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Soldier, Sister, Scout, Spy: Women Patriots and Soldiers on the Western Frontier
Always armed with a revolver or two in her belt and a long sheath-knife in her bootleg, she seemed perfectly able to protect herself in any emergency. —George West, publisher of the Colorado Transcript, January 14, 1885
Music from an out-of-tune piano spilled out of Schell’s Saloon in St. Louis and bounced off the buildings up and down Vine Street. A hot breeze pushed past Charley Hatfield, an overgrown cowboy with a cherub’s face, as he sauntered up to the swinging doors of the weather-beaten bar and gazed inside.
It was the summer of 1854, and every saloon in town was filled with thirsty, ambitious people en route to the gold fields in California. It wasn’t Charley’s love of gold that was driving him west, however; it was something more primal. He had been driven to this place by revenge. Charley surveyed the scene before him. His eyes fixed on a swarthy, careworn man sitting at a poker table in the back of the room. There was no doubt in his mind that he had found the man he’d been looking for—a character named Jamieson. Charley had memorized his enemy’s face; the features had been burned indelibly into his mind. Wandering over to the bar, Charley ordered a beer from a scraggly bartender. In the mirror behind the dusty counter, he watched Jamieson deal a hand.
Ever so slowly Charley’s hand sought the butt of his revolver cradled in the holster on his hip. He toyed with the notion of putting a bullet into Jamieson’s head right then. “It would be too cowardly,” Charley mumbled to himself as the bartender slid his drink in front of him. “Before I send him to the unknown, I want him to know why,” he added as he swallowed a big gulp. Charley picked up his beer and walked closer to the table where Jamieson was sitting. He wanted to study the face of the man who had tormented his soul for more than five years.
While he watched Jamieson win hand after hand, his mind mulled over the reason he was here. He remembered how Jamieson had shot the one person he loved more than anything. He remembered how happy his life had been, right up to the hour Jamieson had crossed his path. Charley pulled his hat low over his eyes in an attempt to hide the strong emotions etched into his face. Jamieson, completely unaware of what lay ahead of him, laughed a hearty laugh while raking his winnings into a pile.
To learn more about Charley Hatfield and other such patriots read
Soldier, Sister, Scout, Spy: Women Patriots and Soldiers on the Western Frontier.
