Colorado(Jon Foster) (Note that the author was 15 years old when he wrote this story.)

The train chugged into the Denver Station. The train was on its final leg of the New York to Denver Route. As the white-capped peaks of the mountains came into view, a man, clad in leather boots, walked to the front of the railroad car.

He was a younger man, about 25 years old, had brown hair and was quite tall and lean. But he had a muscular build. The hat he wore was dusty, well worn, and tan colored, and he wore a shirt that matched his eyes. His eyes were as blue as the Colorado sky. The young man also wore a pair of faded khaki-colored trousers. The gun-belt he wore around his waist was made of the finest cowhide. Yet it too was showing signs of wear. In the holster was a pair of Colt revolving handguns. He walked with a certain swagger in his step. His face was cool and confident. The young man had some stubble on his chin for a slightly beard-like look.

He walked around into the railcar where his horse was being held. The summer sun beat down upon his neck. He stopped to mop his brow, glad to be back. His friend was in New York, and he went there to visit him, now he was just returning and needed a rest. He mounted his chocolate colored stallion, rode into town, and checked into the nearest hotel for the night.

The young man awoke with a start. “Good Morning!” was said in an unfamiliar voice. Looking up, he saw a man sitting in his hotel room. This man was an older man, dressed in a suit, and he wore brand-new polished black shoes. The sun was just above the horizon.
“Hello.” replied the younger man.
“You must be Jones.”
“That’s right”
“Good I need your help."

Why would this person need his help? Jones pondered. This older man was obviously rich. He could afford new shoes.
“Why me?” Jones asked. Couldn’t he have hired any one else? He thought.
“Let me explain. Exactly ten days ago thieves stole all of the gold reserves from the Crescent City Bank. Jones, I'd like to hire you to investigate this bank robbery.”
“Me? An investigator?” Jones sounded puzzled.
“Yes. You come highly recommended by Jeremiah Lewiston.”

Well! Jones’ old friend Jerry! Jerry was a hard man, but a loyal friend. He was also one of the most feared gunslingers in the West. Jones replied, still puzzled. “How do you know Jeremiah Lewiston?”
“Well, the mayor knows him personally…”
“The mayor?”
“Yes. The mayor of Crescent City.”
“I’ve heard of Jeremiah Lewiston and I’ve also heard of Crescent City. But who are you?” Jones was still puzzled.
“I apologize for not introducing myself sooner. I am on the city council of Crescent City. I am the treasurer and I am also the mayor’s personal advisor. My name is Benjamin Harris.”
That would explain the new shoes, Jones thought.
Harris continued, “I will pay for your fare on the stagecoach, and you will be paid $25 a day to investigate the robbery of the Bank of Crescent City.”

Jones considered this. Somehow he felt that he could not trust Harris. It seemed rather uncouth for him to come barging into his room without a prior introduction. Even though he had never met Harris till now, he felt as though there was something untrustworthy about wealthy and influential men. They always made him apprehensive. And also, he had never been a detective. Nevertheless, $25 a day was very good wages for 1879. He also wanted to see Jerry again. Contemplating it a bit more, he announced his decision.

“I accept!”

Five hours later, the stage rumbled into Crescent City. And as it did clouds started to build up, and a strong wind whistled.
“Well Jones, here we are.” proclaimed Harris, inbetween claps of rolling thunder. Jones looked around. What he saw stunned him. Seven years ago, Jones had arrived in Crescent City on his first cattle drive from El Paso. Instead of going back to El Paso he stayed in Colorado. For years he went from town to town. Jones promoted justice and was the unofficial “protector” of Colorado. Wherever the bad guys were, Jones was there. His gunslinging earned him the nickname of “Colorado” Jones. His travels took him all throughout Colorado. Yet in the seven years that he had been gone from Crescent City, things had changed. They had changed a lot. Once a peaceful, busy, quiet little town, Crescent City was now the poorly maintained home of all of the outlaws in Colorado.

“How could Crescent City become so… so… corrupted?” Jones asked.
“Hard times, Mr. Jones. Hard times.” Harris responded. “Looks like a storm is building. Let me take you down to visit the bank before you get wet.”
“No. I am going to meet a friend. He lives near here. I’ll ride over to his place. A little rain never hurt anybody. And you don’t need to book me a hotel room. I have made arrangements."
“Very well.” Harris sighed.

Jeremiah Lewiston stood on the front porch of his house. Rain was coming down in sheets. He stared into the big black storm clouds. 'Jerry' was in his mid-40’s and still strong. He was wearing an old, tattered straw hat that showed his copper colored hair. The leather coat that Jeremiah wore was faded, but it served as a good raincoat, as the leather was still waterproof. He also wore a beard. His green eyes shone like big, green emeralds. Jerry looked down toward the path. It was still raining heavily. He saw that there was a man on a horse coming up the path. Could it be Colorado? No way. But sure enough there he was.

Colorado brought his horse to a halt. “Hey, old friend!”
“My, my! If it ain’t Colorado Jones! Why don’t you come on the porch? You look soaked. I’ll make you some coffee.”
“Thanks. I could use some coffee.” Colorado dismounted and strolled onto the porch. Rain dripped from his wide-brimmed hat. “How’ve you been doing lately, Jerry?”
“Not too bad. You?”
“I’m good.” stated Jones, apathetically.
“What’s wrong Colorado?”
“You know about a bank robbery?”
“Come on inside. We need to talk.” Jeremiah’s voice sounded downhearted and listless.

Colorado sat down at the table. He took a nice, long sip of his piping hot coffee. It tasted so good to him. He stopped for a minute to listen to the rain hitting the roof, and then took another sip. Thunder rumbled in the distance. It had been a while since Jones last had a good cup of coffee.

“Now, why’d you ask about a bank robbery?” Jerry asked straightforwardly.
“Benjamin Harris…”
“Wait! Did you say Benjamin Harris?”
“Yes. I did.”
“How do you know Benjamin Harris?”
“Why, I met him in Denver. He was the one who came to hire me to investigate the bank robbery I told you about.”
“Benjamin Harris is the most crooked, reprehensible man I have ever met. Five years ago, he swindled me out of a city council seat. The town has been run down ever since. But anyway, about that bank robbery.” Jerry took a deep breath. “Eleven days ago, $20,000 worth of fifty-dollar gold pieces, all of them fresh out of the mint, arrived in a wagon. It was heavily armed. That night in the local hotel the only detective in town was shot to death in the lobby. The next morning, all of the $20,000 was gone.”
“Stolen?”
“Why else would it be missing?”
“Do you have any suspects?” Colorado sounded calm as ever.
“No, but I have always suspected that two-faced, treacherous crook Harris. My reason for my misgivings is that the day before the bank robbery Harris went out and bought himself some $100 shoes in Denver. When he came back, he bragged to everyone about his new shoes. Not even Harris is wealthy enough to buy $100 shoes.”

Tense silence followed. Outside, more thunder boomed. For a few moments no one talked. Colorado took another sip of his coffee.
“What should I do?” Colorado asked assertively.
“Do what you were hired to do. Start by going down to the bank.”
“Right.”
“Listen, Colorado, you are the best gunman on either side of the Mississippi. Let those outlaws know you’re not afraid. And make sure they do it your way. If they hired you, they must not know that you’re Colorado Jones. The only reason Harris hired you is because I recommended you to the mayor.”
“Thanks, Jerry. I owe you a lot.” Colorado got up to leave. “By the way, you make great coffee.”

The rain had ended when Colorado Jones stepped into the Crescent City Bank. He walked up to the counter.
“What can I do for you?” said the clerk.
“I am investigating the robbery of eleven days ago. Were there any witnesses?”
“Just one.” The clerk stopped. “Jane! Come here, Jane!”
“Yes?”
“Jane, meet Mr., um…”
“Jones.”
“Jane, meet Mr. Jones.” The clerk went on. “He wants to know if you know anything about the bank robbery eleven days ago.”
“I do know one thing. I could not take my eyes off of the robber’s new shoes.” said Jane, nonchalantly.
“What color were they?” said Jones, enthusiastically.
“Blacker than night. And all freshly polished, too.”

Jones turned and walked out of the bank.
“What’s that all about?” asked Jane, faintly.
“I don’t rightly know.” stated the clerk.

Jones came strolling out of the bank. Benjamin Harris was waiting for him.
“Well, did you find anything?” Benjamin Harris sounded uneasy.
“Nope.”
“Oh.”
“Well, I’m going down to the saloon.” Jones said casually. “I need something to drink. You coming?”
“No. I need to meet someone.”
“Very good. I’ll be down there if you need me.”

Benjamin Harris was edgy. He rode his chestnut colored horse down to his apartment. Waiting for him was a group of shady looking men. Harris spoke to the men. “Jones is on to us. I think he knows who stole the money from the Crescent City Bank. I’m sure he knows that it’s us. Jeremiah Lewiston is on to us as well.”
“Impossible! Even though I do know that Jeremiah has been onto us since day one, why would Jones be on to us?” declared the leader of the men.
“I am sure that Jeremiah knows Jones, and no, it’s not impossible for Jones to be on to us. I did not know this when the mayor asked me to hire him, but Jones is the famed lawman Colorado Jones. Go down to the saloon. We need to get Jones off of our back at once. If Colorado says he’s going back to Denver, let him be. At least he’ll be out of the way in Denver.”
“And if he’s not going back to Denver?”
“Kill him.”

Colorado gulped down another glass of sarsaparilla. “I’m leaving for Denver tomorrow.” he told the bartender. “Tell Benjamin Harris to meet me at the stagecoach for Denver. Tell him to meet me there before dawn tomorrow.”
“I sure will.” replied the bartender, automatically. Jones went outside, mounted his horse, and rode hard for Jeremiah’s ranch.
“You found WHAT?” Jeremiah Lewiston thundered. “A black scuff mark from new shoes. I also talked to a witness, and she says the man who robbed the bank had on polished, brand-new, shiny black shoes.”
“No way! I knew Harris was a thief, but, this… this is very hard to believe!!”
“Do you know any one else who wears polished, black, brand-new shoes?”
“No. Only Benjamin Harris wears those kind of shoes.” acknowledged Jeremiah. “You need to go back to Denver and round up some men so you can catch Harris.”
“Sure thing, Jerry.”

Colorado prepared to board the stagecoach back to Denver.
“Well, here’s fifty dollars for your troubles!”
“Thanks, Harris.”

Colorado got into the stagecoach. He needed to find some solid evidence. With wandering eyes Jones looked down at the gold piece in his hands. He stopped. Sitting in his hands was one of the stolen fifty-dollar gold pieces.

Harris was relieved. He finally had managed to shake that imprudent Jones fellow off of his tail. He had rewarded for him his two days’ worth of work by paying him with one of the fifty-dollar gold pieces he had stolen from the bank. Even so, Harris was sure he had gotten away with it. He called his vigilantes together.

“Men! Congratulations on our victory! We’re going down to the saloon to celebrate! I’ll buy the drinks!”

Cheers and applause rose up from the gang. Suddenly, Colorado Jones, Jeremiah Lewiston, the county sheriff, and four other men walked up.
Colorado spoke first. “Having a party are we?”
“I thought you left town!” said Harris, incredulous.

BANG!!! A shot rang out from Harris’ left. One of Jones’ men fell dead. Harris mounted up, and rode hard. He heard horses follow him.
“Halt! You are under arrest!” The voice was that of Colorado Jones.
BANG!!! Another shot. This time the shot came from one of Colorado’s Colt revolvers. Harris’ horse stumbled and fell. He felt a pain in his side as he hit the ground. The last thing Benjamin Harris remembered seeing was the stone-cold faces of Colorado Jones and Jeremiah Lewiston.

Harris was arrested and his gang dispersed. He was convicted of forging documents (as a city treasurer) and theft. Harris was also charged with the mishandling of funds. Benjamin Harris was sentenced to 25 years in prison.

Two years later, Colorado Jones was elected mayor of Crescent City. Jeremiah Lewiston was appointed to city council. And Crescent City was once again the peaceful, affluent town it had once been.

Jones retired from law work once he was voted in as the mayor of Crescent City. But forever he will be known as the man called Colorado!

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