From the Improvement Era, January 1942 –

A Pioneer Robin Hood

By James P. Sharp

A few drops of rain fell on an upturned face. Instantly the man was wide awake. Chilled to the bone, he arose and started a fire. Mid-December, and sleeping in the mountains with nothing for a bed but Mother Earth and a wet saddle blanket, was not very comfortable. From his saddlebag he took one remaining sandwich, which he slowly ate.

The rain increased as he sat there waiting for daylight. Presently, finding his horse, he mounted and started up country. The rain fell until he was wet through. Then it changed to sleet. He got off and walked, stamping his feet and swinging his arms. Again he mounted and rode on.

About noon the wind and snow came out of the north with all the fury of an old-time blizzard. He could not see which way to go. He knew there was a ranch not many miles distant, for there he had purchased the horse he was riding, early in the summer. The man who sold it to him said if he ever lost the horse to come to his place because the horse was raised on that range and would return.

He turned the animal around, loosed the reins, and waited as the snow beat against his back. Presently the horse started off, and the man let him go. The snow stopped, but the cold wind increased until his clothes were frozen stiff. He was numb he was so cold. The horse plodded on through the cold and snow. . . .

Presently the birds began to sing on all sides. Then he heard some music. He listened to it for some time and then there were voices singing. He remembered he was back home with Mother and the rest of the family. They were singing.

Lon Fremont drove the horses into the warm stable, and fed them. The cattle he fed in a warm shed. The wood box was filled with dry wood, and everything was ready for supper.

Fremont and his wife had moved on this ranch a few years before. They now had three children and were happy although their nearest neighbor was three miles away and the nearest town was twelve miles off.

The summer had been hot and dry, with countless rabbits to eat up every spear of grass, so when the cattle came in from the range there were no steers fat enough to sell. Still the Fremonts had some flour, a little dried fruit, some Dixie molasses, and the vegetables from their garden stored in a warm cellar. By stinting themselves they could get by until spring, for they had the milk from one cow, and there were fish in the stream and chickens in the pines.

As they sat down for supper, the children were all excited, for now there was snow and Saint Nick would be coming along with his reindeer and sleigh and their presents in a short time.

The parents were not so enthusiastic as were the children, for well they knew that all there would be would be some warm, homemade mittens and stockings and a little homemade molasses candy with parched corn in it.

The full moon shone down outside, making it almost as light as day. The cold wind was terrible. Suddenly Old Boone, their dog, began to bark. Fremont arose, put on his warm coat, took his rifle and said, “Guess he sees a mountain lion hanging around. Might get a shot at him.” He went outside and the dog went bounding away through the soft snow down the road.

Fremont presently saw the outlines of a horseman coming his way. Who could it be, he wondered as he waited on the porch, for they seldom had visitors.

Instead of coming to the house the horse went to the stable. Fremont walked down there and, seeing a man in the saddle, said, “Get off, put your horse in the stable, and stay for the night.”

No answer did he receive. He walked over, took hold of the rider’s leg, and said, “Stranger, . . .” The horseman sat there slumped over in his saddle. His clothes were frozen stiff. Only then did Fremont realize that the rider was unconscious.

Fremont led the horse up to the house, pulled the man from the saddle, and partly carried and partly dragged him into the house. His wife and the children watched from a window. They placed the stranger on a cot in the kitchen and began to take the frozen garments off. Coat and vest were removed. Then a pair of heavy revolvers and a belt full of cartridges were taken off and placed on top of the cupboard. The seams of the boots were cut and finally there were the feet, blue and stiff as were the hands.

Fremont listened for a heart beat. It was extremely weak.

Mrs. Fremont put on a heavy coat and took the horse to the stable. Boone jumped around as if he had found a long lost friend, and when she had fed the stranger’s horse and removed the saddle, Boone refused to leave the stable. “Well, stay in there if you want to. It’s warmer than outside,” she said as she closed the stable door.

Back in the house they filled a tub with snow and placed the stranger’s feet in it. They rubbed his feet and legs, hands, arms, and face with more snow. They kept up the rubbing for a long time with apparently no results.

At midnight, they tried putting hot milk in his mouth with a spoon. Finally he showed some signs of life and presently opened his eyes. A faraway look was in them as he said, “Thanks for what you have done. I ain’t worth the bother.”

“Sure you are, but half an hour longer out there and you would have crossed the Great Divide,” said Fremont.

“Had crossed it. Sorry you brought me back. Such a nice place and such nice music and singing.”

He seemed to fall asleep for some time, and then again roused. They fed him some hot soup which he seemed to enjoy. Circulation was returning to his legs and arms. Then came a reaction. His teeth began to chatter like hail falling on a tin roof. Try as he could, those teeth would not stop. A shudder passed through his body. His breath came in jerks.

“Pain in your chest?” asked Mrs. Fremont.

“Yes, at times feels like nails being driven in.”

“I was afraid of this. It’s pneumonia, but we will stop that.”

While this was being said, Fremont was putting on his coat. He took his ax and went outside where he cut down a green aspen tree about six inches thick. This he cut into short lengths and returned to the house. He placed three in the oven and when they were hot, placed one under each arm and one on the stranger’s chest. A blanket was placed over this and more sticks placed in the oven. Every twenty minutes the sticks were taken out and other hot ones placed on and near the sick man. An hour passed, and the stranger fell asleep. Mrs. Fremont went to bed while her husband sat in an easy chair, changing the cooling logs for hot ones.

Sunrise, and the stranger was peacefully sleeping. Fremont went outside to do the chores. When he opened the stable door, out came Old Boone with a bound, and then back inside he went. Fremont looked at the horse the man had ridden. He looked again, and then patted the animal, saying, “Old Nig, glad to be home again I’ll bet.”

The chores finished, he went back to the house where his wife was preparing breakfast. The stranger still slept.

Fremont said, “Notice that horse you put in the stable last night?”

“Not particularly; only that he was a white one. Why?” “Well, it’s our old Nig.” “It can’t be, for he was black, and this one was white.”

“Sure. White with frost. That was why Boone set up such a fuss. Wonder where this man got him.” Just then the stranger showed signs of awaking, so they stopped talking.

The children came running into the kitchen to get dressed, still excited about the snow. Their mother said, “Be quiet. Let the man sleep.” They tiptoed around as the man slowly opened his eyes.

Fremont, seeing that the stranger was awake, said: “Mighty close call you had last night.”

“Yes, mighty close. The last thing I can remember was when the birds began to sing and the music to play. I remember that Lasson told me if ever I gave that horse a chance he would leave me and go to his place, so I turned him loose. Strange he came here.”

“Nothing strange about that; the horse was born and raised on this place.”

“Then Lasson lied to me when I bought the animal last May; he said he had raised him.”

“Well, someone stole him from me early in May.”

There was a long silence, and then the stranger said, “Lasson and I’ve got an appointment he doesn’t know about, as soon as I can ride again.” The stranger sat up and ate a bite of breakfast, after which he lay back and rested. He was looking out of the window when Fremont went out to finish the chores and watched him turn the horse loose, saw the dog and the horse play around the yard some time, and then both trot to the spring for a drink and play some more as they went back to the stable.

“Mrs. Fremont, tell me — how come the dog and horse seem to play together and enjoy a run so much?”

“Well, the colt was born the same day the dog was. They were companions from the time they could get around and would play for hours at a time. Boone sulked for weeks after the horse disappeared last May. Acted like he’d lost his best friend. He sure was happy when I put the horse in the stable last night.”

“Where does Lasson live from here?”

“Three miles across the valley.”

The day passed as usual. It remained bitter cold. The stranger tried to put his boots back on after Fremont had sewed the seams up, but his feet were too swollen, so he slipped into a pair of Fremont’s overshoes and walked about the house. Each step he took made him flinch.

The following morning he was up and ready for breakfast, after which, he said, “Fremont, loan me your horse. I want to visit Lasson.”

He strapped on one of his heavy guns and walked to the stable, mounted and rode away, saying, “I’ll bring your horse back in a couple of hours.”

When he arrived at the Lasson place the owner, seeing him, came out and began with, “Well, see what the storm brought with it — ”

“Lasson, by rights I should shoot you and ask no questions. That is what they do with a measley horse thief where I came from. Now I found the owner of this animal and you stole the horse from him. I am returning his horse and you are giving me another. Trot out a good one.”

Lasson hesitated. The rider drew a heavy revolver from its holster. Seeing this and the look on the rider’s face, he went back in the stable and returned with a good looking horse, one that seemed to suit.

“Been thinking. I’m a getting a bit too old to be riding this country without food and a bed. I’ll take two horses, one to ride, the other to pack.” With another of Lasson’s horses, he rode back to Fremont’s place.

When the stranger returned, he seemed happy and more talkative.

That afternoon Mrs. Fremont went to the cellar for something. When she returned, the children were sitting on the stranger’s lap all talking at once about Christmas, stockings, sleigh, and reindeer, Santa Claus and such. Seeing them, she said, “Why, children, what are you doing? Get down and don’t bother the man.”

“Please let them stay, Mrs. Fremont. You see I never had much to do with children. Puts me in mind of the time I was home and the happy hours I spent with the rest of the family, along this time of year.”

The children chattered on, and when Mr. Fremont came in with an armful of wood he looked, listened, and smiled, for the children were still all talking and the stranger was smiling and listening. The following morning he arose from the breakfast table, placed a shining twenty dollar gold piece beside his plate and said, “Just part pay for my board and keep. I’ll comeback some day and pay in full.”

“We can’t charge for doing a fellow man a good turn when he is in need,” said Mr. Fremont.

“Well, if Santa Claus has to get all of the things the children seem to think they want, he will need some money. Use it as you see fit.”

He shook Mrs. Fremont’s hand and thanked her for the trouble he had put her to, shook each tiny hand and spoke a word of encouragement to the children, and he and Mr. Fremont went to the stable and saddled one of the horses. He was just leaving, when Mrs. Fremont came out with a generous lunch tied in a sack which she handed him saying, “You might get hungry before you stop again.”

He rode away, leading the extra horse.

Bright and early the following morning, Mr, Fremont put his saddle on Nig and rode to town. When he returned, he rode directly to the stable and came to the house with only a few sticks of candy for the children. He had spent the money wisely, for their sugar and other supplies had needed replenishing. What else he bought was still hid in the barn.

That evening the mother and father looked the purchases over and both knelt down and thanked their Father in Heaven for having sent the stranger their way.

The day before Christmas the weather moderated, and the children played outside just as if it were summer. Fremont shouldered his gun and went to the hills for pine chickens. When he returned, the children met him, and each proudly carried one of the chickens to the house. They saw a horseman coming up the road. He was traveling slowly and leading a pack animal. It was the stranger. He rode up to the porch, spoke cheeringly, dismounted, took the lash rope off and began to unpack the animal, piling the different articles on the porch as he took them from the pack bags. There were sugar, a sack of rice, one of beans, two of dried fruit, and some flour. Strange how much can be put in and on a pack saddle! They wondered how the horse had carried such a load. Still more articles came from those bags and then —

“Don’t move, Butch Cassidy. We got you covered.”

So interested had the group been that no one had noticed two men ride up. Surprised, they saw the sheriff and his deputy not fifty feet away, guns drawn, sitting on their horses and slowly riding towards the house. They rode up and stopped.

The stranger turned and calmly said, “Looks that way, don’t it?” And then, as unconcerned as if he were alone, he continued to remove the articles from the pack bags.

When they were emptied, he said in a quiet voice to Mrs. Fremont,

“Santa sent a few things for the children. You can find them here. I had hoped to be with you and see the kiddies empty their stockings, but it appears these men have made different arrangements.”

Turning to Mr. Fremont he said, as he handed over a well-filled purse, “This is for you and your wife. I won’t need money where I’m going. It is for saving my life. Thanks a lot.”

There was silence for some time, then —

“What you doing, Butch?” the sheriff asked.

“Obeying orders.”

“Who’s been giving you orders?”

“The Master.”

“The who?” the sheriff asked.

“The Master. Ever hear of the Master, or have you always been too busy trying to make a rep for yourself to have heard of Him? Well, when He was here He told the people to feed His sheep and that is just what I intend doing — helping the needy and spreading the holiday spirit just as long as I have a thin dime left.”

Another silence. Then the officers placed their revolvers in the holsters. The sheriff cleared his throat and said, “Fremont, ever hear of a man by the name of Parker, George LeRoy Parker, down this way?”

“No, can’t recall that name. Never heard of him.”

“Ever see him, Butch?”

“Yes, seems to me I have.”

“Where?”

“Down the Bad Lands.”

“When?”

“Some weeks ago.”

“What was he doing?”

“Shaving. Why you want to know?”

“Well, see this paper in my hand? It’s a warrant for his arrest.”

“Then why don’t you serve it?”

“Been doing some quick thinking. It’s a long distance down there, and chances are if we went down he would not be there, and I ain’t aiming to ride no cold trail; but say, Butch, if you ever get back down there and see Parker, just tell him I got this warrant for him, will you?”

He folded the paper and placed it in his pocket as the two rode off down the trail.

When they were some distance away, Fremont said, “He called you Butch. Are — are you — really, are you really Butch Cassidy?”

“I sure am George LeRoy Parker alias Butch Cassidy. Why?”

“Well, I thought he was an outlaw.”

“Never can tell. Possibly I am.”