North Star

North Star

(Sequel to A Horse Named Alice)

By

Mike Marshall

Copyright 2018 by Mike Marshall

Published by C. F. Calderone at Smashwords.com

Cover horse image by Olga_i/Shutterstock.com

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Also by Mike Marshall, Published at Smashwords:

A Horse Named Alice

(prequel to North Star)

I Win

Me ’n Norman

Contents

Introduction

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

About Mike Marshall

Introduction

For more than thirty years the mortician in Elko, Nevada, had been Mr. J. C. Keegan. One very strange thing is that no one knew what Mr. Keegan’s first name was, or for that matter, what the J. C. stood for. Perhaps it was because no one really wanted to be a close friend. He was a nice-enough man, but what he did to make his living, kind of put people off. He was probably more respected than the mayor. Shoot, he had been around longer than any mayor. In the summer he wore a black broadcloth suit. In the winter he wore a black wool suit. In either case he wore the same flat-top, broad-brim hat and wire-rimmed glasses. The glasses would never stay in place. They always rode down almost to the tip of his nose.

Mr. Keegan was comfortable living a solitary and very regimented lifestyle. From his first day in Elko he had had a room at Mrs. Brown’s Boardinghouse. Of course, Mrs. Brown had passed away about fifteen or twenty years ago, and there had been several owners since, but each new owner kept the respected name.

Every weekday morning he was one of the first down to the dining room for breakfast at the boarding house. Then about midmorning and always at the same table, he had a second breakfast at the Sunshine Café. Other than the fact that he enjoyed this second breakfast, this was the time of day that the east-bound train dropped off the Sacramento and San Francisco newspapers. He religiously read every word in the papers, even the advertisements. Chronologically, the papers were two or three days old but news was still news. Old news was better than no news at all.

On any morning when one of the locals came to the café before Mr. Keegan had been in and his regular table was vacant, they would ask, Has he been in yet? If he hadn’t, out of respect for his almost tradition, they found another place to sit.

For dinner each day he waited until about 1:30 p.m. or two o’clock to avoid any crowd and took his midday meal at the hotel, and each evening he took his supper at the boardinghouse. Strangely enough, as fond as he was of eating, he was still a very slight man of less-than-medium stature.

Evenings at the boardinghouse were the only time when he could be engaged in any conversation. It was seldom that he talked about those who had come to him for his professional services, either by natural causes or by way of a violent end. He refused to try to understand or judge his clientele, many of whom were legendary.

Sunday supper at Brown’s boardinghouse not only offered an outstanding meal, but it was a pleasant social event for a select few. If a stranger was a guest of the house on a Sunday and happened to ask about any of the famous men or women of the area, Mr. Keegan was a willing and almost an eager fountain of information, but he never talked about the details of their demise.

Late in April of 1879, the weather had put a sharp bite in the spring air. For this reason, no one wanted to sit out on the front porch of the boardinghouse and pass the pleasantries of this Sunday afternoon. Instead, all of the guests had assembled in the dining room to enjoy comfortable conversation and wait for supper to be served.

On a cushion to add to his height and to his profile of authority, Mr. Keegan was seated in his place of seniority, at the head of the table. On that particular Sunday, seated to his immediate left, was a salesman that joined the assembly periodically. The last time he had been a guest at the boardinghouse was some six or more months ago.

After passing the usual pleasantries, the salesman turned to Mr. Keegan, Tell me, sir, when I was here last fall, all the talk was about a young man that had been grievously wounded defending livestock he and some others were transporting. As I recall, a young widow had insisted on tending his wounds in her home, and not just a few, but quite a few were scandalized by the notion that an unmarried woman would take in an unmarried man. How did that play out?

Mr. Keegan pursed his lips, adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, and nodded several times. His face was, as usual, completely emotionless and he cleared his throat, "Harumph. Yes, I remember you. You are in hardware sales right? Let’s see now, as I remember, your name is Newsom or Newman?

The salesman nodded, You are quite correct, sir. Its Horace Newman.

Mr. Keegan nodded again and went on, I have taken time to record that incident in my journal. Yes, I am proud to say that I know each of the principles, and they are very near and dear friends of mine.

He pushed his chair back, turned slightly toward Mr. Newman, and crossed his legs, That would be Allen North and Mary Aldridge. Mary did persevere, and she did nurse him back to health. Now, both being of proper upbringing, as soon as that young man was able to be up and about, he went back to the Morning Side Ranch, and they were married a short time later right here in Elko after the fall roundup had been completed.

Mr. Newman looked a bit disappointed at the simplicity and righteousness of Mr. Keegan’s story.

To Mr. Keegan’s right and two chairs down was Miss Jennings. Miss Jennings was a fifty-year-old spinster that had been head cashier in the Elko bank since its inception. She had come to Elko from Boston to help set up the bank’s systems and record keeping. She smiled at Mr. Newman and then raised an eyebrow when she looked at Mr. Keegan. To be more comfortable as she spoke to the salesman, she had to rotate her whole corseted body. She looked left and then right to be sure she had everyone’s attention and then addressed the salesman, "Mr. Keegan has omitted a very important part of this wonderful story. Bill Nysonger, the owner of the Mooning Side Ranch, the young man’s employer, had sent three men to Denver to take delivery of some very high-grade breeding stock, some horses and two of those new Hereford male animals from England.

The robbers were three brothers. During the attempted robbery, two of the brothers were killed. Some time later, the third brother set about to avenge the death of his brothers, never mind the fact that they had set about to rob and kill in the first place.

She paused to savor the fact that she had upstaged Mr. Keegan and went on, Bill Nysonger had developed a special caring for Allen North, and almost from the first day Allen went to work for him, Mr. Nysonger became his mentor. When Allen’s wounds had healed, he and Mary announced that they would be married. Bill was so pleased with that development that he was almost beside himself. Old Bill never had a family of his own, and Allen and Mary seemed to be what was lacking in his life, and he wanted to do something real special for them. So, just before the wedding, Bill proposed that Mary and Allen join him in a real high-quality horse-breeding and training ranch.

From the other end of the table someone agreed, Yes, that’s right.

Mary had a half section that was her little farm. Miss Jennings glanced to her right and then to her left to let it be known that her story didn’t need any editorial help and continued, There were several sections with good grass and water near her farm that needed only to be filed on. Everyone knew that Bill certainly already had the best horses in all of northern Nevada and took great pride in constantly improving his string, so the young folks, of course, jumped at the offer.

Mr. Keegan nodded in agreement, Miss. Jennings, I apologize. You are very correct in your recounting. Please go on.

Miss Jennings controlled a blush. This was the first time in all the years they had lived under the same roof that he had been so solicitous of her. She touched her lips with her handkerchief, coughed slightly, and for an instant she and Mr. Keegan made eye contact, The third and surviving brother’s name was Simon, Simon Blackburn. He skulked around for more than a month planning how he would kill Allen and then kill the other two ranch hands that he and his brothers had attempted to rob.

All up and down the table there was mumbling of general agreement. Seeing that she had center stage, Miss. Jennings was a little embarrassed. In an effort to regain composure she opened the lid on the broach watch that she wore on her ample bosom, noted the time and then snapped it shut. Then she raised her chin and went on, On the very day that Allen and Mary were to be married, that Blackburn man appeared at Mary’s farm demanding that Allen face him in a gunfight. Then as if by the hand of God, that fool of a man put the muzzle of his shotgun on the soft ground to steady himself as one might with a cane or a crutch. The gun barrel became plugged with dirt and when he tried to shoot at Allen the gun blew up and killed him. We had a bang-up wedding, and that Simon Blackburn is now buried in our cemetery.

Mr. Newman turned his head and looked first at Mr. Keegan and then at Miss Jennings, but speaking to everyone, Well then what? Did they really go ahead with the partnership?

A voice from down the table eagerly answered, Oh, you bet. It only took about a month and a half for the first improvements, and they named the place North Star.

Another voice chimed in, They already had some of the best mares around, and old Bill went and bought some kind of fancy European stud that had a significant star blaze on his face and because of the blaze, they called him Star. That is the reason for the ranch name, North Star Ranch. I’ll tell you this, a little later this spring they are going to have some kind of an outstanding crop of foals. I just hope that someday I’d be able to afford to buy me one of them North Star horses.

Mr. Newman rocked back in his chair and looked hopefully at the door to the kitchen, pulled his watch from his vest pocket, and commented, Now that’s a nice ending to the story.

Miss Jennings shook her head, No, not at all, if you knew those young folks as we do, you’d agree that that was just the beginning.

Prologue

To describe the beauty of the high desert of northern Nevada would be like describing young love to someone that had never been in love. In every environment and society there are those that are just passing through. They seldom cause more than a ripple in the lives of others. Then there are those that God chose to put in that place at that time. Only they can see nature’s beauty in a place like the high desert. These are the men and women that will be the leaders. These are the men and women that set the higher goals for future generations. These are the history makers.

Allen North had been born and raised just south of Elko. Mary Aldridge had moved into the Elko area as a young bride, and her husband was killed in a logging accident a year or maybe a year and a half later. After all the work she and her husband had put into their little ranch, it was her choice to stay and work the small farm they had started before Mary’s husband lost his life. Allen had known them both, but only as a nodding acquaintance.

Chapter 1

Allen and Mary North stood in the middle of their entry wagon road and admired the newly installed entry arch, proclaiming for all the world to see that this was the North Star Ranch. Mary put her arm around her husband’s waist. Allen put his around her shoulders. Then leading their horses, they walked slowly toward their house.

Allen pulled her to him. I still can’t believe we’ve been married almost six months now.

Mary had her right arm around Allen’s waist. It does seem kind of dream-like doesn’t it? They took only a few more steps and she pulled him around so that they were both facing north. And I can’t believe that we’ve filed on that whole section of land out there.

Just a few weeks before, Allen had been exercising a horse on a lunge line in the corral. He suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched. He turned to see Bill Nysonger sitting on his horse watching from the corral gate. He sat with his right elbow on the saddle horn and his chin resting on the cup of his hand.

Whoa there, Allen called to the horse. He pulled in the line, unsnapped it from the halter, and turned the horse loose. Smiling, he walked to the gate straining to see what Bill had on the lead rope behind him. How long have you been sitting there?

Only a minute or so. Bill straightened in his saddle, reined his horse to the left, and led a chestnut stud in a circle.

When he stopped, he proudly held the lead rope high to make the stud hold his head up and strike a pose. He was taller than most of the horses that were common to cow use. He had a distinct star-shaped white blaze on his forehead. His coat was rich and shiny, showing that he had had excellent care.

Where in the ever-loving, blue-eyed world did you get that brute? Allen pushed his hat back to admire the horse’s full deep chest, his powerful hindquarters, and the fine muzzle. Wow! What beautiful conformation. Looks to be a lot of Arab in that fellow.

Mary came to the door of the house and called out, Oh, Bill, he’s magnificent.

Bill touched his hat to acknowledge Mary. Since they first started the operation, Mary had worked by her husband’s side every day. Bill just couldn’t get used to seeing her wearing men’s pants. He thought, Lord, lord, what’s this generation coming to? He straightened in his saddle and watched Mary walk toward him, Shoot, he thought, even in man’s pants she sure does look good. That woman shows real conformation.

Allen walked around the big chestnut, Where did you come by him, Bill?

Bill stepped down from the saddle, Just before your wedding I heard tell about him. A Mormon horse breeder over near Ogden in Utah had been racing him, and doing really good too. Well, this one time in a race, a horse next to him stumbled and fell, and both him and this fellow went down together. He injured his right foreleg, mostly in the shoulder.

Mary stepped forward and ran a hand over the horse’s right foreleg and chest then looked up and waited for Bill to continue.

Bill pushed back his hat and stepped between Mary and the big horse and continued, They just didn’t want to spend the time and money to bring him back not knowing if he would ever run again. We wrote back and forth a few times, and we made a deal, and I had him shipped. He’s half Arab and half French Thoroughbred.

Mary reached out to touch the stallion’s face. Bill touched her arm and cautioned, I think you better get to know this big feller before you go to petting him. Mary let her hand drop. Bill made his harrumph sound that generally meant he was about to make some profound statement. You got to be careful around a big stud like this. Some of these running horses are kickers and biters. A lot of stallions are just plain unpredictable.

Mary cocked her head and looked closely at the horse’s eyes. Horses are like people. Most of them ain’t mean. If you give them half a chance, they’ll be your friend.

Allen took the lead rope from Bill, Mary, honey, you best go slow.

Mary gave Allen and Bill a tolerant look, stepped forward and took the rope from her husband, Well, we’ll just have to see. She led the stud in a circle. He followed along like a pet dog. When she stopped, the horse took an extra step forward and put his head over her shoulder. Mary smiled at the two men, This horse doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.

Bill shook his head and smiled at Allen, I think we’ve done lost us a horse here. Then he turned serious, Leading him around is one thing. Being on his back can bring out a whole new set of manners. Keep in mind, he was a running horse. Most times they haven’t had much saddle training, except to just run and win.

Allen nodded in agreement, I suppose there ain’t nothing to do but find out just what kind of manners he does have. Mary, lead him back to Bill. Allen turned toward the barn, I’ll get a saddle and bridle."

Bill tied his horse to a corral rail and climbed down off the fence into the corral and took the lead rope from Mary. He smiled as he ran his hands over the stud’s forequarter and said, Truth is, he has such perfect conformation, I don’t much care if he’s been saddle trained or not. What I bought him for doesn’t take any training. Two mares in an