Friends and Enemies

There will be six books in this series

FORTUNES OF THE BLACK HILLS

by STEPHEN BLY

Book #1

Beneath a Dakota Cross

Book #2

Shadow of Legends

Book #3

The Long Trail Home

Book #4

Friends and Enemies

For information on other books by this author, write:

Stephen Bly

Winchester, Idaho 83555

or check out

www.blybooks.com

© 2002 by Stephen A. Bly

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

0-8054-2437-7

Published by Broadman & Holman Publishers,

Nashville, Tennessee

Dewey Decimal Classification: 813

Subject Heading: WESTERN—FICTION, BLACK HILLS—FICTION

Library of Congress Card Catalog Number: 2001049956

All Scripture citation is from the King James Version.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bly, Stephen A., 1944–

Friends and enemies / Stephen Bly

      p. cm. (Fortunes of the Black Hills ; bk. 4)

ISBN 0-8054-2437-7 (pb.)

1. Black Hills (S.D. and Wyo.)—Fiction. 2. Sheriffs—Fiction. I. Title

PS3552.L93 F75 2002

813'.54—dc21

2001049956

CIP

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 06 05 04 03 02

For

Aaron

our youngest son

AUTHOR'S NOTES

Anyone who came to Deadwood, Dakota Territory, before the trains arrived had to hike, straddle a horse, or ride the stagecoach into town. The roads were neither straight nor smooth. It was not a place to go for a sight-seeing trip. You went there for a reason . . . gold! The early pioneers were tough, bold, determined, and a bit arrogant. They were the stagecoach aristocracy. Even today in the northern Black Hills, anyone who can trace his family back to the pre-railroad days holds a certain place of respect.

South Dakota gained statehood on November 2, 1889.

But on December 29, 1890, the railroad reached Deadwood and with it came easy contact with the outside world.

There was a grand celebration. A parade. Fireworks. And that night, when people finally went to bed . . . they locked their doors for the first time. The protection of isolation was gone.

It was a new day.

Deadwood has never been the same since.

The changing of eras brings both sadness and joy, disappointment and hope, tears and laughter. The old era will become more exciting because many boring days of the past are quickly forgotten, and only the adventurous ones are remembered, usually embellished with loving additions.

But the old era will never come back.

There will be new friends . . . and new enemies.

Most of us who live in the little towns in the West know exactly what it's like to be considered one of the “old-timers” or a newcomer. Sometimes the most important people in the community are those who can bridge those eras and find acceptance by both groups.

That's what makes people like Robert and Jamie Sue Fortune so important to a town like Deadwood. They moved to town after the train arrived. Yet they were the first couple to be married in Deadwood, fifteen years before. Robert's father was an original prospector in Whitewood Gulch, and his brothers, sister, and family had lived there for years.

They were newcomers with old-time roots.

The kind of person that gets elected mayor.

Or sheriff.

Or chairman of the school board.

Or a deacon in the church.

Or maybe all of the above.

All it takes is a strong sense of God's leading. Enthusiasm. Discipline. A listening ear. And the ability to laugh at oneself.

That is, provided you don't make too many enemies, right from the start.

Stephen Bly

Broken Arrow Crossing, Idaho

Summer of '01

When a man's ways please the LORD,

he maketh even his enemies to be at peace with him.

Proverbs 16:7 (KJV)

CHAPTER ONE

Just north of Rapid City, South Dakota . . . June 2, 1891

Ponderosa pine trees flashed by the train window like green- needled black pickets on an endless fence . . . none distinguishable from the one before, and too many to count. Behind the tree trunks, the muted shadows of a cloudy June day kept the Black Hills black.

The rattle of steel wheels on steel tracks had sounded deafening when they boarded the train but now had become the foundation upon which all other sounds were built. And like the rhythm of a smooth-gaited horse, the movement of the train car seemed to lull, rather than jar, the passengers.

With dark brown beard neatly trimmed, Robert Fortune sat with military posture and held a Denver newspaper. But he was reading the faces of his family.

Jamie Sue's right, Lord. They are growing up. Little Frank is fourteen. Patricia and Veronica are twelve. I have gray in my hair and creases around my eyes. The days I can account for, but I have no idea how the years went by so fast. It saddens me to think how few years are really left for them to be with us. Maybe it's a good move after all. No more long campaigns into the Sierra Madres. No more hearings in Washington, D.C. No more twenty-one-gun salutes and the solitude of Taps over the grave of a good friend.

He turned to the woman next to him. She had dark brown hair parted in the middle and stacked on the back of her head. “Don't you think it's strange to be out looking for a new start and a new vocation at my age?” he blurted out.

Her high, white lace collar on her blouse was fastened with a gold-framed cameo. With the filtered light of the train car, he could see a few small wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. With a knowing countenance she glanced up at him, then patted the knee of his gray wool trousers. Her blue eyes danced as she pointed to the emergency brake cord at the top of the Pullman car. “Perhaps you'd like to stop the train and go back to Arizona.”

“I've thought about it,” he concurred.

She leaped to her feet and reached up for the cord.

“Jamie Sue! I was just ponderin', and you know it.”

“You weren't pondering. You were fretting,” she corrected as she plopped back down beside him.

“Doesn't this move bother you? At least in the army we usually knew what was expected.”

“Captain Robert Fortune, retired. I rather like that.” She reached over and ran her finger over the brass button on his vest.

“Maybe I should have stayed in for a full thirty years. It seems rather foolish to be moving at our age.”

“At our age? We are barely considered middle-aged, Robert Fortune.”

“But to be starting over?”

“We aren't starting over; we're moving on.” She rolled her eyes at the light green ceiling of the Pullman coach. “If I remember right, Daddy Brazos was near fifty when he moved up here from his beloved Texas.”

“They took away the ranch. He had to move.”

She slipped her fingers in his. “Bobby, we've been all through this, remember? The West is settling down . . . army life has turned routine. . . . General Crook, rest his soul, is gone . . . since Wounded Knee last December, hostilities are at a minimum . . . and you were told flat out you would not make colonel until you were fifty.”

He stared out the window at the speeding forest. “If then.”

“Well, your letter to the secretary of war concerning the government's incompetence in dealing with Chirachua Apaches most certainly slowed down your prospects.”

The back of his neck flushed. “Every word of it was true.”

“Of course it was; that's why their reaction was so vindictive. No one wants to be reminded so graphically of failure they are already quite ashamed of. It really is all settled,” she reasoned. “It was time for us to find new challenges.”

A sagging strand of mostly dark hair drooped across her eye. He reached over and brushed it back.

Robert again studied his wife and children. The twins wore identical chocolate brown dust cloaks of satin merveilleux that covered their identical white, lacy cotton dresses. Both wore saucer-shaped white straw hats with identical large green silk ribbon bows. Little Frank sat wearing leather braces holding up worn ducking trousers and a boiled cotton shirt. Each looked as if they had indeed lived in the same clothes for a week. “None of you know what it's like to live so close to my family. It's different from just seeing them for a couple weeks a year.”

Veronica bounced on the leather train seat as she talked, her light brown bangs flopping across her forehead. “It's the most exciting thing we've ever done in our whole lives,” she insisted.

“Finally, we don't have to be the ones that load up and go home after Christmas.” Patricia leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. She bit her lower lip right before she spoke. “Daddy, did you know that Aunt Dacee June promised to teach us how to ride jumping horses bareback?”

The thought of young girls' skirts breezing up in the wind caused Jamie Sue to glare. “You will ride sidesaddle,” she insisted.

Veronica slumped back against the wide leather seat.

Jamie Sue smoothed down the small crocheted blanket in her lap, then laced her fingers on top of it. “Ladies always ride sidesaddle. You know that.”

“But we're just twelve years old,” Veronica protested. “Do we have to act like ladies?”

“We aren't living alone out on the desert. We will be in a town built in a narrow gulch where everyone sees everyone else. It is time you learned proper manners.”

“But . . . but it's Deadwood we're moving to . . . not Denver or San Francisco,” Patricia added. “Things are more relaxed up here, Mama.”

“Proper manners are never out of style, no matter where you live,” Jamie Sue insisted.

“But Amber straddles a horse and rides bareback!” Veronica's left foot still kept time with every word.

“And she's nearly sixteen years old. But her freedoms are not a measurement for you to follow. Your cousin Jehane sucks her thumb, but that doesn't mean you are allowed to.”

“Jehane is only two!” Patricia murmured.

Robert Fortune gazed into the identical round faces of his daughters. Often, it seemed like there was only one girl, and his vision blurred. “Now don't provoke your mother, girls. You must do what is proper for your age and for your position in Deadwood.”

Veronica wrinkled her small, round, upturned nose. “At Fort Huachuca we were Captain Fortune's kids. What is our position in Deadwood, Daddy?”

“You are a member of one of the largest and most prominent families in the northern Black Hills. You've got a grandpa, three uncles, three aunts, and ten cousins who preceded you to that location, and you have to live up to a family standard.”

“Well, I can't wait to move into our new house,” Little Frank added. “It will be a lot different from our adobe down in Arizona.”

“The Lord's timing was quite gracious,” Jamie Sue added. “When Professor Edwards passed on, Louise moved in with her sister and insisted on selling the house to us.”

Patricia chewed on her lip, then spoke. “Do we really get the whole second floor of the house to ourselves?”

“Yes, Little Frank gets the back bedroom, and Mama and I will have the one off the dining room,” Robert added.

“Daddy, how long will you keep calling him Little Frank? He's fourteen years old,” Veronica said.

“I don't mind,” Little Frank shrugged.

“I suppose as long as the Dakota sun reflects off Big River Frank's silver cross up at the Mount Moriah Cemetery, he will be Little Frank to the whole Fortune clan.”

Little Frank stared out the window as the train slowed to climb through rocky boulders and small scattered trees. “I am anxious to work at the lumberyard this summer. I've never had a real job like that before. I'll have to learn how to do it.”

Robert pulled off his new Stetson hat and ran his fingers through slightly oily hair. “We all have a lot to learn. I've never run any business before, let alone a mill and a lumberyard.”

Jamie Sue slipped her arm into Robert's and for a moment thought about a time they had picnicked alone on a blanket on the beach at San Buenaventura.
Lord, how I like being with this man . . . whether it's the beaches of California, the deserts of Arizona, or the gulches of the Black Hills.
She squeezed his arm. “Todd didn't see any problem with your ability when he bought the mill from Quiet Jim.”

“Big brother could run a business in his sleep. He's been organizing and bossing since the day he was born.”

“You certainly know how to organize, give orders to others, and follow instructions. You were one of the youngest captains in your company.”

“And now one of the oldest.”

“Perhaps I should run the lumberyard,” Jamie Sue grinned, revealing dimples at the horizon of her crescent smile. “And you raise the children.”

She started to pull away from Robert, but he clamped her arm to his side. “Oh, no . . . we already discussed that. You aren't running anything.”

Veronica danced the heels of her lace-up boots on the floor of the railroad car. “What's the matter, Daddy? Don't you think Mama could operate a business?” she asked.

Robert folded his arms across his chest. “From the day I met her, I have never known a more quickly decisive woman than Jamie Sue Milan. I am sure she would do much better than me at running a business. But, she has a job.”

“Yes,” Patricia admonished, “but what will Mama do after we're grown?”

Robert leaned his head back against the smooth brown leather seat. “You two aren't gettin' married until you're thirty, are you?”

“Thirty?” Patricia moaned. “I'm going to get married when I'm eighteen.”

Veronica dropped her chin and batted her eyes. “Oh? Is it anyone I know?”

Patricia sat up and shoved her chest forward. “Well, I haven't met him yet. And I wouldn't tell you if I did.”

“You intend to keep a secret from your sister?” Jamie Sue challenged.

“Hah!” Patricia heckled. “'Nica never knew anything about Horace.”

Jamie Sue felt a slight twinge of pain in her lower back as they continued to rattle and rumble along the tracks. “Was he the red-headed boy with the crooked teeth?” she quizzed.

“They weren't all that crooked,” Patricia insisted.

Robert rolled up the Denver newspaper and swatted a fly on the seat beside him. “What kind of secret do you have with Horace?” he questioned.

Veronica's feet now uncontrollably tapped the floor of the Pullman car. “It was probably that time he followed her out to the cedars and helped her when she got bucked off. She pretended she hurt her ankle so he would lift her back on her horse.”

“How did you know that?” Patricia pouted.

“A twin always knows!”

Patricia chewed on her lower lip. “Did you spy on me?”

“Spy? I can ride out to the cedars if I want.”

“You spied on me, didn't you?”

Veronica's knees bounced up and down beneath her full cotton skirt. “She wouldn't turn loose of his neck,” she added.

“My ankle hurt!”

“You were well by that evening.”

“I'm a fast healer,” Patricia insisted.

“You're a fast worker!” Veronica laughed.

“Girls . . .” Robert injected.

“Grandpa Brazos said he would take me hunting this fall and I could use his Sharps .50 caliber,” Little Frank said.

“I told you kids, Aunt Rebekah wrote that Grandpa's been sick lately. He might not feel like goin' hunting this year,” Robert cautioned.

“I can't imagine your father not hunting,” Jamie Sue commented.

“Todd says he and Quiet Jim spend most of the day at the woodstove in the store talking about the old days. It's just the two of them left,” Robert murmured.

Little Frank reached under the seat and tugged out a worn baseball bat. “Grandpa Brazos will come watch me play baseball. That is, if we can find a field big enough.” He gripped the bat with both hands and held it out in from of him.

“Don't swing that in the train car,” his mother cautioned.

Little Frank clamped the bat between his knees and surveyed the mountainside out his window. The trees had thinned out and massive boulders littered the hillside. “I think those men are wanting to catch up to the train.” He pressed his face against the cold glass window.

“What men?” Veronica's dark bangs bounced with each word as she leaned over her brother and tried to see back down the tracks.

“Back there, see?” Little Frank pointed.

Patricia scooted over to the window and Robert leaned toward his wife as they all stared at the oncoming riders.

“Oh, my, they have bandannas over their faces,” Jamie Sue exclaimed. “Are they highwaymen?”

“Nah, they just want to keep the dust out of their mouths and noses,” Little Frank explained. “Uncle Sammy said he used to do that all the time.”