Shooting For Justice, G. Tilman [best historical fiction books of all time .txt] 📗

your father need to work out your future. Education is important. You all need to figure out if college is what you need to do and the rain and long trails and danger of being a peace officer is truly what you want,” he said gently.

Sarah walked between the two young women and hugged them both at the same time.

“You listen to John. He’s not just the handsomest gunfighting sheriff in America, he’s pretty wise, too.” She did not get any argument from her fellow distaff pistoleers.

They mounted and returned to the town. Along the way, Israel pointed out types of trees and birds and potential water sources. Sarah kept silent, learning many new things herself.

They parted at the guest house in San Rafael, its bullet pockmarks now filled.

Each Pope led a horse back as they rode home, concluding it was a good day.

Sarah felt better about her attitude regarding Mattie. She and Martha had bonded during the kidnap investigation and today’s experience just drew them closer.

Progress continued on the cabin. Pope picked up an iron swing arm for the fireplace and a cookstove with a small oven. He and Sarah took the buckboard to several nearby towns and found a rope bed, mattress, table and chairs and a pair of wardrobes. A couple of braided rugs completed their purchases. They brought cookware and plates from their rooms in San Francisco.

Finally, a week and a half after the Lanes’ visit and ride, they moved into their cabin. It was close enough to Israel’s to share the corral.

The last addition was a mare for Sarah. They carefully chose a mid-size gray with endurance, no reaction to close gunshots, and good obedience. It was a lot to expect from a very young horse, but with a little guidance from her former cowboy husband, would fill the bill.

Sarah named her Kate, after Kate Warne. Warne was the first female detective in America, if not the world. She ended as the supervisory female detective for Pinkerton’s She died at only thirty-five years old.

Sarah never knew her. Warne died twelve years before Sarah joined Pinkerton’s. She always thought Allan Pinkerton wanted her to be the next Kate Warne. Sarah just wanted to be herself and not a reincarnation of anyone.

Sarah often wondered about the judgement of her brilliant former leader. He buried Kate Warne in the family plot. It was not a precedent, though, as other Pinkerton detectives had already been buried in there.

Sarah learned of Pinkerton’s last big project during her visit to the Pinkerton offices in Chicago with Pope. He was organizing all the criminal records he could amass into a national database. He made great headway before his death and the massive file was continued by another odd little man in Washington less than fifty years later.

Despite Pinkerton’s eccentricities, Sarah held him in high esteem due to his brilliance and the opportunities he gave her.

New houses, especially cabins, have their own particular smells. Sarah took a long sniff and picked up strong cut wood and leather. Smoke from the fireplace would add to it as the weather got cooler. When she cooked in the cabin, she did with all the windows open for the saving cross ventilation. Sarah did not plan to keep them open in cold weather. A little smoke smell beat freezing, she thought.

This was both her and Pope’s first home deeded in their names. Over the weekend, she and Millie worked on curtains. They got Pope to hang them. Maybe one day a fancier duvet would cover their wool Hudson Bay blanket on the bed. But neither Sarah nor John cared. They both had the right partner, right home and right job. They lived in the woods, but reasonably close to work. The weather was temperate. They had enough land, as part of Israel’s total holding, to keep neighbors at bay.

Millie had already started a garden. It was larger than she wanted to handle, so Sarah agreed to work half, and they would share the crops equally.

Sarah felt she had finally slipped into the fulfilling life she always wanted. She knew she was a pioneer as a woman detective. She did not even consider she was also as a housewife and professional woman.

Pope was comfortable in his new life also. He worried he would get bored because the pulse throbbing adventure of riding after outlaws was missing. The challenge of besting them in a draw down on the street or trail. He missed setting up camp and surviving under the harshest circumstances. He loved the outdoors and the cold, the snow and rain and being trail weary did not concern him. He just considered it what he did. Who he was.

Pope mentally kicked himself for lamenting the lessened excitement. He had more adventures in less than thirty years than most men in a long lifetime. Pope knew he should be content riding patrol, training deputies and serving the public. He could not have had a more wonderful wife he came home to every night. He got to spend his non-working hours with his legendary grandfather. Nobody ever had a better best friend than the two Popes.

He kicked himself again as he talked with Caesar. They were riding west towards the ocean. Caesar was not terribly supportive of his feelings. He was just supportive of being with his master and having his friend, Scout, running along beside him. Pope had started taking Scout with him most places. The dog proved to be one of the most popular members of the sheriff’s office. Children and adults alike stopped to pet him and talk to him. Little did they know the gentle, sometimes comical canine, had saved his master’s life and was an outstanding trail dog.

Like old times, Pope rode along munching a piece of jerky. He tossed part down to Scout. He was on the trail with two of his best friends. It was shirt and vest weather with a cool wind as fall approached Northern California.

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