Paying the price for rape and murder

Paying the price for rape and murder

“The Making of Jake McTavish”

This is the fourth published novel and in it I managed to include some stories I had heard from pioneers to the Peace River Country. True I changed them a great deal to fit my story line but those stores where what started me on this yarn in the first place.

And then the story took over and lead me places I had not intention of going.

As with most of my novels there are some weapons mentioned, most notably the Cold New Army "Sheriff's Model", the Colt Navy .36 and the Remington .41 rim-fire deringer.

I hope the reader enjoys how Jake uses a Winchester to quell rudeness.

By the way, if it was made by Derringer (who made some early small arms) it is spelled with two r's. If it was made by someone else (such as Remington) it has one r; I expect to get around any infringement problems.

Remington .41 rim-fire

At the end of "The Making of Jake McTavish" there are the usual notes about what actual history is in the yarn but there is also an excerpt from another work I have ready that, so far is entitled "Red Serge to Cattle Business." However, it will be some months before that one is available.

“The Making of Jake McTavish”

Jake’s wife is raped and murdered. A lazy Mountie accuses Jake of the crimes. Angry, in shock and trying to erase the vision of his wife’s body Jake runs into the mountains.

But running away did not erase the vision. Hiding alone and the passage of time did not decrease – and may have increased – his anger. When two renegades try to kill him and steal his furs Jake realizes that he needs to face the vision from the past. To erase it he needs to hunt it down, find out who killed her and see they pay.

First he has to survive.

From the same vault that holds the work of William Johnstone, Matt Braun, Max Brand, and Louis L’Amour.

Watch a video trailer for “The Making of Jake McTavish” at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcWbZI5A4Do

Praise for “The Making of Jake McTavish”

From Cold Coffee Press:

Well-developed characters and true to life settings with descriptive writing put the reader into the story … incredible story telling.

And here is a free sample of the ebook version of “The Making of Jake McTavish”.

http://epubco.com/samples/978-1-68181-513-8sample.pdf

Safety for Joe Public

I've done articles on this subject several times. Now here is another one from a police officer that supports my earlier work.
Looks like the facts are coming out in Gun Control and the NRA wins on this one!!
Australian Gun Law Update
Here's a thought to warm some of your hearts from:
Ed Chenel, A police
officer in Australia
Hi Yanks and Canadians, I thought you all would like to see the real figures
from Down Under.
It has now been 12 months since gun owners in Australia were forced by a new law to surrender
640,381 personal firearms to be destroyed by our own government, a program
costing Australia taxpayers more than $500 million dollars.
The first year results are now in:
Australia-wide, homicides are up 6.2 percent,
Australia-wide, assaults are up 9.6 percent;
Australia-wide, armed robberies are up 44 percent
(yes, 44 percent)!
In the state of Victoria alone, homicides with firearms are now up 300 percent.
(Note that while
the law-abiding citizens turned them in, the
criminals did not and criminals still possess their guns!)
While figures over the previous 25 years showed a steady decrease in armed
robbery with firearms, this has changed drastically upward in the past 12
months, since the criminals now are guaranteed that their prey is unarmed.
There has also been a dramatic increase in break-ins and assaults of the
elderly, while the resident is at home.
Australian politicians are at a loss to explain how public safety has
decreased, after such monumental effort and expense was expended in
'successfully ridding Australian society of guns....'
You won't see this on the American or Canadian evening news. You won’t hear a
Premier, Prime Minister, MP, governor or member of a State Assembly
disseminating this information.
The Australian experience speaks for itself. Guns in the hands
of honest citizens save lives and property and, yes,
gun-control laws affect only the law-abiding citizens.
Take note, before it's too late!
In localized
instances this has been proven for decades, but now it has been proven by an
entire nation.
Will you be one of the sheep to turn yours in?
WHY? You will need
it.

"Fire arms
stand next in importance to the Constitution
itself. They are the American
people's liberty teeth and
keystone under independence...from the hour
the Pilgrims
landed to the present day, events,
occurrence and tendencies
prove that to ensure peace, security and
happiness, the
rifle and pistol are equally
indispensable...the very atmosphere
of firearms anywhere restrains evil
interference---they deserve
a place of honor with all that is good."
(George Washington)

Historical mentions in The Yearlings

As I mentioned, there are two historical mentions in “The Yearlings”. So why should you, or any one else, give a damn? Because what happened “back then” (when ever it was) helped create who we are and who our kids will be.
Fiction is entertainment, or at least good fiction should be. It doesn’t necessarily have to be literature, nor does it have to be a presentation of perfect English. If it is either of those things, that’s a great plus. If it is literature it will last. If it is understandable (in what ever language) it continues communication. First, it has to be entertaining so that someone will read it.
If it is entertaining as well as being informative, that’s even better because it gives the reader of any age an opportunity to grow.
I suspect everyone understands the first historical mention in “The Yearlings” is when Rolley says “there's a war gettin' under way over t' Europe,”. Of course, he is talking about the “War to End All Wars” or WWI. Many people, from all walks of life, all levels of society and in many countries thought the war would change politics and aggression throughout the world but would also be an opportunity for them to get rich. It proved to be an opportunity for hundreds of thousands to die.
It’s funny how people don’t learn from history. We have wars now, and somehow the folks back home are surprised when soldiers and civilians become casualties.
When Janet is thinking about the Yellowhead Trail and the new railroad that of course is the Canadian National. However, at the time it was the Grande Trunk Pacific Railway.
There were many supporting reasons for building the GTPR. The most important of those reasons, of course, was that customers of Canadian Pacific Railway needed another source for service. Partially to attain competitive pricing, but more important was a competitive attitude. The CPR thought they owned Canada and its citizens and could treat them any way they wanted.
There was an official ceremony at Fort William, Ontario (Thunder Bay) on September 11, 1905 and, after many delays the last spike was driven one mile east of Fort Frazer, BC on April 7, 1914. Most of the delays were due to a lack of funding, the same problems that had plagued the CPR during its construction more than 20 years earlier.
One of the great champions of the GTPR was its General Manger, Charles Melville Hayes. He made several trips to solicit funding for the venture and apparently was successful on his last trip. However Hayes’ returned passage was booked on RMS Titanic. The date of the world famous end of that voyage was April 15, 1912.
There are several firearms mentioned in the story. Janet leaves home with a rifle (which she forgets to load) for no one but an idiot would venture into a true wilderness without a weapon to protect themselves. The other weapons mentioned were a common thing in Canada's wilds ... at least until 1924.

Janet's cattle returned with extra treasure for her trouble

4



A half-hour later she stopped to fit the saddle to her shorter legs. The steers showed no inclination to veer from the trail home. As she shortened the stirrup leathers she noticed her heart rate and breathing had begun to slow their frantic pace.
"Now I'll have to listen to Mother go on and on about how I left her alone for a whole two days," she said to the horse as she pulled the lacing free. "Then she'll make Matt feel awful by telling him it's his fault that I was almost murdered over a few filthy animals." She finished on one stirrup and moved around to the other. "Then Matt won't ever want to leave the place again."
She was finishing up before she continued. "Which might not be all bad, at least I wouldn't have to listen to Mother's drivel all by myself."
She remounted and continued, liking the feel of what she was already coming to think of as her saddle. It was also a fine, smooth-gaited horse.
"That's not really fair," she continued. "It's not fair to make Matt have to put up with any of Mother's prattle when I can protect him from it. It's not fair to expect that she would be hard on him over this. She probably won't say a thing about it to him, thereby making me feel guilty because he doesn't know how much danger I was in, and because I have kept something from him."
The steers were beginning to tire and wander, looking to fill their stomachs with the old grass that was showing now in more places than were covered by snow. She drew her mount in a little and began pushing the yearlings along the trail.
"Yes, that would be more like Mother. Then she would think she had a new power and control over me."
She had also lost Ben, Matt's one remaining tie to his childhood. She knew that the sight of Ben had brought back many pleasant memories for her husband.
"And I don't want Matt to feel he's tied to us. He should be able to leave, but want to stay.
"Besides, for the next few years at least, we need that trapping money. Otherwise we'll never have our own life."
She looked at her mount and rigging with a critical eye. True, she had lost one of the light team but she now had an excellent saddle horse. She also had a fine saddle and bridle, an extra rifle and a pistol.
Holding her own rifle and the reins in one hand she slid Rolley's rifle from the scabbard far enough to identify it. It appeared to be similar to her Winchester '73, though both the lever and breech looked slightly different. It also had a saddle ring and appeared - though she didn't remove it all the way - to be shorter. She did remove it far enough to see the 44WCF stamped into the round barrel, making it the same caliber as her own octagonal barreled '73.
Next she removed the pistol from her pocket and studied it. The barrel was perhaps three inches long and, though the stamping was worn, she could make out "S & W" along the left side. She fiddled with what appeared to be a catch ahead of the hammer and finally tipped the barrel and cylinder down to reveal the bases of five cartridges all stamped ".32 S & W."
Closing the pistol again she placed it back in her pocket. "Well, I suppose, if we don't have the trapping money I could always rob somebody. I'm certainly armed to the teeth and well mounted."
After she had turned the steers back into their pasture and ensured the gate was shut, Janet rode toward the barn. On the other side of the house she could see another rider trailing a pack horse piled high with fur. Matt was home.
She met him by the house and they swung down together. As they embraced, Mark and Margaret came running from the house.
When the greetings had been completed, Matt turned back to his wife, holding his son in his arms and a twinkle in his eye. "You bin makin' a habit out o' feedin' the cows with a rifle. Must be hard to get the hay down the barrel."
Janet looked down at the Winchester in her hands then back to her husband. His eyes had gone beyond her to the strange horse and saddle and the twinkle had turned to puzzlement.
Janet stepped closer and put one hand on his shoulder. "Matt, I have some bad news. Ben died."

Later that summer, Joshua Casey's brother, Gabriel, rode up to a group in central Montana as they branded the latest batch of calves.
Joshua was busy with a knife when the horse came up, but it wasn't long before he realized someone was sitting a horse and not roping, or doing anything else to help with the work. Finished his latest cutting, he swung his attention around to the rider and saw his brother. The hair was very long and ten years had put some creases in the face, but it was definitely his brother.
He stood, the pocket knife down at his side, and nodded. "Afternoon, Gabe."
Gabe nodded in return. "Josh." He removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. "Looks like you picked a hot one." He swung from the saddle.
"That we did," Josh acknowledged.
"Well, I'm not much with a rope, but I'm a crackerjack with a knife and a branding iron."
"We could use the help," Josh responded, turned the knife around and passed it to his brother. "You gonna be home for awhile?"
Gabe nodded, and then gazed off to the north. "Reckon I'll stay if you'll have me. I get out there I run the risk of gettin' into somethin' I won't be proud of."

After roundup that fall, Matt Kingsley went hunting for a few days. He trailed a moose back up into a draw where he shot it in a small clearing. In that same clearing he found what was left of a skeleton lying next to the remains of an old fire. There was a small, round hole, perhaps from a bullet on the right side of the skull and much of the left side was missing. The remains of what might have been a shirt and pants were also there. There was no sign of boots, belt, coat or hat.
With only an axe to work with it was difficult, but he managed to cover the bones and cloth in a shallow grave. During the fifty-eight years they were together, until her death in 1969, he never told Janet what he had found.

Episode 6 of The Yearlings. Where are Janet's Son and Husband?

3



When she had the strips of bannock dough wrapped around sticks and propped over the fire, she began to slice slabs of meat from the venison haunch hanging from a limb on the edge of camp. As she was doing this, Squeak rose and went to the pack from which he drew another bottle of the dark, Hudson's Bay Trade Rum. Rolley continued to sip on his, but Squeak took the top quarter of his fresh bottle in one long drink.
When the meal was finished roasting, Janet said nothing but took one of the bannock-wrapped sticks, another holding a slice of meat, and moved away from the fire. She hunkered down across the fire from Rolley and Squeak.
"I take it we can all dig in?" Rolley said, carefully leaning his bottle against the log before rising and moving to the fire. Before he could get a portion of the meal for himself, Gabe took his portion and returned to where he had been standing, back from the fire and to Janet's right.
Squeak refused to move even after Rolley returned to his seat with his meal. He continued to sulk and pull at the rum bottle, now only half full.
As she ate, Janet took an unguarded moment to remove two of the rifle shells from her coat pocket, holding them in the palm of her hand with her thumb. Her meal finished, Janet returned to the fire, took up one of the cups sitting there and rinsed it out with some of the thick coffee. As she sat the pot back near the bed of coals she allowed the two shells to drop from her hand into the fire.
Rising, Janet moved over to stand near her rifle but facing Squeak. "Are you going to drink all of that, or can I have a cup of it?" she asked with a smile.
Behind her, Gabe turned and stepped into the trees toward the horses.
Looking up at her, Squeak smiled back then passed her the bottle.
With the cup in her right hand and bottle in her left, Janet began to pour rum. When the first shell exploded she dropped the cup and grabbed the barrel of her rifle. Swinging the rifle up and behind she spun with her entire body.
The first explosion had thrown small coals on Rolley. When the second cartridge went off he jumped back and right into Janet's rifle. The top edge of the stock struck his skull just under the brim of his hat.
Janet noted that Gabe was no longer in the clearing as she turned back and brought the bottle down on the top of Squeak's head.
Dropping down behind the log she began to feed shells into the rifle. Her frantic fingers were having difficulty holding the cartridges. The normally easy task of loading the Winchester had suddenly become difficult. When she had the first one inserted she levered it into the breech before filling the magazine.
A quick glance showed that she had done serious damage to Rolley. He lay near the fire, his sleeve beginning to smolder, but did not move. Squeak, on the other hand was only stunned, rocking back and forth on his knees, moaning and holding his head.
With the muzzle of the cocked weapon still pointing toward Squeak, she continued loading. She found that her chest was heaving and she couldn't get her breath. The pounding in her ears was not stampeding cattle but the sound of her own heartbeat.
Gabe called from behind the screen of trees. "You have done well, Janet. I suggest you take Rolley's horse. It is the better of the three, and his rigging is much better than Squeak's. From the way you hit him I doubt he will need the animal anytime soon. Besides, it was he who shot your horse."
Squeak flopped over on his side, still moaning and talking to himself.
"The pack horse is broken down" Gabe continued, "and anyway, it would be best if you left as soon as possible. For myself I will now mount and ride away. I ask that you not shoot me in the back."
Janet stayed down behind the log, her breath now coming in short hard gasps, and the rifle muzzle still in the general direction of Squeak. Occasionally she glanced behind her to see if Rolley's smoldering sleeve had burst into flame, and to ensure that Gabe was not coming up behind her. To her right and behind Squeek she heard a horse break through the brush. She only watched as Gabe rode around the camp on the far side of the draw.
When the sound of the hoof beats satisfied her that Gabe was really leaving, she stood and stepped over to Squeak. Resting the rifle muzzle behind his ear she reached down and removed a small pistol from his pocket and put it in her own. His rifle she took up and threw into the brush on the opposite side of the clearing to avoid frightening the unfamiliar horses. Stepping back and over Rolley, she grasped the collar of his coat and dragged him away from the fire. She considered rolling him over to get at his Colt but worried that he might come to. She thought a lot more of just getting out of there
Janet was not long in leaving the draw. She ignored the too-long stirrup leathers and swung into Rolley's saddle. The steers were hungry and more than ready to return to where they knew there would be hay. Once Janet had rode in behind them they took off at a trot down the trail, some of them running through the camp and over the two rustlers. She hesitated only long enough to retrieve the bridle from the cold body of Ben before swinging back in the saddle and pushing on down the hill.

Why not cover the whole story?

Recently I watched an episode of CTV’s W5 which followed the history of a firearm with a highly questionable entry into public ownership and a disgustingly deadly end to its history. It demonstrated some great research and editing, had a good story line and was presented in a logical, linear manner.
My problem with the show is what was the point? I think I know the point they were trying to make, but if my guess is right, their point was not very well defined. I also don’t think they were heading toward the proper, educational point they should have been trying to achieve.
Let me first re-cap the story.
A young man in Georgia is selling illegal drugs and decides he should have a hand gun for his protection. He goes to an infamous dealer (in Atlanta, I believe) and purchases a well engineered, and well built semi-automatic pistol chambered for .45 ACP. This particular weapon is designed for concealed carry and the calibre for serious stopping power.
(.45 Automatic Colt Pistol – this is only the cartridge designation; the weapon was not made by Colt)
A friend of this young man convinces him that he should NOT carry the gun; not because he doesn’t know what he’s doing but because of the legal implications of being caught with illegal drugs and a firearm for which he doesn’t have permit to carry.
The young man’s drug centre is hit by another drug distributor and he is shot and killed. His firearm, which was at his home at the time of his death, is sold by his mother for a few hundred dollars. It is transported to the North East and sold by another gun dealer (with a questionable background). It eventually winds up in Montreal where it winds up in the night stand of a man who has a 4 year old son. The son and his playmate remove the weapon from the night stand; the playmate pulls the trigger and shoots the boy.
With this particular calibre cartridge it would not have mattered where a small boy is hit, the result would have been the same. In this case the boy was hit in the face.
So what was the point of this documentary? Too many firearms which are too easily accessible? Gun dealers without a sense of responsibility?
If one or all of these was their intention they didn’t bring any of these points home. Yes, firearms are easily accessible even under the most draconian firearms control legislation. This should be obvious since there are many jurisdictions with such laws (Canada for example) under which there are often more illegally owned firearms than legally owned.
Yes there are a few gun dealers who fail their responsibilities to society. As it happens the two dealers in this documentary were conforming (just) to the laws within their particular states. Any state where anyone can walk in to a store and walk out with a firearm while still knowing nothing about how to handle it needs to upgrade their legislation. Any state where a drug dealer can buy a ‘legal’ weapon in any length of time needs to upgrade its legislation.
As it happens, both dealers are no longer in business under their original business names.
The pertinent points that W5 missed?
1. Anyone who owns a firearm should not be able to take possession until they have been properly trained. (Twenty hours at a police academy does not, by itself, constitute proper training.)
2. Those that have been convicted of a capital offence or have no known source of income should not be allowed access to firearms except under extraordinary circumstances.
3. Firearms are stored in a secure location which does not include a bed-side table.
4. Firearms that are loaded are for use, not storage.
5. Firearms that are stored are not only double-checked to be empty but are left with the safety engaged. In the instance listed above, the firearm should also have had a trigger lock installed.

And, in addition, the forgoing (including the list) does not constitute any part of a firearms training program.

Finally, my new release

Well, the publisher has been busy and there have been a few hold-ups here and there, but my new historical fiction novel is available. It could have been a lot worse; ‘Homesteader’ only took about 3 weeks longer than it took for ‘Partners’. Considering that Strategic is now up to 700 titles and has some new people, that timing is actually pretty good.
As with everything I’ve done (including news paper articles) I always manage to find mistakes that I and the editor have missed despite numerous attempts to avoid them. In the case of ‘Homesteader’ I found six mistakes but nothing that should require production to come to a halt.
As the title suggests it’s about trying to start your own agricultural enterprise on the cheap with the help of the government. In this case it’s the Canadian Federal Government, the time is 1866 and the area is Fort Calgary, (already being called Calgary in 1866) North West Territories (now Alberta).
Along with the choosing and registration of a homestead it also includes some information about the attitudes of the day, some crime and the end of the open range.
Here is an excerpt from the first few pages where Hank and Harry meets a man who will prove to be a problem for them …

The way the three of them charged right up to us and stopped so close didn’t add to my feeling of comfort. They were crowding us and had an arrogant manner about them. I didn’t like the look in their eyes, and I was glad I had taken the pack horse lead shank.
Even though he was a few years older than me, Harry Gilmore always followed my lead. Part of the reason was that, up until the fall before, I had been his boss for about a year. Mostly, though, it was because he was part Sioux - although few ever knew that - and several years of folks tramping on him and his people meant that he generally followed and kept his mouth shut. What that meant for me at the time was that I knew I would be handling the conversation with the fat man, and I could depend on Henry to back me up, whatever happened.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the fat man asked.
Maybe my confidence in Harry's loyalty and ability made me a little too mouthy in my response to the big man's arrogant manner. And, as I said, I was paying too much attention to the gun man and not enough to the fat man. "East," I replied.
He tried to stare me down. I smiled and he shifted his gaze to Harry, rolling his chew around in his mouth.
He forced his big horse forward a few steps so that its head was on Blackie's off side, its nose about a foot from my right knee. "Where did you come from?" he asked, bringing his gaze back to me.
"West," I replied.
He spit tobacco juice at Blackie's cheek.
Blackie was a good horse but he wouldn't put up with very much foolishness, even from me. He was also one of the fastest animals I ever rode. It seemed that stream of tobacco juice was still in the air when he turned and bit the fat man's horse on the shoulder.
Sixteen hundred pounds of horse squealed and jumped to the left, blood flowing down its leg from a three inch gash. The horse ridden by the young gunfighter, at least six hundred pounds lighter than the fat man's horse, was too close and no match for the bigger animal. Rider and horse hit the ground hard.
The mustang grunted, squealed, and jumped to its feet. The rider's left foot was caught in the stirrup as the horse lunged away from another collision.
The fat man put his hand on his pistol and turned his gaze from the donnybrook back to me. His hand froze when he found my Colt was already in my hand. I didn't point it at him, just let it hang there, muzzle down, my forearm resting on the horn. Very slowly he put his right hand back on top of his left which rested on his own saddle horn.
At the same time, the third rider shook out a loop and turned his mount toward the bucking mustang and dragging rider. Within a hundred feet he had the animal roped. It stood on the end of the lariat with legs spread wide and vibrated. The bundle attached to the stirrup didn't move.
"I'm Portis Martin," the fat man said.
I was doing my best to maintain a calm, this-is-an-everyday-thing appearance, but was in fact having a tough time with that. Not only had I been approached poorly in a generally friendly land, but one of my best friends had just been spit on.
"Henry James," I responded. "Some folks call me Hank, but you can call me Mr. James." Without taking my eyes from him, I inclined my head to indicate my saddle partner. "This here is Mr. Gilmore."

You can take a look at the cover by going to www.StrategicBookPublishing.com/Homesteader
or simply click on the link to the right.