Terror and Mayhem in Texas – Extended Epilogue

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Five years later

Sheriff Roger Blackstone had finished his breakfast and was drinking his second cup of coffee when the well-dressed gentleman approach. He was tall and, the sheriff thought, had a studious look. He wondered if the man was a scientist or maybe historian. He had an academic look about him. The sheriff was not totally sure what an academic look actually entailed, but the man had that, whatever it was.

“Sheriff Blackstone?” the man asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“I’m Willard Arberry, a professor of history at the University of Texas and—”

“I knew it!” Blackstone said, smiling. “I thought you looked like an academic.”

“Well, you were right. I went to the sheriff’s office first and was told you were over here having breakfast.”

“Yes, sit down. What can I do for you?”

A waitress walked over and Professor Arberry asked for a cup of coffee. However, the waitress told him about a breakfast special the restaurant was having with fresh blueberries on the shop’s magnificent pancakes and promised there wasn’t a better breakfast in all of Texas. 

“And I wouldn’t lie to you,” the lady said. “I’m part-owner with my husband. These are the best pancakes and best blue berries in the state of Texas. Once you have a taste, you will never forget them.”

“That’s true,” Blackstone said. “I can vouch for that.”

“Well, if that’s the case I will have to order some,” the professor said. “You don’t ever want to pass up a good meal.”

“That’s true,” the waitress said. “I will bring out a plate.”

“Professor, what brings you over to Waco Falls?” Blackstone asked. “We’re just an ordinary, peaceful Texas town. I haven’t had anyone in jail for about two weeks. I’ve heard of a crime wave, but we’re having a peace wave. That’s nice, but nothing to interest historians.”

“True, but I’m glad it’s so peaceful down here. But I was in Austin last month at the Amanda Allen exhibition of Western art, and it was brilliant. She is a fine painter and her pictures are realistic but also, I think, eternal. The exhibition received a couple of fine reviews in the local papers and a number of letters to the editor praising it.”

Blackstone nodded. “I’m familiar with some of her early work. I was here when she painted them.”

The professor sat back as a plate of pancakes and blueberries was placed before him. He grabbed a fork and began cutting the pancakes into smaller bits. As he brought the first piece to his mouth, he gave a wide smile.

“Wow, that is good.”

“Yes, the Lotts, Art and Ann, run this place and they are great cooks. But what can I do for you, professor?”

The professor took one more bite of the blueberry pancake before answering.

“As I said, I’m an historian, and I talked briefly with Mrs. Allen about her paintings. She also mentioned a rather dramatic incident in the town’s history, when her own brother tried to take over the time. She didn’t have time to provide details, but the story interested me. I wanted to gather more information on it and perhaps write a book about the incident. I understand you were here at that time, too, so you have firsthand knowledge of it.”

Blackstone nodded. “I was one of the deputies that night. We were in the jail expecting an attack, and we got one. And it was Amanda’s brother, Wade Shelton, who led the attack. He was killed and many of his men died on the street. We suspected the attack would come and we were prepared. We had about eight to ten men at the sheriff’s office who were well armed. Plus, the sheriff had put snipers on the roofs of buildings across the street. The riflemen had clear shots at the attackers and so did we. They were close and it was difficult to miss a target that night. But we had cover. The attackers shot a barrage of bullets at us but I think only two of our men were slightly wounded. Two former Confederate officers were killed during the attempted raid. I thought they would have known better. When they realize the attack was not going to be a surprise, the office was barricaded, and there were men on the roofs, they should have ridden away, knowing discretion is the better part of valor.”

“And you took over as sheriff a short time afterwards?” Arberry asked, after biting into another slice of the blueberry pancake.

Blackstone nodded. “Sheriff Dickson retired a short time after that. If you’re writing a history of the attack, you will need to talk to him. I think he made some shrewd guesses at that time and put everything in place that he should have. And since he had been a lawman for almost thirty years, it was a good time to retire. Go out on a note of victory.”

Arberry nodded. “Yes. That’s the best time to retire. He still lives here, doesn’t he?”

“On the edge of town. He and his wife are still living and having a good time. They both are always smiling and laughing. I’m sure he would answer any questions. He lost a good friend due to Wade Shelton, the former county judge. Judge Andrew Fletcher. He and the sheriff were friends for years. I know he really mourned for his friend, who was killed on Shelton’s orders. Sheriff Dickson would have loved to put a noose around Wade’s neck, but I guess having him die on rainy, muddy street, knowing he had failed, was just as good.”

“And was Amanda’s husband at that time also a deputy?”

Ann Lott came around and refilled Blackstone’s coffee cup. 

“Wonderful pancakes, ma’am,” Arberry said.

“Thank you. I always enjoy compliments,” she said as she walked away.

Blackstone sipped from his refilled cup. “Yes. Clay Allen hired me after he became a deputy. We put on a few other men when we knew we were facing a fight. We figured Wade Shelton would pull something like this. Clay began courting Wade’s sister. Those two are totally different in personality. Amanda is a fine artist and a fine Christian. When she owned the saloon, we had probably the only saloon owner to go to the church every Sunday. And Amanda didn’t miss a Sunday. I don’t think she was just there whenever the pastor opened the church; I think she had a key. She is a woman who is a Christian and she lives out her beliefs. People like that are very admirable.”

“And am I correct, that she runs the Bar S now?”

“Yes. She owned the ranch when her brother died but she was busy with her painting. So her marriage to my friend Clay was not just out of love—she also got a good business partner. Clay was going to be the sheriff. He was hired before I was and had more experience that I did, but when he married Amanda, she needed someone to run the ranch, and he has done a good job of it. He has kept the ranch in good condition while she painted. It was a good deal for both the business and artistic community. She’s had more than one showing and is receiving glowing praise for her talent. She also takes care of the two children they now have. A boy and a girl. The boy has a startling resemblance to Clay, and the girl looks just like Amanda. I rarely see Clay nowadays because he’s so busy with the ranch, but once in a while he comes to town so I can say hello.”

Arberry finished the last of the pancake. He wiped the syrup from his mouth with a napkin. “That was excellent. They are the finest cooks in Texas.”

Blackstone nodded. “That’s what I always said. Glad to see someone agrees with me. They are so good it’s tough getting a table in here most times. But the town is growing. We’re getting more businesses and more of everything else. Once we got rid of our would-be dictator, the town has prospered.”

“The more I talk to people the more I want to write my book on the…what would you call that? It was more than just an outlaw attack but not quite a rebellion, or maybe it was…”

Blackstone almost laughed. “I don’t think we ever put an official name on it. I guess you could call it an insurrection, or attempted insurrection. The late Mr. Shelton did want to take over the county. He had big dreams, but the problem was they were bad dreams. Or at least bad dreams for everyone but him. But he died on a muddy street, which should be the fate of all men like him—men who crave power for themselves. They destroy everyone around them to get it and then they destroy themselves.”

“Thank you for your time, Sheriff. I want to go out and talk to the former sheriff now.”

“Drop by any time, Professor.”

*

The former sheriff sat on his porch in a rocking chair smoking a cigar when Professor Arberry came by and greeted him. He explained the reason to the sheriff and was told to sit a spell. The sheriff said he’d be happy to answer any queries about the episode in question. 

The professor sat down in the other rocking chair on the porch. He had his pad and pencil out and was clearly getting enthusiastic about his book. 

“Actually, I never thought I would make history,” Dickson said, smiling.

“I hope you are wrong in that, sheriff,” Arberry said. “I talked with a few people about the incident but I was told before Wade Shelton took over the Shelton ranch, you had some trouble with his father, Tom. Is that true? Was that sort of the foundation to all the friction between the Sheltons and the law?”

The sheriff puffed on his cigar and nodded. “His father was called Tough Tom Shelton. He bought the ranch and changed its name to the Bar S, and he was determined to make it the biggest ranch not only in the county, but in the region. He didn’t mind bending the law a bit, but for a long time, he didn’t want any direct conflict with the law. We were the badgers—we could arrest him if he pulled something blatantly illegal. He certainly bent the law a bit from time to time but was very careful not to go too far out of bounds. I knew he pulled a few illegalities, but we couldn’t prove it was him. He was careful because he knew he couldn’t intimidate me; he knew I would shove him in jail and slam the door on him. He was careful and cautious so I never had the proof to arrest him. He fought with the other ranches, too. And it went on like that for years, and all the while Tom Shelton added to his ranch, by legal and I think at times illegal methods. But maybe he pushed too hard. Toward the end of his life, he seemed to be getting ill a lot. And Tom Shelton wasn’t a man to be in bed during the daytime. And he didn’t like doctors either. If he had been a little more sensible, he might have lived longer. The first time I heard he was in bed, I wondered if he ever got up. I figured death was the only reason he would be in bed during the day. He was a tough man, but he lost his final battle. To this day, I don’t know what killed him. Think possibly his heart gave out.”

“From what people tell me about him, that was a good thing for the county…and for the sheriff, for that matter.”

The old sheriff chuckled. “That’s partly true. Shelton’s death removed a headache for me. It was peaceful for a while until his son, Wade, got his footing on the ranch and decided to be as much trouble as his father was. His sister went the other way. Amanda was always a wonderful lady. She didn’t strut around like Tom or Wade but she had a strength of her own and effectively went her own, very honest way in spite of the pressure from her father and her brother. How she developed that strong, personal character and morality I don’t know, but she did. Her brother went the way of his father, and that was a shame, and he ended up dead in a muddy, bloody street.”

“An interesting family. I bet you were glad Tom Shelton only had two children,” the professor said.

“Yes, two were enough. Although maybe a third child would have turned out like Amanda, but I think the odds were against him. I think Tom would have corrupted a third child the way he corrupted Wade, although Wade seem to lean that way to begin with. And Wade, I think, got to a position where he wanted to overtake his father, to be better and have a bigger ranch than his father. To him, that would have made him a success.” The sheriff shook his head. “But it only brought his death.”

“Would you say Tom Shelton was the toughest man you met in your career as a sheriff?”

“Yes, but not the meanest. I dealt with two or three men who were cold-blooded killers. I think Tom Shelton might have drawn the line there. He used power and persuasion to get what he wanted, and—at times, I think—a bit of blackmail. If he had leverage on a man, he would certainly use it, but I think Tom always drew the line at murder. He did have a degree of humanity in him—not a large degree but a little.”

“Did his son have that degree of humanity?”

The sheriff puffed on his cigar for a half minute. When he spoke again, his voice held sadness, not anger. “I think he did once, but I think the longer Wade went on, the less humanity he had. Once he decided he was going to take over the county, I think he gradually became more callous, and that was a shame.”

*

The house was so large he expected a servant to answer the door, but it was opened by the attractive blond woman, who smiled and extended her hand.

“Professor Arberry! It’s lovely to see you again.”

“Thank you for agreeing to talk to me again, Mrs. Allen. You and your husband are part of the story and I did want to interview you two.”

“Come in and sit down. You’re fortunate that Clay is actually home today and not out chasing cattle. And our two children are taking their afternoon nap.”

He walked inside into a large living room. “How old are your children?”

“Clay Jr. is four and Melissa is two. And they both are full of energy. Would you like a drink, Professor?”

“No, ma’am. I’m fine.”

“Sit down on the sofa.’

As he walked toward the sofa a tall and smiling man walked in. Clay Allen projected an aura of likeability. He had a winning grin and a face that beamed friendship.

“You must be Professor Arberry,” Clay said, offering his hand.

“I am,” the professor said, shaking Allen’s strong, calloused hand.

“Please sit down. You have an interesting project going. A book about the Wade Shelton and the insurrection he tried to lead.”

Arberry nodded. “I heard the story from your wife and began looking into it. I found it more and more fascinating, so I’ve been talking to people who lived through it. I’m glad it ended well for law and order and was devastating to the outlaws.”

Clay nodded. “We had prepared for a possible attack and fight. And the sheriff guessed right a few times and we had lined up some men who would stand with us. But the actual gunfight went better than we had any right to expect. We had only two people slightly wounded and none killed, but we must have killed or wounded more than twenty of Shelton’s men. And the rest ran off.”

“When the sheriff hired you, did you ever think you would see anything like that?”

Clay chuckled. “Not in a million years. The fact the sheriff hired me was the best thing that happened to me. I met and married Amanda and have this ranch to run. It became a dream come true. We are both very happy here.”

“And I lived in this house when there was no happiness here,” Amanda said. “Only a lot of silent suffering. This house is completely different than I lived with my brother and father. My mother died when I was young so I remember very little of her.”

“Your father never remarried?”

“Who would marry Tough Tom Shelton?” she asked, laughing. “But it was a great day when the sheriff hired Clay. I remember when my father was not the strong man he later became, when he wasn’t causing—to be diplomatic—all the trouble and tried to strongarm everyone. But then I also remember the Shelton era, when my father was at his worst, and then when Wade became too much like him. But now the town and county are experiencing slow but steady growth. It’s a post-Shelton era with the family dwindling into the background. The post-Shelton era is a good time for the county, a very good time.”

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