The Seeker: A Tale of Post Civil War Texas

The

Seeker

A tale of post Civil war Texas

Robert J. Gossett

AuthorHouse™

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Phone: 1-800-839-8640

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

© 2012 Robert J. Gossett

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/28/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9338-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9336-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-93379 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012922185

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1 Meet the Oak

Chapter 2 The Search for Confederate Veterans

Chapter 3 Camp Douglas

Chapter 4 Reunions and Bad News Recipients

Chapter 5 The Rustlers

Chapter 6 The Suicide

Chapter 7 Judge Roy Bean Meets Lillie Langtry

Chapter 8 Langtry, Texas

Chapter 9 The Case of the Missing Husband

Chapter 10 The Showdown Approaches

Chapter 11 The Pelletiers

Chapter 12 Waiting on Another Client

Chapter 13 No God West of the Pecos

Chapter 14 The Raid

Chapter 15 The Recovery

Chapter 16 A Job He Didn’t Want To Do, But Did

Chapter 17 Back to San Antonio and Becky

Chapter 18 Who Shot Little Jake?

Chapter 19 Alice Mary Is Missing

Chapter 20 Tex Tyler

Chapter 21 The Search for the Kidnappers

Chapter 22 The Seeker Seeks Becky

The author gratefully acknowledges the following people who assisted in this work:

Amy Slanchik, a superb typist and reader of my poor penmanship.

Sharon Slanchik, an expert editor.

John Slanchik, for his computer assistance.

Dennis Ray, for his expertrise in proofreading.

Tih Kobolson, for her beautiful illustrations.

This book is dedicated to the late Shirley Ranker, who convinced me to resume writing.

It is also dedicated to the staff of the Menger Hotel in San Antonio, who work hard to make their guests comfortable.

Chapter 1

Meet the Oak

His ad in the San Antonio Express News read,

Will find anyone, anywhere. I can return them to you or punish them, whichever you prefer. Wire me at or visit the Menger Hotel in San Antonio. Leave word with Bill, the bartender.

The Oak, or Mr. Oak, or Oakie, depending on how well you knew him, was an enigmatic man. He was a man of means, living at the Menger Hotel, and well known in town as a respected and well-connected citizen and man about town. No one knew where he came from or his background, and he volunteered no information about himself.

Standing six feet tall and well built, he obviously had taken good care of himself. His mustache was always neatly trimmed. When not working, he wore tailored western suits, usually grey or blue. They fit loosely so as to conceal the Colt .45 Peacemaker in a black shoulder holster.

His clothes, when working, were always black jeans, shirt, and leather chaps. They were complemented by a tied-down, hand-tooled black leather holster with an inlaid silver sprawling oak tree. His Stetson matched the rest of his outfit. His horse was a huge black stallion, with four white socks and a white blaze. He called him Santana.

One evening he was relaxing at the bar enjoying his favorite drink, a glass of champagne, and carrying on a conversation with his favorite confidant, Bill the bartender. A bellhop interrupted them saying, Excuse me Mr. Oak, but there is a lady in the coffee shop who wants to talk to you. As soon as he saw the lady sitting at the table sipping a cup of tea, he recognized her from the society pages. She extended her hand, and he clasped it as he said, My dear Mrs. Magruder, what may I do for you?

Well, Mr. Oak, I would like to hire you to kill someone, she whispered.

Oh dear, and who might that be? he asked.

It’s the man who raped my daughter Sarah, she answered.

That’s a little bit of a severe punishment for rape, don’t you think? he said.

I just don’t care. My daughter is so miserable, she wants him dead, she told him.

And who might this person be? he inquired.

It’s a Mexican who works for one of my neighbors. He has been staring at Sarah for a long time, trying to talk to her, and night before last he raped her as she walked home from a neighbor’s house, she explained.

And how old is your daughter? he asked.

She is 16, but she looks like she is 20, Mrs. Magruder explained.

Why don’t you go to the police—isn’t this really a matter for them? Oak asked.

Oh, heavens no. We couldn’t do that. Our good name would be blemished beyond belief, she blurted out.

Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take on the job, but I won’t kill him. I’ll take him someplace and give him 20 lashes with a buggy whip. That would be an appropriate punishment for the crime, and your daughter can watch if she wants to. Will that be satisfactory with you? he said, hoping this would be enough to diffuse the situation.

I suppose so. I’ll ask Sarah. And how much would you charge for that? she asked.

Two hundred dollars, was the answer. He knew that he was asking for a lot, but she could afford it.

I guess it will have to do. I brought some money with me, so I’ll pay you now, she said, taking out a large roll of $100 bills from her purse, and handing him two of them.

Thank you. Now if you will please write down the rapist’s name and address and tell me if your daughter wants to watch me do it. Just let me know.

Thank you, Mr. Oak. And please keep all of this private, she answered.

Thank you, Mrs. Magruder. Just let me know and I’ll do the job for you.

She left suddenly. Oak folded the money and stuffed it into his oversized jeans’ watch pocket, which also housed his .41 caliber double-barrel Remington derringer.

As he reclaimed his seat at the bar, Bill asked him, Did she have a job for you?

A minor one, Oak answered, and continued sipping his champagne. The next day an envelope was left at the desk for him. He opened it and read the note:

His name is Jose Gonzales, and he lives in a room over the carriage house in the rear of 427 Oak Hill Drive. This weekend would be nice. Sarah does not want to watch, but would like proof you did it.

After breakfast he went to the hotel stable and retrieved Santana. The ride was only a couple of miles from the hotel, but the neighborhood was truly a rich one. Oak Hills Drive had large two-story homes on at least an acre of ground each. Most of the houses were brick or native stone. Some had circular driveways in front, and all of them had large carriage houses in the rear. He looked up number 427 and saw a large brick home with a circular gravel drive in front with large live oak trees protruding from a manicured lawn. He wondered if the occupants knew they had a rapist as one of their servants.

With the address firmly set in his mind, he rode Santana back to the hotel. The next day was Saturday, so Oak borrowed a horse and buggy from the hotel and drove to the Oak Hills address. As he approached the house, he saw a Mexican man hand trimming the lawn. He thought to himself, If that is Jose, I am in luck.

When he pulled up to the curb he yelled, Jose!

The man looked at him and Oak motioned for him to approach the carriage.

Jose obliged, and as he neared, Oak pointed his derringer at him and told him, Get in the buggy and drive.

Jose’s eyes widened with fear, and he asked in broken English, You punish me?

Why would I do that? Have you been a bad boy?

"Si, me drunk on tequila," Jose said.

No, I am not going to kill you unless you try to run. Just behave and do as I tell you, and you will be OK, Oak told him.

Jose started driving, and Oak continued to point the derringer at his belly.

Jose followed Oak’s orders, and they soon arrived at a quarry. Oak told him to get out of the buggy and take off his shirt. Again Jose obeyed, and Oak took the buggy whip and gave Jose twenty lashes on the back. Oak instructed him to hold still and take his punishment for raping that girl. Jose was still terrified of being killed, so he remained still until the lashing was over. Then Oak took out a towel he brought and blotted the blood from Jose’s back. Then he told Jose to put his shirt on and that he would drive him home.

Oak told him, Now Jose, you raped that girl, and you were punished. If that girl and her mother had turned you in to the police, you would have gotten a lot worse punishment; but understand, if you do it again, I will come and kill you.

I no do again, came the answer.

Oak drove Jose back to his job, then delivered the bloody towel to the home of the Magruders as proof of the lashing.

He drove back to the Menger and returned the buggy. He needed a good stiff drink. He felt sorry for Jose. He took the beating like a man, and Oak thought, Case closed. He doubted Jose would rape anyone else.

As he sat at the bar, he ordered a shot of their best bourbon with a champagne chaser. He was feeling good. He had just made a quick and easy $200, and no one was dead or injured too badly.

Chapter 2

The Search for Confederate Veterans

By a strange coincidence, the next four people wanting to hire Oak were all asking for help in locating men who had not returned home after serving in the Confederate Army. The year was 1866; the war had ended over a year ago, and these four people were still awaiting the arrival of their soldiers.

Mrs. Murphy wanted him to hire him to locate her son Michael. He had enlisted in the Army when he was 17, and she had not heard a word from him in 18 months. She told Oak she owned a boarding house and had saved