuck, Charley fell ill and passed away before his time, not that long after the events chronicled in the Sheriff Charley Brown saga...

By the way, Admiral Boarman was Chuck's great grandfather!

Sheriff Charley Brown: The Final Chapter

Well here we are, dear readers, at the final chapter of our tale. And a great tale it has been, about a real place, a real time, and real people. About our own history, told by a local man - a descendent of the main character. While it has a sad ending, there is joy and healing, too. But that is getting ahead of ourselves. It's better if you read it for yourselves...

After the dinner party on Tuesday evening, hosted by Ian and Susan, Marguerite was exhausted. She had been on the go since early morning. She had approached Susan late that evening about another trip to Pembina on Wednesday afternoon, but Susan had questioned. "Do you think it wise?"

"Look, I'm not in love with Charley any longer, but we have had our feelings. And many of them have not gone away. Perhaps it's fortunate we didn't marry, but you don't evade someone because they are sick. Charley has little time left, I just hope I can ease his mind a bit."

Susan conceded, "Then let's go over shortly after lunch. Most of the fieldwork is done, the men are now plowing and hauling grain. Ian's mother and I should be done feeding the crew and cleaning up by two o'clock. Are you going to take Paula along?"

Marguerite knew Susan had no suspicion of Paula's birth; her mother would never disclose that secret. "Perhaps I should, I'd like John Kabernagle and some of my friends in Pembina to see her. After all, I'm mighty proud of Paula!"

On Wednesday afternoon, after the chores were done, Susan put the light harness on their buggy horse. Paula was allowed to help Marguerite lift the shafts as Susan backed the horse to the two-seater.

Crossing on the ferry took only a short while, and Marguerite enjoyed the few minutes speaking with Trudo, the ferryman. When Susan swung the buggy around in front of Charley and John's saloon, John stepped from the door.

"I see there are three lovely ladies to see my partner today. Hello Susan! I hardly see you anymore."

"It's the harvest, John, I've been tied down feeding the threshers. How are Hannah and the girls?"

"Same as ever, Hannah is teaching, and the girls are looking forward to going away for more schooling." John bent to reach out his hand to Paula. "And who is this beautiful young lady who is chaperoning you two?"

Paula spoke up boldly, "My name is Paula Evans, and I'm two and a half years old!" She reached up to take John's hand.

John smiled, "My-my! Nearly three years already; you are growing up mighty fast."

Marguerite spoke up, "I want to show her off to Charley. Is the way clear, upstairs?"

John laughed, "I believe Doc Harris is up there with Charley, but go ahead anyway."

Entering Charley's rooms they heard voices from the bedroom. Marguerite spoke up forcefully, "Can we enter?"

Charley's raspy voice came, "Come in! Come in!"

As they entered the room the doctor was just folding his stethoscope. Charley spoke weakly, "Charles, this is Marguerite Evans and Susan McLaren. If I were to guess, I suspect this lovely little girl is Marguerite's daughter - they look alike. The ladies are old friends who have come to visit this old wreck. Girls, this is my cousin, Doctor Charles Harris."

After greetings were exchanged Paula looked at the doctor quizzically, "Are you a real doctor? I've never seen a real doctor. What is that thing in your hand?"

"Sit on the edge of this bed and I'll show you." Removing a handkerchief from his pocket he carefully wiped the earplugs. "Now I'll put this on your head and you can hear your heart beat." As he carefully put the plugs to her ears and the device to her chest, the expression on her face changed to wonderment.

She said, "It goes lip-tup, lip-tup."

Removing the stethoscope, the doctor said, "That is what your heart sounds like inside you. You can't hear it, but it's working all the time."

After a further minute or two of conversation the doctor left. Marguerite went into the kitchen to get a second chair. After a few minutes of conversation Susan felt unwanted, she finally stood and said, "I've got to stop at the druggist for mother. I'll see you outside when you're done visiting." Smiling at Charley, she added, "You three have a good visit."

Charley made a fuss over Paula; he was obviously surprised at her vocabulary and grasp of words. He bantered back and forth with her while Marguerite watched anxiously. She remembered only too well Charley's remark on Monday, when he had said; I wish she were my child. She had held her breath for moments after his utterance, afraid now that he might be as intuitive as her Mother. Thank the Lord, he was not.

After a half hour Marguerite mentioned that Susan was undoubtedly waiting for them. Paula seemed reluctant to leave, but finally she and Charley shook hands. The serious expression on their faces caused Marguerite concern.

As they were about to leave, he said to Paula, "Are you coming to see me again?'

Margurite spoke up, "I'll try again on Friday or Saturday, as we’re leaving on Monday. I want to see the Geroux's and some others here in town. I don't know when we'll ever get back to St. Vincent again, probably not for a year or more."

When she mentioned her meeting with Charley to her mother, her mother said nothing, just gazed at her without a word. Eventually another subject came up, and the moment passed. Marguerite had promised herself she would never disclose her secret, but was it fair to Charley? Would it make him any happier? If she did tell him, would he keep her secret?

After a half hour of reminiscing, she decided to visit him again on Friday afternoon.

On Thursday Marguerite and Susan visited on the St. Vincent side of the river. They also took a late afternoon lunch out to the men who were plowing. Ian teased Susan, "I suppose you'll expect us to plow late tonight." He turned to Marguerite, "She's a slave driver, but she keeps me honest."

Marguerite had mentioned to all that she would be going to make a last visit to see Charley on Friday afternoon. Her mother had responded, saying, "I would like to go along with you if you don't mind. I'll take the day off from work at the fort and spend a few moments with Charley, then I'll leave you two to mull things over."

Puzzled over her mother's sudden interest, Marguerite hoped her mother had no plans to interfere. As it turned out, Annette did make her excuses after a short visit, leaving the three deep in conversation. Paula on the edge of his bed was avidly studying Charley’s collection of miniature horses while he explained the detailing. Both Charley and Marguerite carefully sidestepped any mention of intimate moments they had shared, discussing the good times, and associations with friends. Charley confided some of his business interests, intimating his cousin Charles was to wind them up after he was gone.

When they parted, Charley insisted Paula take the two small wooden horses she admired the most. Clutching them to her chest she bent to give him a fleeting hug, then kissed him on the cheek. Marguerite, tears showing, bent over to smooth back his hair. Grasping his shoulders, she kissed him on the lips.

As they stood to leave, he murmured, "Those are the two best kisses I've ever had!”

All Friday night and Saturday Marguerite's conscience bothered her. It wasn't until Sunday, after church service, that she made her decision. She borrowed Ian and Susan's buggy and drove back over to see Charley. He was awake when she walked up to his rooms shortly after the noon hour. "I've come to see you a final time. I want to tell you something, but you've got to promise me to keep it a secret. You must swear to me never to divulge what I tell you."

He spoke jestingly, "I'll promise! I'll carry it to my grave. It must be important for you to see me again."

Marguerite's mind was in turmoil, tears began to show as she sat on the edge of his bed. She bent over to clutch him.

Confused, he asked, "What is it, dearest?"

She blurted out, "Paula is your daughter! After that picnic south of the fort, and that same night in this room, I became pregnant. I didn't know it until after I was in Chicago and was married. I've been at wit's end, whether or not to tell you."

For long seconds he was silent, absorbing it all, then he said, "So that's why she and I took to each other instantly, we're so much alike." He twisted his body to face her fully, "I'm proud of you both, and you are right. This must remain a secret. You have a successful marriage and a career to consider."

"Yes, my life with Paul has been a happy one, and as I told you, I am pregnant again."

He attempted to squeeze her hand. "I'm glad you told me, at least I'll be leaving a bit of me." He lay back weakly, musing, as if to himself, his voice hardly audible, "What a stupid man I was, not marrying this fine girl."

Marguerite could see he was drifting into sleep. When he was obviously asleep, she slipped away.

By Monday noon Marguerite and Paula were on their way to Chicago. That afternoon a large bouquet of wild flowers was delivered to Charley. The printing was crude, printed in large block letters. It simply read, “Paula” ...

AUTHOR’S NOTE

PEMBINA PIONEER EXPRESS, October 18, l884 Obituary Notice - Charles J. Brown. Although for weeks the demise of C.J.Brown was looked for almost hourly, yet the news of his death last Saturday evening cast a gloom over the town and county. Looking back a few short months it seems but yesterday when we saw him in full health and vigor, attending to the duties of his office as Sheriff of Pembina County, but the place which knew him once shall no more. The subject of the sketch was born at Berlinsburg, West Virginia, August 14, l845. His father, Thomas Brown was sheriff of Berkley County, W. Virginia, for twelve years, and his grandfather on his mother's side was Admiral Boarman of the U.S. Navy. In l861 he enlisted as a soldier and served till the end of the war, and although he fought in many bloody battles, was captured and imprisoned, he escaped without a wound. At the close of the war he engaged in mercantile pursuits in his native state, but only for a year, when he again enlisted as soldier at Baton Rouge, Louisiana. His regiment was transferred to Fort Pembina in the year l870. In l875 he left the Army and his subsequent life in Pembina County is too well known to require further detail. The funeral last Monday was very largely attended, people assembling from all parts of the county to show their respect for the deceased. The body was interred with Masonic honors, and a company of soldiers from Fort Pembina also joined the procession. Of Chas J. Brown it may be said, he had many friends and few enemies. In his official capacity he never showed a disposition to render any harsher the decrees of the law which it was his duty to execute. With pronounced criminals he was decided and prompt in his treatment, but an element of misfortune always awakened his sympathy and consideration.

Card of thanks: I desire to thank the many kind friends who assisted me in my hour of trouble, the Masonic fraternity, the military and others, who so kindly performed the last sad rites in honor of my deceased son. Mrs. E. R. Brown.

POSTSCRIPT

During my high school years I was raised by my Grandfather, Doctor Charles Boarman Harris, and my Grandmother, Katherine. They were very secretive about Charley's daughter, due to their strict, moral standards. However, I did discover that Charley, just prior to his passing, had charged my Grandfather with the final disposition of his assets, the proceeds to be sent to the young girl for her education and use. That was many years ago. At the time of my teens, she would have been nearly 48 years of age.

Although my grandparents had lost track of her over the years, they often spoke kindly of both she and her Mother. I often heard them express concern over her life, and possible children she may have had.

Charles H. Walker, author of Sheriff Charley Brown

Sheriff Charley Brown: Chapter VIII

Before we get to chapter 8 of Sheriff Charley Brown below the cut, let's take a look at the very real Charles Brown that the book is based on.

From the 1880 Federal Census:

Charles J. Brown
Home in 1880: Pembina, Pembina, Dakota Territory
Age: 35
Estimated birth year: abt 1845
Birthplace: Virginia
Relation to head-of-household: Brother-in-law
Father's birthplace: Virginia
Mother's birthplace: Virginia
Neighbors: View others on page
Occupation: Farmer
Marital Status: Single
Race: White
Gender: Male
Cannot read/write:
Blind:
Deaf and dumb:
Otherwise disabled:
Idiotic or insane:
Household Members:
Name Age
James Robb 34 [head of household]
Mary E. Robb 24
Annie E. Robb 6M
Eliza R. Brown 59
Charles J. Brown 35
Matilda A. Tuschimsky 16
Mary A. Keyes 21
John Kabernagle 28
Herbert L. Norton 25
Oscar Close 35
James Smith 22

Chapter 8

It was after 7 p.m. when Charley got back to town. When he crossed the bridge he found the toll-taker absent from his post -- the lad probably not wanting to miss the Saturday night excitement. The weekend crowd on the main street area was at a fever pitch because of the tragedy. Approaching his saloon he found it necessary to crowd his horse in among others at the hitching rail.

Untying the pigging strings on his saddle he removed his saddlebags, bedroll and canteen. After sliding his rifle from its scabbard, he unlocked the door leading to his upstairs rooms to place his gear just inside the door. After re-locking the door he entered the saloon.

Inside, he found men standing two-deep at the bar. Boisterous groups surrounded the billiard tables and he noted with approval that his partner had put on two extra bartenders. He almost laughed aloud. Judas, I'll bet John thinks he's in Heaven. A sobering thought came when he realized that it was today’s tragedy that had brought about this false prosperity. Pushing slowly through the congested room he eased around the corner of the bar to find breathing space. John, who was at the opposite end of the bar, waved to get his attention. He was pointing toward the card tables in the rear of the room. "Someone there wants to see you," he shouted.

Wending between the customers his eyes caught sight of a gaunt looking man seated at one of the tables wearing a dilapidated, floppy-brimmed, gray felt hat. Can't be! Charley thought, that can't be Eugene! Then recognition came. By gosh! It’s him! He found his voice rising in excitement at seeing his cousin, "Eugene! When did you get here?"

Piercing blue eyes peered up at him slyly from under the edge of the hat-brim. "That you, Charley? You invited me to come West, when I got here, you were gone. What kind of a reception is that?" He stood slowly, extending his hand. "Why it's been 13 years -- I see you aren't the skinny kid anymore. Your partner tells me you're one of the high mucky-mucks of town."

Charley noted the cards, the money on the table, and shook his head in mock dispare. "Gene, you haven't changed a bit! Still up to your old poker-playing tricks." Addressing the others seated around the table, he smiled. "This close-mouthed codger is my cousin Eugene. Just call him Gene. He used to skin us of all our money when we were kids. Keep an eye on him. He's honest, but he's a good at what he does."

Eugene advised soberly, "Charley, if I was you, I'd get over to that big hotel in the next block and greet your Mother. We've been here two days and she's ready to have a fit."

"My gosh, she's really here?"

"She's here. Took the trip like the lady she is -- loaded with baggage and two big trunks -- just like a woman."

"Where are you staying?"

"Same hotel."

"I'll be back in an hour or so. I live upstairs and there's an extra bed for you. Don't go away, I'll be back." Easing through the throng he stopped briefly at the end of the bar to speak with his partner, "My Mother is at Geroux's hotel. I'm on my way. My horse is tied outside. When you have time will you ask someone to take it over to Mason’s? Have him tell Joe to give the bay a good rubdown and a bait of oats. It's been a long, hard day."

During his brief walk to the hotel he thought about possible changes in his mother. She must be fifty-four now; Pa would have been fifty-seven. An insidious thought came: I wonder if she's as domineering and caustic as she used to be? He remembered long ago the many times his mouth had been washed with soap and rag when he swore, and the many times her index finger had snapped against the back of his head when he failed to instantly obey. He shook his head in frustration, finding himself having second thoughts. Maybe I made a mistake in bringing her out here!

Geroux was at the hotel desk when he entered. He smiled, pointing toward the dining room. "Your Mother is at supper."

Passing through the curtain-draped doorway he found the dining room well occupied, but quiet, with muted conversation. Gazing around the room he recognized most of the occupants. Then his eyes settled on a light-haired woman seated with Mrs. Geroux and two other ladies. Her features slowly came to mind. The years had made changes, yet she was still an attractive woman. Her golden hair was now sprinkled with grey and fine webs showed on her cheeks. In addition, he noted the years had added weight. Shrugging off his appraisal, he approached the table. His mother was speaking with another woman when he placed his hand upon her shoulder.

"Mother!"

Turning in surprise, she gazed up at him momentarily, then stood quickly to hug him. She was smiling as his arms enveloped her; he could feel the intensity of her emotion, her arms clenched around his neck and she rained kisses upon his cheek. Releasing him, she looked him over slowly from head to foot. "You're just as tall as ever, and you've filled out like your Father." She turned to the other ladies. "Please forgive me, but I haven't seen my son for years." She laughed almost breathlessly, "We've so much to talk over." Grasping her small reticule, she turned to Charley. "Let's go up to my room."

Facing the other ladies at the table, Charley bowed briefly and said, "Please excuse us." Taking his mother's arm, he led her to the wide staircase leading to the second floor.

"Gene is somewhere about the town," she said. "His room is next to mine. We arrived Wednesday morning on the train and the depot agent was kind enough to bring us over to this hotel." She handed him her room key as they reached the top of the staircase.

"I met Gene a few minutes ago and hurried over to see you. Tell me about your trip and how everyone is back home."

Entering her room she sat on the edge of the bed while he moved a chair from the dresser. She smiled, "I can't get over your size. You were always so thin and active. You look like your Father now."

"And probably take after him too," he smiled. "Pa was sheriff of Berkley County for 12 years before he died. Now, I'm the sheriff here -- have been since '75. Oh, I farm a bit, have a quarter section of land along the border, also I'm half owner of a sample store. My partner is John Kabernagel, one of my best friends. Speaking of being active," he said ruefully, "I still am. Just got in from a trip dealing with Indians. On our way home we ran into a prairie fire and were delayed. I was with an Army unit so had to investigate the matter, then report to the fort. How was your trip to Dakota? It must have been tedious."

"We left Harper's Ferry on Sunday evening and traveled in one of Mr. Pullman's sleeping cars all the way to St. Paul. The further trip to St. Vincent took 20 hours and there were no facilities for resting. Have you been able to find accommodations for me?"

"I have a house in mind; it's new, just completed. Fortunately, it's still vacant. It's quite large and has two stories, but perhaps that's to the good. There are seven rooms, including a fine front parlor for entertaining, a good-sized kitchen, a privy and small stable. The pump in the kitchen is hooked to a well. You may even be able to rent out the upper floor. If so, it will require an outside staircase. I'll take you over to see it tomorrow morning, say after 9 o'clock. By the way, how is Charles Harris doing in his new medical practice at Charlestown?"

"I don't think he's happy there. There are too many doctors in the town and there is little cash due to the war. The carpetbaggers have taken over everything of value and the freed blacks are stealing what's left."

"I've written him, telling him of the territory and how it's opening up. The only doctor hereabout is military, and not obligated to serve civilians. Thank goodness, he does though. He's a man with a conscience."

His mother appeared hollow-eyed and tired. He noticed the beginnings of swollen knuckles on her hands and the small wrinkles surrounding them. The long ago freckles on her arms had deepened to tan blotches interspersed with lighter shades, the result of aging. He noted her facial features still retained evidence of her former beauty, but there was just a touch of deepening folds beneath her eyes. He knew his father had led her a hard life, he being a dedicated churchman and harsh disciplinarian. His habits have somehow worn off on her too, he realized.

Rising to his feet, he said, "You must be tired. I'll come by the hotel tomorrow morning." He was smiling. "We can look at Nixon's house after breakfast."

"Wonderful! I do feel worn-out, although it's still early in the evening. Will you be seeing Eugene again later?"

"Yes, I'll be working until closing time at the store."

Returning to the saloon he donned an apron and began washing the stack of glasses in the zinc sink. Business had slowed somewhat so he relieved one of the extra bartenders. An occasional glance toward the poker table told him that his cousin was doing well. He had a substantial stack of coins and bills in front of him. At 1 a.m. John rapped a heavy beer mug on the bar and shouted, "Time! Time!"

Gene approached Charley as the last customers left. He stood silently watching his cousin wash glassware until Charley tossed him a towel. "If you're going to stand around, make yourself useful."

By 1:30 the bar was ready for the morning opening and Kabernagle bid them goodnight. Charley picked up a nearly full bottle from behind the bar, and then turned to Gene. "Might as well come upstairs with me. We'll have a lick and talk things over. There's a spare bedroom and the sheets are clean."

Picking up his rifle and gear inside the door, Charley led the way up the dark staircase. At the top, he advised, "Hold it until I can see better." Striking a match, he led the way into his living room. Dropping his equipment on a sofa, he tilted the chimney of a kerosene lamp and touched the flame to the wick. Picking up the lamp he led the way to the kitchen. After lighting a second lamp, he opened the kitchen window. Turning, he asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Nope, but I'll partake of some of what's in that bottle. It'll be my first drink of the evening. Never touch it when I play cards. Only fools do -- then they get careless. Say, have you found a place for your Mother?"

"Yup! A new house -- good sized, I hope she'll like it. There are mighty few places available. You might as well stay with me until you're settled. There's still some land up for grabs, but none close by. LaMoure, a friend of mine, mentioned that a few quarters are still available for homesteading just east of Hamilton. It's pretty far out though, nearly 15 miles. You thinking of getting back into the bee business?"

"It'll take some time," Gene said thoughtfully. "Have to make boxes and find honey trees to get bees for a start. They've invented a new prepared wax now, pressed out like bee cells. It's said to speed up honey production. I'll have to find a place of my own with room for a shed. Might do a little farming too if I can find some land."

Charley put two glasses on the table, pouring a generous measure into each. Picking up his glass, he held it up toward Gene. "Here's a toast to your future success! I'll introduce you to our land agent early Monday morning. His name is Nelson. He'll know what's still available for homesteading, also other properties that may be for sale. If you're able to homestead, are you planning to live on the land, or in town? I'd recommend your living in town because there's no shelter on the open prairie and our winters can be mighty severe."

"Isn't there any land available that already has tree cover?"

"The only forested areas are along the rivers; that's already been grabbed up. However that's another way to get land title to a quarter section, plant trees. It's called filing a tree claim. Its hard work, but a lot of farmers do it to gain an additional quarter of land after homesteading a first quarter.

"Is there any chance Charles can be talked into coming out here? I wrote him at the same time I did you, but I got no answer."

"I spoke with him before I left, he's undecided. There are too many doctors practicing in Charlestown and he's not doing well. People keep going to the old army doctors and most of them are quacks that never went to a medical school. They're just a bunch of damn frauds. However, age seems to have its advantages."

"I know what you mean. We had a fine doctor in town, but he died of diphtheria a year ago. Now our only doctor lives out at the fort; he's contracted to the Army. He's a gentleman though, treats any and all, but is overtaxed. Charles could develop a good practice here."

Eugene pondered aloud, "The war took nearly everything our family had. I'll write Mother and my sisters, Pauline and Josephine. If anyone can talk Charles into moving out here, it will be the girls. If everything works out as I plan, and when I'm secure, I'll send for all three. There is darn little future for them back there."

Charley tiredly poured them each another half glass of whiskey. "Gene, I've ridden my horse over sixty miles today and I need sleep. After this shot I'm hitting the bed. Your room is the one nearest the stairs. I'll leave the other lamp for you."

Eugene gazed casually around the room, noting that every piece of furniture was old and showed wear. Charley evidently hadn't gained much appreciation for the finer things in life. Just like Charley, he thought, he’s too practical. A woman would certainly make a lot of changes in his life!

On Thursday morning while performing her housekeeping chores at Geroux's hotel, Marguerite was held in abeyance. The woman residing in room 201 rejected all efforts to clean her room until nearly noon. When finally allowed entrance the woman graciously complimented Marguerite upon her appearance. Marguerite sensed it as a sop tossed her way for the inconvenience the woman had caused.

"You are certainly an attractive young lady. You have a certain aura of appeal and comeliness about you. What is your name?"

"I'm Marguerite Grant. I live in St. Vincent, just across the river."

The woman was inquisitive, "Are you from a large family? Do you have brothers and sisters?"

"Only one sister. She is married to a farmer in Minnesota."

"I am Mrs. Brown, my dear. Do you know the sheriff? He is my son."

Marguerite was startled at this disclosure, and felt her face warming. An immediate question came, has someone informed her that Charley and I are lovers, or is this a coincidence? She evaded the question by asking, "Are you visiting in town, Mrs. Brown?"

"No, I plan on buying a house and living here permanently. I arrived only yesterday; I was accompanied here by my nephew."

Instinct told Marguerite to be cautious. Tongue in cheek, she said, "I know of Sheriff Brown. He is said to be a fair man."

"Does he have any lady friends?"

Marguerite attempted to evade the question. "I suspect he is a normal man. He must have lady friends."

"I hope he travels with quality folks; I'll have to ask him."

"Would you like your bed linen changed? It will only take a moment."

"No, just remake the bed and do what is necessary to clean the room. I will be leaving for lunch soon."

Marguerite had a premonition of disaster. Quality folks indeed! My heavens, if this is Charley's mother, no wonder he ran away from home and now evades marriage. She seems quite domineering and stuffy. Hurriedly she tidied the room and departed, her housekeeping work done until 5 p.m. when she would help serve supper. She questioned herself, how should she approach Charley about this? Should she even mention meeting his mother?

She knew he had gone west to the hills on Monday and probably wouldn't be back until the weekend. On Sunday Ian and Susan planned a final fall outing and she intended to invite Charley if he returned in time.

On Friday morning she hesitated until nearly noon before again knocking on the door of room 201. When Mrs. Brown opened the door and allowed Marguerite inside, she asked no further questions, seemingly engaged with her appearance. Some inner sense told Marguerite to avoid any conversation, so she hastily completed her necessary chores.

Early on Saturday morning, her day off, she entered Susan's back door to find her sister and brother-in-law at breakfast.

"Charley back yet?" Ian inquired.

"I haven't heard a thing; he thought he'd be back sometime today."

"Gee, I hope he makes it in time for our picnic." Susan murmured. "I hope tomorrow won't be cold and overcast. After all, it's getting pretty late in the fall."

Marguerite could barely contain herself; she began to smile. "Wait until you hear the news at the hotel. Believe it or not, on Wednesday morning Charley's mother arrived on the train; she's staying at Geroux's."

"You're kidding!" Susan's eyes grew.

"I've cleaned her room twice and she pumped me about Charley. Wanted to know if he had lady friends, quality lady friends."

"She sounds a bit vain." Ian commented.

Marguerite felt a bit distressed. "She's that all right. Charley told me that was one of the reasons he ran away from home. He said she ruled the roost."

"Oh, Marguerite, perhaps she's not as bad as you think. Every mother wants the best for her sons and daughters." Susan seemed sympathetic.

"I'm not worried about her, but if Charley arrives late today, he'll probably work with John in the saloon tonight. I can't chase in there to invite him to the picnic, he'd be embarrassed."

"He'll be at early mass tomorrow. You'll see him then," Susan suggested.

"I hope so, but his mother may take up much of his time. She's no doubt also a Catholic, and he'll feel he has to attend services with her. Gosh, I wonder what she'll say when she finds out I'm his quality friend? Me? Why I'm part Indian!"

The two girls broke into laughter.

It was two o'clock that afternoon when the church bells rang frantically, calling for men to fight the prairie fire. Wagons hastily loaded with civilians and railroad workers sped to the scene. Because of the high wind no hope was held to stop the fire. The day was spent preventing the edges of the fire from spreading further, and in assisting locals whose buildings had been burned out.

Charley, together with his cousin Gene attended early mass the following morning. Because of the horrible tragedy of yesterday, the church was crowded. The two men were finally able to squeeze into a pew directly behind the girls. When Marguerite reached back over her shoulder, she beckoned; Charley leaned forward to hear her whisper, "See you after church. Will you picnic with us this afternoon?"

During the remainder of the service he wondered just who she meant. When church was over he met the girls outside the door. Marguerite wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, and carried a small parasol that she was twirling with almost a flourish. When he introduced Eugene to Susan and Marguerite, he noted the surprised look on his cousin's face. He also noted the quick interest and attentiveness Eugene showed. His cousin was voluble.

"Charley may be unlucky at cards, but he's certainly lucky at love!"

Marguerite felt herself blushing; Susan laughed aloud, and then said, "Charley's a bit bashful, but I can see you're not."

Charley broke in, "I've got to take mother to see the house Nixon has for sale. I'll most likely have lunch with her, but I'll break away to meet you soon afterward. Where are you planning to picnic?"

"Out at Fern Valley; there'll be Ian, Susan, you and I." Suddenly she remembered Eugene's presence. Turning to him, Marguerite asked abashedly, "Would you like to join us? We have plenty of food."

Smiling, he shook his head. "An extra man on a picnic would be a wet blanket. 'Sides, I want to walk about the town and get acquainted."

She smiled, feeling relieved. "Some other time then." At that moment Ian appeared in his buggy. He had come to pick up the girls. After introducing Eugene to Ian, the two men assisted the girls onto the buggy seat. As Ian drove away, Eugene commented, "Where did you find that beauty? She's lovely -- seems mighty likeable!"

"She's a wonderful woman too!"

Eugene hesitated, "Perhaps I shouldn't ask this, but hasn't she a little Indian blood in her?"

"Yes, and that's my problem." Charley sighed.

Eugene's eyes snapped, "You're a darn fool if you let that bother you!"

Charley's mother was enthusiastic about the house. "Its fine, but I really don't need all that room upstairs. Could an outside stairs be added so I could rent the upper floor? You'd know more about that than me." Then she queried, "What is this man Nixon asking for the house?"

"He wants $1250 cash and that seems fair. It's got an outside cistern to hold rainwater from the roof. The pump in the kitchen is hooked to it. In the winter we usually melt river ice for cooking and drinking purposes. According to Doctor Flint at the fort its good policy to boil all well and ice water used for drinking purposes. He says it prevents typhoid, and in most cases cholera."

"Son, I have two bank drafts that I'll have to deposit tomorrow. Can you arrange for an attorney to take care of the legal matters of the house?"

"I'll see Bob Ewing tomorrow. You'll need to have an icehouse built. I'll see to it. What are you going to do for household goods?"

"The hotel will have to do for a few days until I can find time to buy the basics. Doesn’t any local store handle furniture? I brought necessary linens along with me."

"Most of what you'll find in the stores is durable, but not plush. You may want to order from a St. Paul house. However, that's no problem; rail delivery is prompt."

"Where is Eugene?"

"After church we had breakfast together, then he wanted to see the town. I have a hunch he's looking for a place of his own. Let's go back to the hotel, it's nearly time for lunch."

His mother was inquisitive, "Are you busy this afternoon?"

"Yes, Mother, I am. My work keeps me mighty busy."

"Do you have a lady friend? Are you contemplating marriage in the near future?"

Her pointed questions irritated him. He looked her in the eye. "Mother, that's my personal business. I won't be questioned about my innermost thoughts."

She studied the determined look on her son's face speculatively. I'm sure he has a lady friend he plans to meet this afternoon. In retrospect, she recalled his secretiveness and independent nature as a youth. He hasn't changed a bit, she realized. He's always been headstrong and independent, a copy of his father. He proved that when he joined the Army and went off to war at 16 years of age. He'll never tell me anything of his personal life, but I'll find out eventually. I'll make friends and meet his associates. Nothing can be hidden from me, for long.

While eating lunch with his mother Charley contemplated the pleasant afternoon ahead. Fern Valley, as it was called, was only a short distance southwest of town. It lay on a low, shady shelf along the Pembina River, free of burdock, nettles and sundry weeds. The shaded area favored only the growth of finely textured, pale green, native ferns.

He was jolted out of his reverie by the approach of the local telegrapher, Nelson E. Nelson, who leaned over his shoulder to hand him a telegram.

"This came in late yesterday and in the excitement I set it aside and plumb forgot it. It's from Winnipeg and concerns a horse thief. Sorry, it just slipped my mind!"

After briefly introducing the telegrapher to his mother, Charley opened the telegram. It read: Sheriff Brown, Pembina, Dakota Territory. Valuable riding horse stolen, bay with white front stockings, suspect named Nesbit, believed headed south to border. s/R.C.Sinclair, c/o Magistrate, Winnipeg.

Excusing himself, Charley arose from the table and retrieved his hat from an adjoining chair. "I may see you again this evening, Mother. Meanwhile, I've urgent business to attend to.

He knew that if the thief had passed through town, he more than likely had crossed the river on the Pembina toll bridge. The operator there would surely remember the horse since there was little traffic on a Sunday. The bridge attendant was a young lad, the son of the bridge owner. His wore ragged trousers, long outgrown in length, exposed his long, thin shanks. Bare elbows protruded from his worn shirtsleeves, a shirt brazenly open in the front, due to missing buttons.

"That horse hasn't crossed here today, sheriff. I've been here since daylight, and Jim was supposed to be here at noon. If you see him, tell him to get over here or Pa will whip his ass."

"George, it's possible the man has taken another route, but keep a sharp eye will you? It's a stolen horse and I want the rider."

"I'll tell Jim if he ever gets here."

"You do that. Remember, it's a bay horse with white on the forelegs. Don't try to stop the man, he may be dangerous. Just get word to me."

Climbing the hill from the bridge, Charley stopped briefly at his quarters to pick up a jacket, knowing that it would cool rapidly in the late afternoon. After saddling his horse at the stable, he stopped momentarily to alert the hostler about the stolen animal.

Following the section line road west for two miles he turned south to the river. On the high bank ahead he found Ian's buggy parked under a large elm. Dismounting, he ground-reined his horse, and then loosened the saddle girth. He noted Ian has wisely tied the reins of his horse to a spoke of one buggy wheel. Walking into the profuse growth of chest-high ferns he noted a few already turning an ugly brown-black, the result of the shortening days and ever-cooling nights of the late season. Leaves of golden and yellow hues were already matted on the ground from the occasional tree.

He found Ian and the girls at a small clearing on the edge of the high bank overlooking the river. They had spread a large wool blanket on the ground between two trees. Ian was reclining against the larger tree, Susan lying back in his arms. Marguerite seemed busy removing food from a large basket. She smiled up at him. "We heard you coming. You sounded like a moose."

Charley dropped to the blanket. "Not many of them left around here -- haven't seen one in months."

"What took you so long to get here?"

"It's not yet two o'clock. Also I ran into a small matter of a horse thief supposed to be coming across the line from Canada. Anyway, he evidently hasn't come through town."

"Probably turned toward Walhalla or maybe to the east,"

Ian suggested. "Say, I hear your Mother is in town."

"News travels fast. How did you know?"

"I told him." Marguerite caught Charley's eye. "I cleaned her room on Thursday and Friday. She asked if I knew you."

Charley looked amused. "And what did you say?" Marguerite tossed her head back. "She also asked me if you had lady friends, quality lady friends."

He caught the sudden glint of anger in her eyes. "You didn't take her seriously, did you?"

"Seriously enough to realize she won't approve of me."

Susan sat up abruptly. "Now you two quit that! We came to picnic, not start a fight!"

"There won't be any fight," Charley said. "My Mother doesn't control me and never has. I'm my own man; I've always made my own decisions.

He crabbed sideways to move alongside Marguerite, and then reached out to pull her close. Smiling, he said, "The best way to quiet you down is to kiss you. I'm going to do just that!"

Her pretended struggle lasted only seconds, and then she succumbed to his ardor. Susan lay back contentedly against Ian. She was smiling when she turned to wink at her husband.

After moments, Maguerite broke away to remove plates from the basket, distributing food on each. Gazing at Ian and her sister, she said plaintively, "If you two lovers want to eat, move a little closer. Charley, get the glasses from the hamper and open the lemonade. If any of you want something stronger, there's a bottle of Mom's dandelion wine in the basket." She turned to Charley. "There's nothing fancy, just fried chicken, potato salad, sweet pickles and odds and ends."

Susan stood, stretching out her arms. She had removed her shoes and stockings and began pirouetting on the edge of the blanket. She looked down at her complacent husband.

"If we only had music, I'd love to dance!"

Ian rose to his knees and leaned forward to pick up a plate. "There's to be a social in Emerson next weekend. Maybe we can make it." He reached out to grasp a second plate, handing it to Susan. "Lets eat before the chicken gets cold and the ants show up."

Susan turned to him. "No ants silly, it's been too cold for them. They've gone to earth for the winter."

Charley neglected the lemonade to open the bottle of wine. As he cut out the cork with a penknife he looked to Marguerite longingly. She hesitated in her eating to stare back. He felt embarrassed at the sudden turn of passion that surged through him, knowing Ian and Susan could read his thoughts. How lovely and demure she looked. Her dark eyes almost devoured him, and the long, dark lashes and the heavy braids that hung down each side of her full breasts completed the picture. He realized she would age well, still look beautiful as the years passed. Her fine bone structure and golden complexion would always give her a young, virginal look. He wanted to express his total feeling, but it was shyness and a personal guilt that prevented it.

Sated with food they lolled on the blanket, Charley's head resting in Marguerite's lap. Ian and Susan had moved back to the tree, both were relaxed, almost lethargic.

Rising, Charley grasped Marguerite's hand, drawing her to her feet. The sudden move caught her off balance as he pulled her close. A sudden surge of excitement enveloped her as he kissed her, almost crushing her against his chest. Breaking free, she took his hand, tugging him from the blanket. Silently they moved through the ferns for some distance before she sank to her knees, drawing him down. Sliding her arms around his neck she became aware of the sudden heat and desire, a desire she was prepared for.

Charley gradually lay back, forcing the ferns to become matted beneath them. He began to explore every part of her, thrusting the openings of her blouse aside to expose the golden breasts between which he thrust his head, kissing them feverishly. Finally, fully exposed to his view, he almost gasped at her beauty.

Grasping his head she pulled him down upon her, wanting him to quench the building fire within her, a fire that took long minutes to satisfy. At the culmination a brief prayer ran through her mind. “Lord, make my womb be fruitful; I want a child!"

An hour later they broke apart and returned to find Ian and Susan locked together in sleep. They had covered themselves with a second blanket. Dropping to her knees Marguerite began gathering the plates, scraping the remains noisily to the side.

Susan awoke and began tickling Ian. "The party is over, the lovers have returned." She shivered briefly, "Gosh, it's getting chilly!" Scrambling to her feet she assisted repacking the basket. Charley stood sheepishly by as he contemplated Ian's questioning gaze. A guilty feeling came, which he tried, unsuccessfully, to cast off. He would have liked to have ridden back in the buggy beside Marguerite, but realized it was impossible; the single-seat on the Democrat was barely wide enough for three. At times he rode beside the buggy, close to Marguerite, exchanging warm glances with her. When the road narrowed, he was forced to drop behind.

It was nearing noon the following day when he walked past Scribner and Johnson's Ragged Edge Saloon and spotted the bay horse with the white stockings. He guessed it at 1050 pounds and about 15½ hands. Even from across the street he realized the quality of the animal and its approximate value. The highly polished saddle was of an English style; the bridle hardware obviously of the best.

Removing the badge from his vest as he crossed the street, he tucked it into an inside pocket. Opening the light screen door he entered, noting the surprised look on the face of Johnson, who was tending bar. Shaking his head negatively at the saloon owner, he prevented the customary greeting. The lone patron standing at the bar cast a casual glance in his direction, and then appeared disinterested.

Charley ordered a beer, and then began sipping it casually as the bartender watched with a sudden interest, suspecting something was in the wind. Turning to the stranger, Charley commented, "You must be from across the line. I don't believe I've ever seen you before."

The man turned slowly. "Just got in this morning."

Charley moved closer to the man, "Might your name be Nesbit?"

The expression on the thief's face hardened, then determination set in. Wildly he swung his heavy beer mug at Charley's face as he spun to flee. The sheriff had been awaiting the reaction and ducking the missile, grasped the thief by his coat sleeve. Swinging him around, Charley planted a heavy fist into the man's face. Blood erupted from the stunned man's nose as silent moments passed. Finally Nesbit cried, "You bastard, you've broken my nose!"

The sheriff grasped his shoulder, propelling him toward the door. "You started it, I just finished it. If you behave yourself when I get you to the jail, I'll get you a plaster for it."

Turning to Johnson, he smiled, "Oscar, I'll send someone to pick up the bay horse tied out front. It was stolen in Winnipeg. This man is a horse thief."

"You sure raise hell with my business, Charley. He's the only customer I've had all morning." Johnson smiled wryly.

After pausing briefly at the jail to lock Nesbit up, Charley stopped at the telegraph office to notify the magistrate in Winnipeg that the thief had been apprehended and horse recovered. Proceeding to his saloon, he began slicing cold cuts from a roast John's wife, Hannah, had prepared. While relating his luck in finding the thief to his partner, he mused aloud, "It's really Jud's problem as U.S. Marshal, but the county commissioners won't want the expense of feeding and guarding the prisoner. Since Jud is out of town I'll take Nesbit to the federal court in Fargo, tomorrow. Before I forget it I'd better take that horse over to Mason's corral."

It was decidedly cool on Tuesday morning when deputy Bill Moorhead drove the sheriff and his prisoner to catch the train at the St. Vincent depot. Charley had taken the precaution of handcuffing his man prior to boarding the cars. Now, he seated Nesbit next to the window in the passenger coach. Seating himself alongside Nesbit, he propped his feet across on the opposite seat and said softly, "Behave yourself and everything will go well. Make trouble and you'll serve more time. We'll be arriving in Fargo before supper, then I'll see you properly fed."

The conductor evinced interest in the prisoner when he came along to punch their tickets. "See you're going to Fargo, sheriff. What's the man done?"

Charley looked up, disgruntled at the interruption. "He won't be any problem to you." From his brief reply it was obvious to the trainman that the sheriff wanted privacy.

"I hope not," the trainman replied hastily as he moved on. He knew rejection when he saw it.

Pretending to doze, Charley was aware of the tenseness in his prisoner. He knew Nesbit was awaiting the opportunity to make a break for freedom; it was only a matter of time, and the right circumstance. At Detroit Lakes, east of Fargo, they were forced to change trains to catch the local going west to Fargo. Immediately after boarding the car, and before the train pulled out of the station, Nesbit turned to Charley. "Gotta go to the crapper; I'm about to explode."

Charley smiled knowingly, "Hold it a few more minutes. You can't use the toilet until the train is in motion." Minutes later the sheriff escorted his prisoner to the toilet and waited outside the door for Nesbit to perform his ablutions. Over the noise of the clacking wheels, and the rumbling and shaking of the train Charley thought he heard the sounds of glass being broken. Trying the door, he found it locked on the inside. Pounding on it vigorously, he shouted, "Nesbit, open up! Unlock the door!" Finally, after long seconds of being ignored, he raised his boot to kick at the lock. The bronze latch snapped and the narrow door crashed inward. Nesbit was frantically attempting to squeeze through the small window. Grasping his arm Charley savagely dragged him back inside just as Nesbit was nearly free. The culprit smiled defiantly, "Well, it was a good try, and I'll do it again if I have a chance."

Charley was disgusted with himself. "Yes, and now you'll do extra time in jail for attempting to escape. I'll see to it, since I'm probably stuck to pay for a lock and the window repair!"

Charley's mother, Eliza, wasted little time becoming acquainted in the community. Firmly established in her new home, she immediately became active in church affairs. She soon gained acceptance at occasional afternoon teas and evening soirees. She listened graciously to all conversation and gossip, relegating herself to the position of an agreeable, but passive participant.

It was while attending an afternoon tea at the Seward home that her ears perked up at the mention of Charley's name, spoken at a nearby table.

"When is the sheriff going to marry that Grant girl? He's been escorting her about for nearly two years now."

A garrulous voice answered. "Oh, he'll never marry her, she's just a breed. You know how single men are, any available tramp will do."

All conversation suddenly ceased; all ears waited expectantly. Suddenly an angry, spirited voice spoke up. Eliza recognized the speaker as Mrs. Mostyn, a local portrait painter and instructor in art.

"She is no tramp! She's a lovely girl! She's also a beautiful girl and smart as a whip! She's been taking art lessons from me and the oils she's completed are remarkable. Why, they're good enough to sell! She'll go a long way! Furthermore, she could have any man in town if she chose!” Mrs. Mostyn turned angrily to the nearby table.

"Hershlet! If you can't say anything nice about Marguerite, bite your tongue!"

Eliza heard sudden audible gasps of shock that arose, and noted several faces that turned toward her in sympathy, indicating their embarrassment. Yet, two or three of the faces showed a feral delight at Eliza's discomfort.

She pretended indifference throughout the remainder of the party, but she would well remember her chagrin.

Her temper arose slowly and her face warmed when she realized: Why, that's the girl who cleaned my room at Geroux's hotel when I first arrived in Pembina! That Charley would shame me so! To stoop so low as to consort publicly with a breed girl! Her indignation finally gave way to practicality. At least he hasn't married her! Deeply upset, she determined to do everything possible to disrupt their association, even to the point of virtually destroying the girl verbally if need be. I'll nip this in the bud she determined!

Thanking her hostess at the conclusion of the party, she was surprised to find Mrs. Mostyn waiting for her at the outside gate.

"Eliza, we were all embarrassed by Hershlet's big mouth. She's a tongue-wagger with little common sense. Perhaps her cattiness comes from the fact that her husband left her months ago. It's said he supports her financially, but refuses to live with her. She's a bit pathetic. Be that as it may, I meant what I said about Marguerite Grant. I don't know how you feel about so-called Indian taint, but there are good and bad people in every race. She and her sister, Susan, are exceptional. Both have persisted in their schooling, and both are hard workers. They've had to be; their so-called father is no-good. It's well known around town that Charley escorts Marguerite occasionally. Heavens, I know several mothers who have pushed their daughters at Charley without any success.”

Tugging on her gloves, she noted the bitter look on Eliza's face. A look that spoke eloquently of her disgust and disappointment.

"Well, enough of my meddling". She looked up at the waning sun as she turned away, "It was a beautiful day, but it's getting quite chilly now."

The shame Eliza felt seemed to burn throughout her fully. I'll have no breed for a daughter-in-law! If Charley marries her that girl, I'll have nothing to do with her.

Sheriff Charley Brown: Chapter XVI

It was a wan, worn-out Charley Brown that finally arrived at the St. Vincent depot just as darkness fell. It had been January 3 when he delivered his prisoner to the Detroit penitentiary, now it was February 17.

The very day he arrived in Detroit he had come down with a high fever and an unshakable cold. He had spent over a month confined to a hospital room, most of the time comatose. He was being treated by a doctor whose talents, Charley suspected, were of a limited knowledge. He was subjected to constant hot mustard plasters, and of having his window open to admit freezing cold, fresh air. Gingerly, Charley reached as far down his neck as possible to relieve the itching left by the hot plasters. Having been abed for so long, and being fed only liquids, he realized it would be days before he would again regain his full vigor.

When the train fully stopped, he raised from his seat to remove his carpetbag from the high baggage rack. A sudden light-headiness, accompanied by a blacking out sensation, made him reach quickly to grasp the back of the seat. Hesitating momentarily to regaining his equilibrium, he turned to walk to the end of the car just as a blast of cold air rolled in from the now open vestibule door. Upon his reaching the exit, the porter, noting Charley's unstable walk, courteously reached to take his bag. Finally stepping down to the icy platform, Charley came face to face with Carl Gooding, the St. Vincent depot agent. Gooding reached out to take Charley's valise from the porter.

"Heard you were sick, Charley. I expected you back three weeks ago. John said you sent a note early in January, saying you were in a hospital."

"A touch of pneumonia, Carl. I was sick as the devil for a while, and for a few days lost touch with reality. I'm fine now, just a little rickety." He smiled, "A few square meals will fix me up."

"We wondered about you. Anyway, if you'll wait a few minutes I'll give you a ride over to Pembina."

Charley spied the mail and express carrier who was loading bags from the express car. "Maybe I can catch a ride with Leifer, the Icelander. He should be leaving soon."

"That's fine with me, but he hasn't any robes on his sleigh and it's mighty cold."

They walked to the mail carrier's sleigh where Gooding placed Charley's bag behind the seat. "Got a passenger for you Bjorn. Charley needs a ride across the river."

"Ya, sure. Yump on."

When the carrier's sleigh reached the top of the hill at Pembina, he drew his team to a stop. Charley thanked him, stepped off, and then turned toward his saloon. Entering, he was greeted profusely by old cronies and others who waved perfunctorily. Dropping his bag, he turned to John who hurriedly approached.

"You worried the hell out of me! It's been a month since you wrote. Why didn't you dash off a letter after that one telegram in early January?"

"I was just too sick -- darn near croaked according to the doctor."

"Well, you're going to be a lot sicker when I tell you the news. Highwater Bill has done it again! He's gone and arrested Frank LaRose for murdering that kid of Nancy LeRoque's.

"Be damned, he really did it?"

"He sure did, and furthermore, it's suspected Frank recently murdered his wife."

"When did all this happen?"

"Just a few days ago."

Charley looked stunned. "Bill wanted me to lock up LaRose, then leave him in charge of the jail, but I refused. He has it in his head that if he could get Frank into jail he could force him into admitting he killed Nancy LeRoque's daughter."

"Geez! You've had us all wild. Marguerite has been worried sick about you. She's stopped by several times and she's never stepped in the door of our saloon before. She said she expected you back weeks ago. Also your mother is concerned. She cornered me at Myrick’s store."

"John, I still feel shaky. Guess it'll take a few days to make me right. Now I suppose I'd better look up Bill and find out what's up."

"I'd rest easy tonight if I were you. Your rooms upstairs should be plenty warm. You can see Bill in the morning; nothing's going to change. Bob's watching LaRose at the jail. By the way, you have a new customer there. A darned slicker -- a lightning rod salesman who took money last fall and never delivered the goods."

"How did suspicion fall on LaRose after his wife's death?"

"Dr. Appel, at the fort, thought her sudden death peculiar. It seems he saw the woman the day before her death and found her in good health. Healthy people just don't kick off -- at least not overnight."

Charley bent to pick up his carpetbag. "If you don't need any help, I'm going upstairs and put something together to eat. Guess the trouble will still be there in the morning."

"You haven't been home for a month; your cupboard must be bare. Sit down and I'll make up something from the leftovers in the icebox. It'll only take a minute." He looked at Charley critically, "You know -- you really do look puny!"

As John began fixing a plate for Charley, he turned to add, "Captain Collins and Kneeshaw have both been looking for you. They want to set up an inquest. They'll be glad you're home since they'll need to call in a jury and clerk. That'll be your job to notify those involved. They'll need witnesses lined up, and I suppose much of it will take place at the fort. I heard Dr. Appel has already run an autopsy on Mrs. LaRose, but the results haven't been released. They're keeping everything under wraps until the inquest."

Charley ate little of the plate handed him. He found his appetite playing tricks. John looked at him sympathetically, "Just not hungry, Charley?"

"It looks mighty good, but I guess I'm just not used to solid food yet."

"How about a barley sandwich?" His partner moved to the beer tap.

Charley nodded slowly, "It'll be my first beer since December. Sure, I'll try a glass. They gave me a little brandy now and then at the hospital -- said it was to increase my appetite." Sprinkling salt into his beer, foam grew, gradually overflowing his glass. Morosely running his hand through his hair, he said, "Sure need a haircut."

John said, "I heard Kneeshaw wants to hold the inquest on Thursday, that's just two days away. He probably already knows whom he wants on the jury, maybe the county commissioners. Guess they're pretty well tied up; he may have to pick jurors from town."

Sipping his glass of beer Charley reminisced over his past suspicion of LaRose. The man was a braggart and bully, who in spite of being a married man, patronized the local whorehouses. He doubted Highwater Billwould be able to bluff LaRose into any confession. Moorhead had picked up his nondeplume some years back when betting on the height of water during a flood. He had driven a board in the ground that had an open knothole in the upper end, and had bet five dollars the water would rise high enough to pass through the knothole. He won the bet, but it was suggested by some that he had returned during the hours of darkness and driven the board deeper into the ground. Charley knew that Bill was an exceptional raconteur, but that on occasion he was known to stretch the truth.

He decided he would contact Kneeshaw the first thing in the morning, then ride out to the fort and consult with Doctor Appel. The coroner’s inquest required only a jury of three plus a clerk, but every possible witness who had knowledge of the case would have to be called for questioning. He knew LaRose had a son, a daughter, and sister-in-law, who would of necessity be called. Also any neighbors who had associated with Mrs. LaRose in her last hours might be important as witnesses. Finishing his glass, he waved negligently to his partner, picked up his bag and moved upstairs.

Upon arising the next morning Charley ate breakfast at the Pioneer Hotel. He was surprised to find that he was able to eat a substantial meal, more it seemed than he had eaten for days. Minutes later, he entered Bird's lumber yard to find Coroner Kneeshaw working on the firm's books. Kneeshaw was a man of slight build, with quick, nervous actions and inquisitive, peering eyes. He looked up at Charley through small steel-rimmed glasses. "Finally got home, eh Charley? I heard you were sick."

"Just home in the nick of time from what I hear. John told me you want to hold an inquest into the LaRose case tomorrow. There's not much time to arrange things."

"Plenty of time -- we can do it day by day. I have two willing jurors so far, George West and Lee Scribner, but we'll need a third. Willoughly Clark has volunteered to act as clerk during the inquest."

"Maybe I can talk John into serving. Business is slow and we've a spare bartender."

"Get him, then." Kneeshaw was rubbing the fingers of his pen hand. "We'll need all the witnesses involved, including his family and neighbors. Best you see Dr. Appel at the fort. He may have more ideas on how to proceed, or of any special witnesses we may need."

At the fort hospital Appel apprised Charley of his findings. "We'll need to ask Wilkens, the druggist, to appear. I'm told he prescribed medicine for Mrs. LaRose, at times. Also, I need to know if she suffered any convulsive fits or similar attacks. Perhaps you can interview her neighbors as to that."

"Why look into fits, or convulsions?"

"It ties in with the symptoms of strychnine poisoning."

"I guess we'd better hold the first day of the hearing out here in your dispensary. Will that upset your schedule? The jurors will want to view the body and hear your conclusions as to the poisoning."

"As far as I'm concerned, tomorrow will be fine. Lieutenant Walker also witnessed the autopsy; I insisted upon an officer being present."

"Great! He can testify too.”

Donning his buffalo coat, beaver hat and finally his heavy horsehide gloves, Charley added, "I'll line up as many witnesses as possible, but I believe the only ones essential tomorrow will be your medical department and Wilkens, the druggist. Kneeshaw says the inquest doesn't have to be done in one day, besides, some of the witnesses may not be readily available."

"Then let's plan on 10 a.m. tomorrow morning, in my dispensary. I'll have everything lined up and can show the jury the tests I performed. If necessary, and if the jury has the stomach for it, I'll do the tests again to demonstrate the presence of poison."

Leaving the fort Charley turned south on the stage road. He was thankful it was a mild and almost a windless day, knowing that by nightfall he would be totally exhausted. He had neglected contacting Marguerite this day and knew she would find out that he was home. He mused, she'll probably feel slighted.

He arrived back in Pembina at dusk, leaving his horse and sleigh at Mason's Livery. Walking through the alley he crossed to Geroux's Hotel, entering the lobby just in time to catch Marguerite putting on her coat. Apparently she had been working behind the desk and was about to leave for home.

"Done for the day?"

Startled, she whirled, dropping her scarf. "Oh, Charley! Where did you come from?"

"Have you eaten supper yet?"

"No, I was going to eat at home."

"Then why not take off your coat and we'll eat in the dining room. How come you're not working there?"

"I've had desk-duty today. Lucien has gone to Minneapolis. His wife is about to come downstairs to relieve me." She slid into his arms, thrusting her body tightly against him. Throwing her arms around his neck she gave him a fierce, clenching kiss. Finally breaking away she scolded, "That's for scaring me! Why didn't you write?"

Taking her hand he led her into the dining room, drawing back a chair to seat her. Sitting opposite, he shrugged his shoulders. "Ended up sick, but I managed to drop a short wire to John. From there on, I didn't know which way was up for over three weeks. Guess I was lucky though, I licked double pneumonia."

"You don't look too spry now. You're pale as a ghost." She looked concerned.

"Just got in last night, then had to go out to the fort on that LaRose case this morning, then south to interview neighbors for potential witnesses. Frank's inquest is set for l0 a.m. tomorrow and not much planning has been done."

"Is it true? Did that horrible man murder his wife?"

"Hopefully, that's what will be decided at the inquest. The hearing will be at the fort and I'll have to see that Frank is delivered there. At present, he's lodged in the jail."

She leaned forward to grasp his hand. "Charley, I missed you so darned much! I imagined every worst thing that could have happened to you."

Tears were forming in her eyes. Taking her hand, he grasped it gently, "John told me that you stopped at the bar and asked about me, said it was the first time you'd ever done that. I'll take you home after we eat. Better yet, would you like to see my new rooms? You've only seen them briefly." His eyes searched hers. "It could be risky."

The waitress appeared to take their order and Maguerite murmured, "Let's discuss it after we eat."

Charley already knew her answer; her eyes burned into his.

All that followed afterward, was full of fire and fury, and when finished, they both lay spent.

It was nearing 4 a.m. when Marguerite awoke. Charley lay in a deep sleep, totally exhausted. Donning her clothes she slipped down the stairs into the frigid winter night, deeming the cold walk home a small price to pay for the wonderful love they had shared.

It was late on the afternoon of February 18 when Charley's mother ran into Mrs. Mostyn at the Pioneer Bakery. "Eliza, have you heard? Charley has returned from Detroit. According to Bob, Charley was sick in the hospital there for several weeks."

"Yes, that's so, Mrs. Brown." Bob Young, the storeowner added, "I ran into Johnny Kabernagel late last evening. He said Charley came in on the late train. He also said Charley looked mighty peaked."

"Well, it seems I'm the last to hear the news," Eliza said bitterly. "He has always been independent, never telling me anything."

"You must have known he took that prisoner to Detroit just after the New Year."

Eliza was loath to admit that Charley had not contacted her since the Christmas dance at Geroux's "Oh yes, I'd almost forgotten that he was to deliver a man to prison." She realized in the past weeks that her scornful treatment of Charley in front of others at the Christmas party had backfired. She had driven a wedge between them that must be eased as quickly as possible.

Her correspondence with Josey had born fruit. She had agreed to make a long visit to Eliza in the early summer, bringing both children, George and Lucy. Eliza was well aware of the fact that a ready-made family might prove a hindrance to Charley, but as she remembered the children, they were both courteous and polite. Eliza was prepared to make any sacrifice to break up Charley's romance with that breed woman.

As she left the bakery she found herself smiling with satisfaction. She recalled Josey's beauty. Why, with the right push and tact, Josey would have him roped within days. She could imagine the look of surprise on Charley's face when they met. She would plan their reunion artfully, arranging parties and picnics, ever pushing the two together.

Cousin Eugene, although agreeable and friendly, was not to be counted on for support. He had obtained a quarter of land to the south and was now busy framing a shed on his town property. When she had scornfully mentioned the breed girl in passing, he had sagely advised, "Eliza, Charley will always be his own man. If you treat that girl as trash, you are being a bigot. It will drive Charley even more firmly toward her. As a matter of fact, I've met Marguerite several times and she seems to be a lovely girl. Outside of her being involved with Charley, I've not heard a disparaging word said about her."

By 9:15 on the following morning court members and witnesses crowded into Dr Appel's dispensary at the fort. Because of badly crowded quarters the court was moved to the second floor where the open wooden coffin rested across two sawhorses. Tables and chairs were set and Coroner Kneeshaw assigned the jury of West, Scribner and Kabernagle to his right. To his left he designated a witness chair with Sheriff Brown close by.

As Frank LaRose was escorted into the room by Deputy Moorhead, the coroner turned to Charley, "Please swear in the jury."

Glancing at the court audience, then toward the jury, Kneeshaw said, "This will be an informal inquiry to determine if the death of Mrs. LaRose is anything more than a normal death. Circumstances have indicated otherwise, so every effort will be made to learn the truth." He looked directly at the prisoner.

"Mr. LaRose, are you represented by an attorney?"

"Hell no! Don't need any, didn't do nothin!"

Kneeshaw raised his eyes giving him a withering glance. "Then I believe we'll call Mr. Moorhead. I understand that he went to your home, arrested you and escorted you to jail."

"Mr. Moorhead, will you take the chair to my left and be sworn in?"

Charley performed the ritual.

"Mr. Moorhead, will you tell me of the circumstances concerning your arrest of Mr. LaRose?"

Bill combed through his heavy beard with nervous fingers. "Well, the jist of it is, Captain Collins sent Lieutenant Walker to corral me -- I was at the St. Vincent elevator at the time. When I reported to the Captain, Dr. Appel told me that something was haywire about Mrs. LaRose's death. He asked me what I could do. So I arrested LaRose, charged him with murdering the LeRoque girl."

The coroner appeared confused. "What has the LeRoque girl got to do with the death of Mrs. LaRose?"

Bill turned to Charley with a guilty look, and then looking back as Kneeshaw, said brashly, "I figured it a good excuse for arresting him -- and I damn well figure he is guilty of killing that girl!"

Coroner Kneeshaw shook his head disgustedly, but ignored the inference.

"What problems did you have in arresting Mr. LaRose?"

"Not much, he argued, but we brought him in."

"You had assistance in making the arrest?"

"Yup, Ned Cavalier came along with me."

"I assume you lodged Mr. LaRose in the Pembina jail?"

"Hell yes! Oh! Sorry judge!"

"You may step down." Kneeshaw showed signs of being exasperated with Moorhead.

"Dr. Appel, will you please take the stand."

Again the oath was administered.

"What were the circumstances that made you call for the sheriff."

"At the end of January I examined the lady at her husband's request. I believe it was January 25. Mr. LaRose said his wife was not feeling well, so I went to their home late in the afternoon. She seemed thin and run down, but her heartbeat was strong and regular, also she had no lung congestion. She did have several bruise marks on her arms also a severe mark on her left cheekbone. I advised Mr. LaRose to take better care of his wife."

"Did you prescribe any medication for her at the time?"

"No sir. She didn't request any and I didn't feel she required any."

"Please continue."

"The next day I was informed that she had passed away. I worried that I had failed to detect something in my examination of her, but upon thinking it over, I became suspicious."

"What did you do about your suspicions?"

"I mulled it in my mind for a day or two then decided to inform Captain Collins of my concern. He concurred with my thoughts, sending Lt. Walker to contact Mr. Moorhead. Sheriff Brown was absent at the time."

Coroner Kneeshaw summarized: "Gentlemen of the jury, it was then that I was informed of the possibility that a criminal act had taken place. I ordered Mrs. LaRose's body to be exhumed and brought to the fort for examination."

Charley glanced over at LaRose; the man's head was bent back over the chair, his eyes closed. He appeared either bored, or feigning sleep.

"Dr. Appel, when you examined the body of Mrs. LaRose, what did you find?"

"That she had enough strychnine in her to kill far more than one person."

"And when did this autopsy take place."

"Not until several hours after the body arrived at the fort since the corpse was frozen solid when brought in. I conducted the autopsy with the assistance of my hospital steward and in the presence of Lt. Walker. I removed the stomach, liver and kidneys to run tests upon them. My reference for the testing, is my medical book on poisons. The results were positive -- strychnine poisoning, whether induced, or taken voluntarily. Incidentally, we were appalled to find other bruises on her body that had been concealed from us by her clothing."

Kneeshaw was drumming the fingers of his right hand as he stared accusingly at LaRose.

"You are positive this evidence of poisoning is conclusive?"

"Yes sir!"

"You may step down. Will the hospital steward please take the stand."

Immediately after Charley swore in Dr. Appel's assistant the coroner asked him to state his name.

"My name is Ira Hocking, sir"

"Do you concur with Dr. Appel's conclusion that Mrs. Larose died of poison?"

"Yes sir. I followed every test with interest, as I've never before had the opportunity to learn anything about testing for poisons. According to the procedure and tests the doctor performed, the results coincided with the manual. I believe the doctor is correct in his conclusion."

After the steward was excused, Kneeshaw beckoned to Charley; they conferred in an undertone. Charley suggested, "I believe Wilkens, the Pembina druggist, should be called next. He's here, and says he gave medications to Mrs. LaRose."

As Charley walked back to his chair, the coroner called out, "Mr. Wilkens, will you please take the stand."

The druggist held a notebook in his hand as he was sworn in.

"Mr. Wilkens, I understand that you prescribed some medications for Mrs. LaRose. Please inform us of the details and contents of those chemicals."

"I sent to her house ten powders in all, each consisting of about two grains of quinine and Dovers Powders."

"Could these be construed to possibly cause her death?"

The druggist smiled grimly. "Hardly. Even if they had been taken all at once they could not have caused death. Let me explain." He glanced at his notebook. "Dovers Powders consist mainly of Ipecac which is a tropical South American creeping plant of the madder family, a plant with small drooping flowers. The dried roots are used in treatment of laryngitis, bronchitis and chronic diarrhea."

Coroner Kneeshaw glanced at Dr. Appel who was nodding his head in agreement with Wilkens.

"Then you were treating her for cold symptoms."

"That is correct."

"Mr. Wilkens, you are excused. Mr. Frank LaRose, will you take the stand?"

Frank's head, which was resting back over the chair, suddenly flopped forward as he arose from his seat. He glared at Charley malevolently as he was sworn in.

"Can you explain anything as to the evidence presented? Can you explain Dr. Appel's statement that your wife died of strychnine poisoning?”

LaRose looked around the room angrily. "If she took something, I don't know a damn thing about it. I ain't done nothing wrong and you can't prove I did!"

The coroner waited hopefully for him to continue, but the prisoner sat morosely in the witness chair uttering no further word. After a long minute, the coroner asked, "Are you quite through?"
"Damn right I am!"

The coroner shook his head in disgust. "Then, you may as well return to your seat."

He turned to Charley, "Sheriff, we will continue this inquest tomorrow morning when I want you to have further witnesses available to the court."

He stood, "This court is adjourned until 10 a.m. tomorrow morning, to convene in the Pembina County rooms.”

As Moorhead led his prisoner down the stairs he turned to speak with Charley. "Best you come and see our other prize bird at the jail."

Charley laughed, "I'll do that, I hear he's an authority on lightning rods and swindling."

Moorhead grinned.

Downstairs, in Dr. Appel's infirmary, Charley closeted with the surgeon. "How easy would it have been for LaRose to get his wife to take the poison?"

Appel looked directly at Charley. "You must have taken quinine during the late war. You must remember it's very bitter taste."

"I sure do! You mean he covered up the strychnine's acrid taste by mixing it with the quinine?"

"Well, wouldn't that be the only way? She was taking the quinine and Dovers powders in solution and he simply intermingled the poison. Moorhead never found any of the ten powders Wilkens was said to have prescribed for her."

Charley shook his head. "If that's the way he did it, he's a cold, calculating bastard. Still, it'll be up to the jury to decide if he's guilty."

"How do you feel about it personally?"

"I hate to say it, but I believe he killed her."

"I'll come into town tomorrow morning for the continuation of the inquest. I'd like to hear what his relatives have to say about the matter."

"Yes, and I'd better get out there to round up those people for tomorrow morning's session. It's almost a twenty mile round trip. Thank heaven it's been mild the past few days. Still, if a bad wind comes up with all that loose snow, travel will become impossible."

Returning to Pembina after speaking with relatives and neighbors of LaRose, Charley mused over the recent weeks. He had no forewarning of coming down with pneumonia, not even the slightest hint. The minor innocuous cough that developed had nearly done him in. The doctor had said if he hadn't been in top physical condition, he wouldn't have survived. It was just his luck upon returning home to be thrust into this mess with LaRose, complicated by the recent arrest of a swindler. He decided to stop at the jail when he returned to town, knowing the county commissioners would be concerned about the expense of keeping two prisoners locked up until the July assizes. He wondered how his father would have handled the situation. Probably wouldn't have bothered him in the least, Charley reflected, knowing well his father was a hard, bitter man.

After eating supper he entered the jail to find the night guard, Parker, adding wood to the potbelly stove. "When did you start your shift, Pete?"

"Started at six, until six tomorrow morning. Bob has the day shift."

Charley motioned to the prisoners behind the bars. "They behaving themselves?"

Parker began to grin. "The salesman is a bitcher, but I told him if he didn't shut up he'd get no supper. Frank's no bother, long's he's sober. He's sulking."

Looking through the bars Charley studied the salesman. "What's your name?"

"Thomas Murray. Are you the sheriff?"

"I am."

"You can't hold me, I'm a Canadian."

"According to what I'm told, you're being charged with fraud and embezzlement. You sold lightning rods and copper ground cable to a number of people, and then you ran off with their money. How do you explain that?"

"Ah, hell! I was going to deliver it all in the spring."

"I'm told you promised 30 day delivery last summer. I guess you're going to be a keeper until the court convenes in July."

Murray shouted in anguish, "My God! That's months away. You can't hold me until then."

"Unfortunately, the 3rd District Court, officiated by Judge Barnes, doesn't meet until then. The fall court session in Fargo is over so there is no bail available for you. Be thankful you're warm and being fed for free."

Turning to leave, Charley questioned Parker. "Who's feeding the prisoners?"

"The grub is coming from Winchester's Hotel. Jud is bringing it over himself."

"Good, but you be sure to count the eating hardware after each meal, and no booze for you, or them. No sleeping on the job either."

"Awe Charley, I know what to do. I've done it for years."

"Yes, but you know what happened to Pete Grant."

"I'm not as stupid as Bob. I wouldn't let myself get sucked in like that!"

Charley shook his head. He knew the low caliber of men he was forced to hire as part-time jail guards, because of the slim county budget.

Arriving at the county rooms a half hour before court was to convene, Charley began placing chairs.

Kneeshaw and Jud LaMoure were the first to arrive. Jud looked around the room critically. "Well, the new courthouse will sure be an improvement over this."

Kneeshaw began opening a cardboard file case, then said, "Trouble is, it won't be finished until next fall."

Charley said, "I believe we'll all be glad to move into new quarters. There will be private rooms on the ground floor for the county officials and a decent jail of two stories. That'll allow a means of separating the men and women."

"I've discussed the plans with the architect," Kneeshaw added. "The courtroom is to be 30 x 40, connected by two jury rooms."

"I'd better pick up LaRose at the jail." Charley consulted his watch. "It's nearing 10 o'clock. I'll have Bill sit alongside him."

As he was leaving the building, Captain Collins, Lieutenant Walker and Surgeon Appel arrived. After greeting them momentarily, Charley observed two sleighs drawing up near the door, others were already parked across the street. He noted members and neighbors of the LaRose family gathered together, apparently about to enter the building.

Promptly at 10 a.m. Coroner Kneeshaw called the court to order. Turning to the sheriff, he suggested, "It won't be necessary to swear in the jury again, just the witnesses."

In a low tone he added, "Call the Doctor to the witness chair."

“Will Doctor Appel please come forward."

After being sworn in by the sheriff, the coroner asked, "How would it be possible to conceal a poison such as strychnine from detection?"

Doctor Appel related his discussion with the sheriff as to the bitter quality of the poison, and of the similar bitter taste of quinine. He concluded, "Deputy Moorhead told me he searched the LaRose home diligently and found no trace of the quinine and Dovers powders. He did find a quantity of strychnine in an outside entry. Apparently it was to be used for poisoning wolves and coyotes. He has that container in his possession I understand."

Kneeshaw looked grimly at the jury. "Let it be known that there was strychnine on the premises." Turning to the doctor, he asked, "What are the symptoms of strychnine poisoning?"

"Severe cramping and repeated convulsions until death occurs."

"Are there any witnesses who attended her demise?"

"Yes sir. I understand the sheriff has found relatives who witnessed her death."

"Dr. Appel, you may step down."

Kneeshaw beckoned to Charley, to whisper, "Who's next?"

"I'd suggest Mrs. LaRose's daughter. She was present at her mother's death."

"Miss LaRose, will you please come forward and be sworn in?"

"You were present at your mother's death?"

The girl held a handkerchief which she clenched nervously, "Yes sir."

"Please relax. Tell the jury exactly what happened."

"Mother became sick after supper and began having cramps. Then they became like seizures, but she said they didn't hurt much. They kept getting worse and worse until she just curled up and died."

"After she became sick, how long was it until her death?"

Tears began to stream down the girl's face and she wiped her eyes futilely, "About an hour and a half."

"Did your Father send for Doctor Appel?"

"No, he said it was no use; the doctor was too far away."

"Did he ever hurt your Mother, abuse her in any way?"

The girl looked frightened as she locked eyes with her father.

"Please look at the jury," Kneeshaw instructed. "Now tell them if your Father ever abused your Mother."

Miss Larose seemed to suddenly gain courage, She stiffened up, defiant. "He struck Mother at times, without any reason. He even kicked her." She thrust her face into her handkerchief, and for moments the courtroom was totally silent. Lifting her head she seemed to gain a final strength, "He usually did it when he was drinking."

Kneeshaw could elicit no more information from the girl so she was excused. She was obviously terrified of her father.

Further witnesses, the son, sister-in-law and two neighbors who were present at her death were questioned. Each substantiated the brutal treatment that LaRose administered to his wife. Nearly all, including two neighbors, recalled the convulsions, which occurred before she died.

The inquest continued for the remainder of the week and on Friday, the jury, after being secluded for several hours, brought in a verdict to the effect that the deceased had died from strychnine poisoning by, or at the instigation of her husband.

At LaRose's request, the preliminary investigation was adjourned until March 9, at 9:00 o'clock, a.m. at which time further evidence would be elicited, pro and con. He informed them that he would have an attorney at that time.

Charley knew the investigation would be a formality, for nearly all the damaging evidence had been presented. It was the very next day when a fight broke out in front of Alex McLennen's Hotel that Charley became involved with a third prisoner who had a murderous reputation.

Sheriff Charley Brown: Chapter IX

September 12 witnessed the most violent thunderstorm of the summer. The morning had been a scorcher without a breath of wind, not uncommon weather for the season. Early in the afternoon low, gradually darkening clouds appeared in the west bringing a gentle, misting rain. By two o'clock the wind drove out of the southwest with an ever-increasing velocity, accompanied by a distant rumbling, indicating the approach of an electrical storm.

Charley, lackadaisically tending bar in an almost empty saloon, began counting the seconds between occasional flashes of lightning and the resulting clap of thunder. Knowing sound traveled roughly 1000 feet each second, he judged the squall was still nearly five miles somewhere to the southwest. Occasionally glancing out of the saloon windows he noted the ever-diminishing light outside as the dark ominous clouds approached. Gradually the rain increased until it seemed an endless torrent, making it nearly impossible to see neighboring stores just across the street.

George West, a machinery salesman, spoke up. He was engaged in a casual game of rummy with Mack Brown, the newspaperman. "Going to be a soaker, Charley. The people will appreciate the new plank sidewalk you businessmen put along the street."

"Doc Cavalier gets the credit for that, George. He planked north to the corner, then talked the rest of us into doing this block. The trouble is we should do something about cross-walks at the corners."

The thunder gradually grew louder as the crest of the electrical storm approached, changing to a series of violent, rippling, staccato-like explosions. A sharp, loud snap came, followed by a thunderous ground-shaking roar.

Mack Brown looked up, startled. "Judas, that was mighty close!"

West nodded, "Too darned close!"

Charles silently agreed, hoping no damage had been done. It was only minutes later when Howard Vaughn, the County Clerk of Court, residing in the Customs House next door, rushed in. He shouted, "Fire! Fire!”

Glancing wildly at Charley, he cried, "Lightning must have struck the roof of my building, my walk-up upstairs is a mass of smoke and flames. I fear it's beyond saving. Since your building has a common wall with mine, you'd best save all you can before the fire spreads to you!"

Charley turned to West and Brown. "Get all the help available! Tell them to bring pails!" To Vaughn, who was exiting the door, he cried, "Is there any hope of saving anything in your upstairs?"

Vaughn hesitated, then shook his head negatively, "Not a chance, the smoke is too thick; the fire is spreading too fast; it's not worth the risk -- only my household stuff up there anyhow. It's the county records downstairs I've got to try and save, especially the citizenship and court files. There might be time to move some of them. Thank the Lord my wife is visiting in Grand Forks."

Charley, knowing his store was safe for the moment, followed Vaughn to his door. "Lets get at it, I'll help you as long as possible."

Entering the door of Vaughn's building they found the downstairs already filling with lung-irritating smoke. What portion they could see of the tin-patterned ceiling was darkening progressively, the paint beginning to blister, the heat becoming intense. Hurriedly they seized heavy file cabinets and the boxes nearest the door, carrying them hurriedly onto the wet plank sidewalk. Moments later a muffled explosion upstairs forced the door at the head of the interior staircase open, showering them with hot, burning embers.

"Judas! That does it!" cried Vaughn. "We won't be able to save any more; this heat and smoke is just too much."

Charley nodded, realizing it was foolish to further risk their lives. "Let's check my upstairs, maybe I can save some of my furniture."

Reaching the top of his outside staircase he opened the door to find a faint trace of smoke along the upper edges of the north wall. Crossing to feel the wallpaper, he found it already warm to the touch. Snapping and crackling sounds could be heard on the far side. "Start in the kitchen, grab pans and we'll load up what dishes we can!"

Sounds of thudding footsteps could be heard on his outside staircase brief moments before several men burst into his living room. The powerful voice of Kabernagle thundered above the other excited voices. "Grab everything you see, get it all out onto the street." Seeing Charley, he cried, "You clean out your quarters and I'll see to the bar downstairs. We've time for that. We're lucky for this downpour, otherwise we might lose the whole block, maybe the whole downtown. Lyon's grocery next door is sided with tin. I think we can stop the fire there." Grimly he shook his head, "No chance of saving our building though."

Within minutes the interior of their building was stripped clean and men began moving the furniture and other contents across the now water-soaked, muddy street. The fire bell, located a block west, could be heard, ringing wildly. Charley noted two of his boisterous helpers standing across the street laughing; they were holding bottles of liquor in their hands. He had no qualms, knowing they had helped save the entire inventory and contents of the saloon. A sudden thought came: He realized that he and John had better get their remaining inventory secured before it magically disappeared.

Minutes later Charley and John dejectedly watched as their building succumbed to the fire. Finally John said, "Well, one good thing, they managed to get all three billiard tables outside. They're still in the rain, but tipped to the side. We'll have to re-felt them and have them varnished."

"Guess all we need now is a new building. We won't have much other expense. At least we've got $1000 insurance on the building, maybe should have had more."

"Yea, we talked about it. Oh hell! Win a few, lose a few!"

Meanwhile, they found that Mrs. Fisk, who owned the hotel nearby, had taken over the supervision of their property. She organized bystanders to move it into the entrance of her hotel.

Because of the saturated roofs the fire seemed strangely confined to the interiors of the two buildings. Men stood around helplessly, holding water pails that were of little use.

The eaves of the Customs Building leaked small, spurting plumes of smoke, indicating apparent air leaks. Fire and smoke now streamed from the two front windows of the building, all signs of glass long gone. Minutes later the upper front windows of the saloon darkened and occasional flickers of flame could be seen in the interior. With a sudden surge the two windows exploded outward, clearing the way for long tongues of flame that rapidly reached high above the roof.

Despite the constant rain, the flames managed to eventually creep through the north edge of the Customs building. Fortunately, both the roof and siding of the Lyons building adjoining their saloon was sheeted with heavy tin, which deflected large quantities of water down between the walls of the buildings. To all appearances the water was acting as a fire barrier.

Eventually the north wall of the Customs building slowly leaned into the fire, the roof collapsing inward. Moments later the common wall between the two buildings also folded, followed by the roof and south wall of the saloon. Charley looked with awe at the now exposed metal clad side of the Lyons building, realizing that the shiny metal reflected the heat from the wall, seemingly making it impervious to the fire.

Kneeshaw, Pembina's acting magistrate. stood quietly under a large black umbrella. As Charley turned, Kneeshaw said grimly, "Between you and Vaughn, you nearly put me out of business."

"Hell, William! John and I are out of business. The store you run for Bill Lyons is safe. Thank heaven our building is partly insured. Has the county any insurance on the old Customs House?"

"Some, I believe, but probably not enough. Anyway, the new courthouse will be finished next fall. We'll have to make do until then. Charley, why don't you and John get your mess cleaned up as soon as the fire is out. Contract with Nixon for a new building. I'll bet he can have one up for you within a month. I hear his carpenters are at a slack time."

At that moment Marguerite crossed the street from the direction of the hardware store. Gazing at the collapsed ruins of the two buildings that were still a mass of orange flames, she said, "What a shame Charley, I hope no one was hurt."

He noted the pensive look on her face. "Nope, no thank goodness. I heard the snap and thunder clap as it struck the building next door, but Vaughn wasn't aware his building was on fire for some time. Perhaps he wasn't inside, I just don't know. We did save everything from our building, but most of the county records have been destroyed. We saved a few files that were near the door, but darned few.

“Now I've got to go inside and thank Mrs. Fisk. She's moved most of our furniture and supplies into her hotel for safekeeping."

"I'll go along. I'd have been here sooner, but Lucien is away; I had to stay at the hotel desk."

Entering Mrs. Fisk's open doorway they found Charley's furniture piled helter-skelter in the lobby, leaving little room to squeeze by. As the small, business-like, woman appeared in the hallway, she smiled and said, "Charley, your inventory of bottle goods, tobacco and the rest I've locked in my back room." She indicated the furniture with a sweep of her hand, "I imagine when things settle down you'll move this elsewhere -- no hurry though." Glancing down at the carpet she cried out in dismay, "My Lord, how will I ever get that muddy mess off the carpet?"

"Send us the bill, John and I will pay for the cleaning and any damage. This is putting you out; I can't clutter you up like this."

"Nonsense, in times of strife we take things in stride. If someone complains, they can go elsewhere." She sniffed in disdain at the thought.

"Well, first thing in the morning then. I'll find storage elsewhere."

Marguerite grasped his hand. "I've got to get back to the hotel. I left the desk untended, just couldn't stand the suspense any longer."

As Mrs. Fisk left the room Charley put his arm around Marguerite's waist, drawing her close. She felt his kiss too perfunctory, it had little feeling. Realizing the strain and tension he must be under, she tightened her arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely. Her obvious concern and affection surprised him and for long seconds their embrace was held. Finally breaking away, she smiled, "Stop by when you have time."

"I'll do that soon, perhaps even sooner if John can be persuaded to go over to Geroux's for a bracer. Lord knows I could use one!"

Outside, Charley found the crowd of onlookers thinning, perhaps due to the remaining light drizzle, but more probably due to the fact that a further fire threat seemed unlikely.

A few men standing in the muddy street were busy throwing water on the smoldering plank sidewalk.

Approaching John, who seemed morosely studying the now darkening ruins, Charley said, "We're both soaking wet. Let's go over to Geroux's and I'll buy. It's not the end of the world; we'll build a better store and have it up before late fall."

John shrugged, "Might as well." Then he turned to smile as if suddenly awakening, "You know, my wife and daughters have been plaguing me for a visit to St. Paul for months. By golly, I've finally found the time!"

Returning to her hotel desk after pausing momentarily outside the door to shake and fold her umbrella, Marguerite slipped off her muddy shoes as she mused over Charley's loss. She knew the store was only a portion of his income, he was not strapped by the fire. She also realized they would have less time together, since now he would be involved in rebuilding his business. In addition, there was the immediate necessity of finishing the harvest and plowing of his farm along the border.

As Charley promised, he and John entered through the lobby on their way to the bar. Marguerite smiled at the pair, "Don't feel down in the dumps. If you'll take your drinks to the dining room I'll join you in a few moments." Somehow, she felt it necessary to inveigle Charley into staying for supper. It would give them a chance to talk about the future. After joining the two men a few minutes later, she listened quietly while they discussed plans for their new building.

John finally stood up. "I have to get home for supper. Funny, I didn't see the wife or girls at the fire. I thought the ringing of the fire bell would bring everyone out." Raising his hand in a farewell gesture, he added, "I'll see you at Nixon's yard about nine tomorrow morning."

"Now that he's gone what would you like for supper?"

Marguerite reached to cover his hand with hers.

"I'm a little antsy with the fire and all. Too bad we lost the county records."

"Yes, but it's in the past and no one is to blame.

It’s supper time, how about a steak?”

"Naw, lets get a menu from Birdy; I'm not that hungry." Seeing the waitress was busy, Marguerite arose, returning with a menu. Moments later the waitress arrived and took their order. As she left Marguerite looked at Charley quizzically, "Where will you stay now? I can arrange a room for you upstairs."

Charley looked up intently, "You know that's not a good idea."

"Why not?"

"We'd be the talk of the town. Since you work here people would think that arrangement mighty cozy."

"I don't see why." She felt a sudden anger growing.

"It would reflect on both of us. Best I get a room over at the American House. McLellen will give me a good rate."

Marguerite reflected on the idea, knowing Charley was right. "Fine, then that's settled." The spate of anger she felt, faded. She knew Charley would not change his mind.

"After we eat I'll pick up my rig at the stable. It'll only take a moment, then I'll take you home."

"We'd best not tarry too long. The ferry may close."

"That's no problem; the river is so shallow we can ford it in the buggy without even getting our feet wet. They've had to dig out a channel to keep the ferry operating."

"Yes, but by tomorrow morning I'll bet the river will be up several feet!"

"We've plenty of time yet." He remarked languidly.

"What will you do for dry clothes?" She asked. "Oh, I know, we’ll dry them when you take me home.”

As Charley walked to Nixon's lumberyard the next morning he noted deep wheel-ruts in the street with pools of water glittering in the bright sunlight. Choosing his path carefully, he avoided most of the mud as he crossed the street. Inside the open lumberyard door he found John speaking with Nixon.

As Kneeshaw had predicted, they found Nixon amiable and willing to build their new store.

After a discussion of dimensions and details of the plans, Nixon said, "I'll get a crew cleaning up by this afternoon. It's a simple building, so give me about forty days. It might be too late to apply paint this fall, but that can wait until spring. I'll order new double-sash windows with storms, also a double cased outside door. With heavy felt paper lining under the siding you'll find a big saving in coal. A dry peat moss cover over your upper ceiling will also make a big difference. Its good insulation and quite a few builders are using it now."

Charley agreed, "That'll help, 'cause coal is mighty dear. We also want both chimneys to have clay inner liners in case of a chimney fire. Don't forget, the staircase is to go on the outside, on the south side of the building, fully enclosed, the same as before. Also we want lightning rods."

The adjoining building lot was quickly sold and stood only a week before the purchaser began the frame construction of an even larger building. The structure was to extend much further back toward the alley. Apparently the new owner was well advised, for it was rumored the contractor was ordered to sheet the exterior with a new, brick-patterned metal siding.

A building boom seemed in the making, for in addition to the two new buildings on Cavalier Street, Howard Vaughn began building a home just east of the livery stable. Frank Myrick, not to be outdone, began a new livery in the rear of his store building.

Their new building was nearly completed by October, the contractor putting extra carpenters on the job. All that remained for occupancy was the installation of interior accoutrements. Both Charley and John patiently awaited the arrival of the new custom-made mahogany bar from Minneapolis. It was to be twenty feet in length, with a matching, mirrored, back-bar.

As the two men prowled the interior of the building with Nixon, the builder said, "Another couple of weeks and you can move in." He smiled, "I've put up those lightning rods you wanted, one on each end of the roof. It's cheap insurance."

John smiled wryly, "Like locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen."

Charley and Marguerite were invited to the open house and dance at the new home of Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn on a Thursday evening. Charley apologized to Marguerite when they had lunch at Geroux's. "I'm stuck to take a mental patient to Sioux City on Wednesday morning. Why don't you attend for us, it should be fun."

"It won't be if you're not there. Besides, your mother will probably be invited; I'm not going to let her create a scene."

"She wouldn't dare, just avoid her."

"No thanks! I'll sit it out. I'll not take a chance on spoiling Mrs. Vaughn's party. They've been such good friends."

With the hostler from Mason's livery driving the rig, Charley appeared at Fort Pembina early on Tuesday morning. All signs of the heavy rain of weeks ago had completely disappeared; thin clouds of dust arose from the hooves of horse and buggy wheels. Entering the fort hospital Charley encountered Ira Hocking, the doctor's assistant.

"Here to gather up your nut, Charley?"

"That I am. He was supposed to be ready at seven; the train leaves for Minneapolis in about an hour. Is he going to be a problem?"

"No, he's elderly, quite docile, but short a lot of shingles upstairs. Want to take him in a jacket?"

“Is it necessary?”

"Don't believe so. He hasn't created any physical problem. Give me a moment to get him, he's ready."

"Where does he hail from?"

"Somewhere south of Drayton. His relatives brought him in -- claim they can't put up with him anymore."

Moments later Hocking reappeared, leading a grizzled, decrepit-looking man. Handing the commitment papers to Charley, Hocking added, "He'll not cause trouble, he's meek as Moses."

"Fine, I'll load him up." Taking the man's arm the oldster agreeably allowed himself to be led outside and assisted into the buggy. He was subdued, apparently with no interest in his destination.

After Charley left the fort, Dr. Appel arrived to take sick call. "What time is Charley due here to pick up the patient?"

"He's been here and gone. Left about ten minutes ago."

"Did you tell him of the man's predilection?"

"Oh gosh, I forgot!"

Appel began to chuckle, "No harm done, Charley will no doubt find out soon enough." He looked to Ira, still grinning, "He'll probably cuss you plenty."

Dismissing his driver at the St. Vincent depot, Charley purchased the necessary tickets and boarded the train. He was pleasantly surprised to find his man promptly fell asleep, dozing almost the entire twenty hours of the trip, awaking only to eat sandwiches and fruit hawked by a porter on the train. Upon questioning his charge, Charley was unable to elicit any meaningful conversation; he was only too glad the man could at least express his wishes at toilet time. Arriving in Minneapolis the following morning Charley felt grimy and exhausted. The hard seat cushions and the need to keep an eye on his man had deprived him of any prolonged sleep. He found the Minneapolis depot crowded and after a complaint from his charge, Charley escorted him to the door of the men's room. Walking to the newspaper stand nearby, he purchased a copy of the Globe newspaper. While glancing at the front page he suddenly heard loud laughter and the excited shriek of a woman. Turning his head, there stood his patient, just outside the toilet door -- stark naked!

With a few choice epithets Charley rushed the man into the lavatory, bearing him roughly through the spring-loaded door. "What in hell are you trying to prove?"

His charge smiled at him with an innocent look.

The door swung open violently to admit a burley officer of the law. "What is going on? Who is this dunderhead without any clothes? Are you two trying to pull a fast one?"

"No, darn it! He's a patient I'm taking to Sioux City. I'm the sheriff from Pembina County, up in Dakota Territory. When I went for a newspaper this nut took off all his clothes. They sure didn't tell me he'd do that." Charley displayed the commitment papers, then bent to retrieve the man's clothing scattered on the floor. "Here now, put your clothes back on. I don't want any more foolishness from you." He was forced to help the man dress, his charge seeming to have little interest in doing so.

The depot policeman obviously enjoyed the situation; breaking into a smile. "I've seen everything now. Wait until I tell the boys down at the station. Say, think you'll have any more trouble with him? Want me to watch him for awhile, and give you a break?"

Charley shook his head in disgust, knowing he should have expected the unexpected. "No, I'm sorry it happened. It won't happen again."

Arriving in Sioux City late that evening the sheriff hired a hackney to deliver his charge to the mental institution. Due to the late hour he pounded on the heavy door for long minutes before a light could be seen and the man on duty appeared.

Accepting the commitment papers from Charley, he perused them briefly, and then said, "Did you read these?"

"Never bothered, they're for you."

"Same old thing. This poor bastard has advanced syphilis. His brain is gone. We've got several more just like him in here."

It was Saturday before Charley arrived back at St. Vincent. Stepping from the car he ran into Carl Gooding, the depot agent. "Your fancy new bar arrived by freight yesterday. We sure had a time getting it out of the boxcar. John was over with the drayman to pick it up. Reckon you two will be back in business soon. Need a ride over to Pembina?"

"Naw, I'll walk it -- appreciate the offer though.”

"Charley!" The shout came from across the street. It was Ian McLaren, he had just come out of Lapp's store. Joining together, Ian asked, "Been away long?"

"Only a few days. Had to take a mental case to Sioux City."

"Walk over to the house with me. We'll hitch up the buggy and I'll give you a ride home."

"That's not necessary."

"It's about those mules they're going to sell at the fort. I need to talk to you. We could use another team and you know the teamsters out there. They'll level with you, and tell the good animals from the bad. I sure don't need to buy someone else's troubles."

"I'm thinking of bidding on a pair too. Gosh! I forgot the sale is on Monday -- how about tomorrow?"

"It'll have to be after church -- best after dinner, say about three o'clock. Why don't I bring the girls along and pick you up at the American House?"

"Yup, three o'clock will be fine. We can look over the critters, and then take the girls out to supper. I want to show Marguerite our new building; we should be open in another few days. I'm kinda anxious to see the new bar; it was expensive, set us back almost $500."

"Wow! That's a lot of hay."

"Well worth it if it brings in customers. Competition is mighty stiff. Cripes! You've got eleven saloons in St. Vincent alone. That cuts the trade a'plenty."

Arriving at Ian's home they went directly to the barn. Whiled Ian harnessed the horse Charley tugged the buggy from its storage shed. At that moment Susan came from the house.

"What are you two planning?"

Charley smiled, "Ian insists I need a ride to Pembina. It's so far away, almost a half mile."

"Then he's got something else in mind; he's not that generous with me." She was smiling, and then turned to Ian as he approached with the horse. "Where are you headed?"

"Just giving this poor old man a ride to Pembina. Incidentally, we've decided to take you and Marguerite to supper tomorrow night. Isn't that nice of us?"

Charley explained, "We're going out to the fort tomorrow afternoon to look at the mules they're selling on Monday. We thought you girls might like to go along. We'll take you to supper afterward."

"Then I suppose, you and Marguerite will disappear after we eat!"

"It's quite possible." Charley broke into a smile.

"Are you stopping at the house to ask Marguerite?"

"I could, but will you ask her for me?"

"Okay, I'll do your dirty work. But we get to pick the restaurant."

As Ian backed the horse to the buggy, Charley bent to hook the tugs. Turning, he said, "It's a deal, you girls get to rule the roost."

When they arrived at the fort corral the next afternoon they found the area apparently deserted.

"Where is everyone," Susan queried.

"It's Sunday, everyone's day off. The soldiers not in town are probably sleeping. I'll check the teamster’s shack. As Charley stepped from the buggy and opened the screen door to the bunkhouse, O'Brien, the only man in the building, looked up from his letter writing. "What's up Charley? We got trouble?"

"None Nat, just jumping the gun on the sale tomorrow. I wanted a tip on the teams that are to be sold."

The teamster grinned as he pushed his chair back. "That's going to cost you when you get your new bar open."

Charley smiled, "That's fair. Both Ian McLaren and I figure to bid for a team. Neither of us wants to buy a kicker, biter or balker. Can you show us around?"

The teamster leaned over the desk to put a stopper in his inkbottle, and then carefully put his writing away. "I can do that -- you're being smart! He moved to the door, "We haven't gotten around to number them for the auction. We'll probably do that early tomorrow morning. Think you can remember their markings?"

Stepping outside, they approached the corral as Ian drove the buggy alongside the fence. Dismounting, he joined Charley and O’Brien as they approached the pole corral. After introducing Nat to the girls the men turned to the animals. Both Charley and Ian listened intently while Nat described the merits of the mules. The two men picked and discussed their preferences, selecting alternates, knowing the bidding would be brisk.

"We'll sell the culls first," Nat said. "There are about ten of them. Then the bidding will pick up, but there are nearly forty animals, all told."

"Appreciate your knowledge, Nat." Charley turned to Ian. He was smiling. "Maybe we'll be bidding against each other."

Ian laughed, "No matter, there are enough to go around. I only need a pair. I won't bid against you on those grays if you don't bid on that pair of roans." He nudged Nat as he grinned. "If I get those roans, I'll owe you."

After thanking the teamster, Ian turned their buggy to the road between the laundry and officer quarters. "Where do we go now?" he asked.

Susan looked to Marguerite, "Why don't we just see the country. It's a beautiful day and it's not yet five o'clock. By the way, where are we eating supper?"

"It's your choice." Charley turned to Marguerite, "Haven't you girls decided?”

"I've a better idea. I want to see your new building. You promised to take us inside."

"Not much to see, it's nearly a copy of the old one. We've moved the bar to the south wall, but the upstairs is much the same. We figure to open on Wednesday if all goes well. They should have everything done by them. I've already had my stuff moved in upstairs, even bought new furniture. What I had before was pretty shabby. I figure on moving in tomorrow. These weeks at the American House have given me darn little privacy. I kind of like being back in my own place." He paused to glance at Marguerite.

She returned his look slyly. "It sounds like you, the lonely, bachelor sheriff. That's your main problem."

Susan was embarrassed. Worried about an argument starting between the two, she changed the subject. "How did you make out on your farm this fall, Charley?"

"I only had 80 acres of wheat on my quarter this year, the rest was fallow. Guess it came out to nearly 3000 bushels."

"Not bad for 80 acres," Ian commented. Don't imagine you have time for any more land."

"As a matter of fact I hired most of the work done. Oh, I seeded the piece, but hired the plowing and harvesting done. I'm small time compared with you, your father and the boys."

Ian smiled, "We've lots of mouths to feed, but we did harvest nearly 700 acres this fall. We have over double that in land between Pa, the boys and I, but there's a lot of sod that we haven't had the time or equipment to break."

Crossing on the new toll-free, iron bridge recently completed across the Pembina River, Ian turned the team toward Charley's new building. Turning in the middle of the street he skillfully pulled alongside the plank sidewalk.

After assisting the girls from the buggy Charley unlocked the front door of the building. Stepping inside and hesitating, Susan exclaimed, "This is the first time I've ever been in a saloon."

Charley smiled, "John and I call it a sample store. It's the latest name for a saloon."

Ian let out a long whistle as he gazed at the gleaming expanse of mahogany. The mirrored back bar ran full-length with spaced, display shelves. He exclaimed, "You even had a brass rail installed."

"We didn't order that, it came attached to the bar. The brown linoleum on the floor is John's idea. It'll make it easy to clean up the dust. I'd pour us all a libation before we eat, but the bar hasn't been stocked yet. Glancing at his watch, he said, "It's nearly time for supper, have you two girls decided where we eat?"

Marguerite protested, "I'm not deciding until you show us your new quarters and furniture!"

"Let's do that after we eat. I've got playing cards upstairs. We can whip up a game of whist or cribbage if you like."