the infamous greene county war" continued
November 9, 1876
The easily recognizable 'clicking' of a pistol hammer being drawn back very close by, awakens 'Yellow Ned' from a sound sleep. The strong smell of 'horse' on boots-- having been ground into long-stale clothing worn by unwashed bodies-- suddenly fills his nostrils.
In the half light of his room at "Orra's Boarding House--clean rooms with or without meals-- monthly, weekly, nightly rates", Ned's startled awareness can barely make out the forms of his two late night visitors.
Light from the half moon in the sky outside the now widely gaped window, falls upon the shadow figures. Illuminated with an eerie glow, the one who has helped himself to the only chair in the small room speaks.
"Mr. Pierpont, I do gather? " the pinched nose voice of one visitor greets the awakening Yellow Ned.
"Yes, I'm Mr. Pierpont", Ned own voice heavy with uncleared sleep answers hurriedly.
"What do you want ? ...Money?"
"Already got that ...unless you've got more than this little... sixteen dollars here squirrel-holed away somewhere in this room? "
The pinched voice replies with a smugness detectable even in the dark, holding Ned's small wad of bills twisting them back and forth in the moonlight before Ned's eye as a taunt.
"Already got this little peashooter of yours too", the second figure chimes in dangling in the light by its iron and walnut, bird's head handle-grip, the four shot Wesson's .22 caliber pocket pistol found on the night table.
"Some good whiskey here... " the night table voice announces, taking another long sip from Ned's engraved silver flask.
"Only the best for our local celebrities, right Mr. Pierpont?"
"You've got everything -I haven't seen your faces, what else do you want?" Ned asks ,his voice revealing a small quaver now.
"I want you to write something for me and get it published for everybody to read it-- like you did for that pappy-killing Carson." the pinched voice demands.
"You write what I say. "
A notepad and pencil are carelessly tossed by the seated figure , striking the face of the man in the bed.
A match is lit by the figure standing and held to the candle at bed table. Enough light is given by the flickering straw tinted flame to barely fill the small room. Ned, awake now, from wanted posters can vaguely identify the dim unshaven figures as 'Sir Simon' and possibly the youngest of the Spence boys, Zed.
"To begin answering this mountain of false charges made against me, let me start with the latest buncha damn lies.
I was never at the Silver Dollar Saloon that night and I did not go upstairs to her room and force myself on that nasty, flea ridden, saloon skunk ‘Piss Martha Anne Rucker‘. You know what word rhymes with ‘Rucker’?
...And that’s just what everyman and boy with a dollar in his hand does to 'Miss Martha Anne'." Derisively announces 'Sir Simon' mocking Thaiff Carson's printed reverence for the saloon girl.
"She gave of her self willingly to me. She drank more whiskey than I did that night and was demanding I provide her with more. Look at me. What manner of man is this ?"
Spense slaps his chest loudly. Brother Zed, sipping whiskey, nods quietly in agreement.
"People stand in awe of me . All this manly splendor. This fine specimen of manliness I am --you think I need to force my affection upon a woman ? Any woman ? That root sucking bitch ‘Piss Martha Anne‘ is gonna pay for defaming me. "
Simon Spence has amazed even himself with his brilliant decision to also use the media in his on-going feuds with Waldo Cantrell, Cantrell's friend Tom Reed, the railroads, the Cattlemen's Association and now Thaiff Carson.
"You getting all this down , Mr. Pierpont ? I ain’t speaking too fast , am I? I am known for my ways with the words , and ways with the women. My mind is nimble. My thoughts are fleet of foot like that. Never been a slow thinker at all, this boy here. Winged angels of brilliance often race through my mind.
How’s my voice sound ? Some people say my voice has a whiny nasally sound to it , but I refuse to consider the possibility.
You know what they say? Some have said that because my voice is the way it is, that I act like I have something to prove. Yet, others say it's a flip of a coin as to who has killed more men, 'Father Time' or Simon Spence. But I say those folks're exaggerating --a little--as of yet, I ain’t killed no where near that many men.I have killed nobody except in a fair fight.
I want this on the record that for making threats against me ,Thaiff Carson’s as good as dead . Make sure you get that down ,Thaiff pappy-killing Carson is a dead pappy-killing, sissy man. I promise you that. The day we meet is the day Thaiff Carson dies. When I’m finished skinning him alive and rolling him in a pile of rock salt, he’ll wish they had hung him for gunning down his own pappy.
And that drunken sot Judge Foley can’t hide behind his little Nanny-boy bounty hunter Carson --everybody who ain’t been drunk and asleep for the past year knows that Thaiff Carson works for Foley --Doing the bidding of the mining and cattle interests --- and they've got Foley in their pockets.
Carson’s one of their personal assassins. That’s why Foley threw out the murder charges against Carson. 'Cause old Thaiff promised to shoot dead whoever Foley and friends aim Thaiff’s Colt at. Between Foley's legal shennanagans and that whore Piss Martha Anne sucking off every witness in that saloon that seen Thaiff shoot dead in broad daylight, his own pappy---is it any wonder no witnesses showed up at Carson’s murder trial to testify against him?
This I ask the people of these Territories. Foley saw the shooting --he was in the saloon drinking whiskey with Thaiff just before he shot his papp. Foley seen it --he was the one who clopped Thaiff over the head with a pistol after the boy shot his own paw and Foley had the boy arrested.
Then when the case came up for trial, Foley steps in as the presiding judge and says that as the judge handling the trial he can‘t testify to what he saw because it would be 'conflict of interest'.
His honor Judge Foley pulling strings like a puppeteer and Piss Martha Anne--sucking off every man's root in sight, is what sprung Carson from jail.
Judge dropped the murder charges just as sure as Miss Martha Anne dropped her dirty drawers and gave every witness to the killing-- including Judge Foley a good suck and a good roll in her 'hay loft' .
Then, she gets all sanctified and won’t even give old friends like Simon here a decent suck anymore --but all that’s gonna change when I burn lead through Thaiff’ Carson’s chest. All his 'Washitaw Indian holyman magic' and luck charms won’t mean a thing --Didn’t do nothing for them Washita . Didn’t bring them no luck, did it?
Last I heard they’re still on the reservation. Even their little kids walk around begging for a glass of whiskey. Bunch of drunks as dead as Carson’s gonna be. Speaking of drunks ,Waldo Cantrell’s a dead man too. I’m gonna end it for that old bastard --put him and his little sweetheart Tom Reed both outta their misery.
Carson--Cantrell--Reed--they’re all dead men. Simon Spence gives his word on it . You see this? This is a brand new .44 caliber Colt Peacemaker revolver--special made for me by Colt Arms Manufacturing. Company.
First, I will use this weapon to kill Thaiff Carson. Next I will use this weapon to put a bullet between Waldo Cantrell’s drunken old eyes. Then, I’m gonna stick it up Tom Reed’s ass and blast that fancy derby hat off the top of his empty head.
Simon Spence gives you his word on that. Let the readers know that there are still true heroes out here in the west. Let them know that Simon Spence upholds the American tradition of manliness. Simon Spence has spoken.
And for the record, I Simon Spence did not assault one 'Aunt Josie' nor did I Simon Spence set afire to any 'said' Aunt Josie’s Fine Dining and Eatery establishment. The food is terrible there anyway. Old witch serves dead dog for breakfast , rotten alley cat for lunch and stale rat with bloodworm and tarantula spider for supper.
Old bat ain’t had a bath since the day bathing tubs were invented. After the incident between my self and Aunt Josie --I deliberately avoided 'said' eatery to prevent all 'said' hostilities from renewing between myself Simon Spence and 'said' feeble minded, tobacco-chewing Aunt Josie.
Also I did not ever rob nor 'commandeer' any trains or railroad cars. Nor did I ever rob any passengers on any 'said' trains or railroad cars That’s all lies spread by Waldo Cantrell blaming me for setting afire Aunt Josie’s Fine Dining and Eatery establishment.
'Said' Aunt Josie is a lying old feeble-minded whore. The old whore Josie probably set the place on fire herself after drinking too much rotgut whiskey and smoking her favorite cigars in bed.
Waldo Cantrell has falsely accused me , Simon Spence of robbing trainloads of passengers coming out here from back east to see his stinking wild west show. He can’t blame me for the failure of his 'said' stinking wild west show.
I did not 'commandeer' any 'said' train locomotives.I did not shoot any 'said' Mexican cow detective. I did not steal any cattle. I did not shoot any Pinkertons. I Simon Spence did not repeatedly hold up any 'said' passenger trains nor hold anyone ransom.
I did not repeatedly rob any 'said' passengers on any 'said' trains.I did not steal any firearms or any 'said' rail road carload of firearms cartridges.
I did not scare off or attempt to scare off any 'said' customers for any 'said' stinking wild west show of any 'said' stinking Waldo Cantrell. I did not commit any 'said' hold ups nor robberies and thus cause any 'said' stinking wild west show’s bank rupture and stinking demise.
And of that, let the record show. I Simon Spence have spoken and my words are truth. Any man disputes me-- I’ll shoot him dead."
The easily recognizable 'clicking' of a pistol hammer being drawn back very close by, awakens 'Yellow Ned' from a sound sleep. The strong smell of 'horse' on boots-- having been ground into long-stale clothing worn by unwashed bodies-- suddenly fills his nostrils.
In the half light of his room at "Orra's Boarding House--clean rooms with or without meals-- monthly, weekly, nightly rates", Ned's startled awareness can barely make out the forms of his two late night visitors.
Light from the half moon in the sky outside the now widely gaped window, falls upon the shadow figures. Illuminated with an eerie glow, the one who has helped himself to the only chair in the small room speaks.
"Mr. Pierpont, I do gather? " the pinched nose voice of one visitor greets the awakening Yellow Ned.
"Yes, I'm Mr. Pierpont", Ned own voice heavy with uncleared sleep answers hurriedly.
"What do you want ? ...Money?"
"Already got that ...unless you've got more than this little... sixteen dollars here squirrel-holed away somewhere in this room? "
The pinched voice replies with a smugness detectable even in the dark, holding Ned's small wad of bills twisting them back and forth in the moonlight before Ned's eye as a taunt.
"Already got this little peashooter of yours too", the second figure chimes in dangling in the light by its iron and walnut, bird's head handle-grip, the four shot Wesson's .22 caliber pocket pistol found on the night table.
"Some good whiskey here... " the night table voice announces, taking another long sip from Ned's engraved silver flask.
"Only the best for our local celebrities, right Mr. Pierpont?"
"You've got everything -I haven't seen your faces, what else do you want?" Ned asks ,his voice revealing a small quaver now.
"I want you to write something for me and get it published for everybody to read it-- like you did for that pappy-killing Carson." the pinched voice demands.
"You write what I say. "
A notepad and pencil are carelessly tossed by the seated figure , striking the face of the man in the bed.
A match is lit by the figure standing and held to the candle at bed table. Enough light is given by the flickering straw tinted flame to barely fill the small room. Ned, awake now, from wanted posters can vaguely identify the dim unshaven figures as 'Sir Simon' and possibly the youngest of the Spence boys, Zed.
"To begin answering this mountain of false charges made against me, let me start with the latest buncha damn lies.
I was never at the Silver Dollar Saloon that night and I did not go upstairs to her room and force myself on that nasty, flea ridden, saloon skunk ‘Piss Martha Anne Rucker‘. You know what word rhymes with ‘Rucker’?
...And that’s just what everyman and boy with a dollar in his hand does to 'Miss Martha Anne'." Derisively announces 'Sir Simon' mocking Thaiff Carson's printed reverence for the saloon girl.
"She gave of her self willingly to me. She drank more whiskey than I did that night and was demanding I provide her with more. Look at me. What manner of man is this ?"
Spense slaps his chest loudly. Brother Zed, sipping whiskey, nods quietly in agreement.
"People stand in awe of me . All this manly splendor. This fine specimen of manliness I am --you think I need to force my affection upon a woman ? Any woman ? That root sucking bitch ‘Piss Martha Anne‘ is gonna pay for defaming me. "
Simon Spence has amazed even himself with his brilliant decision to also use the media in his on-going feuds with Waldo Cantrell, Cantrell's friend Tom Reed, the railroads, the Cattlemen's Association and now Thaiff Carson.
"You getting all this down , Mr. Pierpont ? I ain’t speaking too fast , am I? I am known for my ways with the words , and ways with the women. My mind is nimble. My thoughts are fleet of foot like that. Never been a slow thinker at all, this boy here. Winged angels of brilliance often race through my mind.
How’s my voice sound ? Some people say my voice has a whiny nasally sound to it , but I refuse to consider the possibility.
You know what they say? Some have said that because my voice is the way it is, that I act like I have something to prove. Yet, others say it's a flip of a coin as to who has killed more men, 'Father Time' or Simon Spence. But I say those folks're exaggerating --a little--as of yet, I ain’t killed no where near that many men.I have killed nobody except in a fair fight.
I want this on the record that for making threats against me ,Thaiff Carson’s as good as dead . Make sure you get that down ,Thaiff pappy-killing Carson is a dead pappy-killing, sissy man. I promise you that. The day we meet is the day Thaiff Carson dies. When I’m finished skinning him alive and rolling him in a pile of rock salt, he’ll wish they had hung him for gunning down his own pappy.
And that drunken sot Judge Foley can’t hide behind his little Nanny-boy bounty hunter Carson --everybody who ain’t been drunk and asleep for the past year knows that Thaiff Carson works for Foley --Doing the bidding of the mining and cattle interests --- and they've got Foley in their pockets.
Carson’s one of their personal assassins. That’s why Foley threw out the murder charges against Carson. 'Cause old Thaiff promised to shoot dead whoever Foley and friends aim Thaiff’s Colt at. Between Foley's legal shennanagans and that whore Piss Martha Anne sucking off every witness in that saloon that seen Thaiff shoot dead in broad daylight, his own pappy---is it any wonder no witnesses showed up at Carson’s murder trial to testify against him?
This I ask the people of these Territories. Foley saw the shooting --he was in the saloon drinking whiskey with Thaiff just before he shot his papp. Foley seen it --he was the one who clopped Thaiff over the head with a pistol after the boy shot his own paw and Foley had the boy arrested.
Then when the case came up for trial, Foley steps in as the presiding judge and says that as the judge handling the trial he can‘t testify to what he saw because it would be 'conflict of interest'.
His honor Judge Foley pulling strings like a puppeteer and Piss Martha Anne--sucking off every man's root in sight, is what sprung Carson from jail.
Judge dropped the murder charges just as sure as Miss Martha Anne dropped her dirty drawers and gave every witness to the killing-- including Judge Foley a good suck and a good roll in her 'hay loft' .
Then, she gets all sanctified and won’t even give old friends like Simon here a decent suck anymore --but all that’s gonna change when I burn lead through Thaiff’ Carson’s chest. All his 'Washitaw Indian holyman magic' and luck charms won’t mean a thing --Didn’t do nothing for them Washita . Didn’t bring them no luck, did it?
Last I heard they’re still on the reservation. Even their little kids walk around begging for a glass of whiskey. Bunch of drunks as dead as Carson’s gonna be. Speaking of drunks ,Waldo Cantrell’s a dead man too. I’m gonna end it for that old bastard --put him and his little sweetheart Tom Reed both outta their misery.
Carson--Cantrell--Reed--they’re all dead men. Simon Spence gives his word on it . You see this? This is a brand new .44 caliber Colt Peacemaker revolver--special made for me by Colt Arms Manufacturing. Company.
First, I will use this weapon to kill Thaiff Carson. Next I will use this weapon to put a bullet between Waldo Cantrell’s drunken old eyes. Then, I’m gonna stick it up Tom Reed’s ass and blast that fancy derby hat off the top of his empty head.
Simon Spence gives you his word on that. Let the readers know that there are still true heroes out here in the west. Let them know that Simon Spence upholds the American tradition of manliness. Simon Spence has spoken.
And for the record, I Simon Spence did not assault one 'Aunt Josie' nor did I Simon Spence set afire to any 'said' Aunt Josie’s Fine Dining and Eatery establishment. The food is terrible there anyway. Old witch serves dead dog for breakfast , rotten alley cat for lunch and stale rat with bloodworm and tarantula spider for supper.
Old bat ain’t had a bath since the day bathing tubs were invented. After the incident between my self and Aunt Josie --I deliberately avoided 'said' eatery to prevent all 'said' hostilities from renewing between myself Simon Spence and 'said' feeble minded, tobacco-chewing Aunt Josie.
Also I did not ever rob nor 'commandeer' any trains or railroad cars. Nor did I ever rob any passengers on any 'said' trains or railroad cars That’s all lies spread by Waldo Cantrell blaming me for setting afire Aunt Josie’s Fine Dining and Eatery establishment.
'Said' Aunt Josie is a lying old feeble-minded whore. The old whore Josie probably set the place on fire herself after drinking too much rotgut whiskey and smoking her favorite cigars in bed.
Waldo Cantrell has falsely accused me , Simon Spence of robbing trainloads of passengers coming out here from back east to see his stinking wild west show. He can’t blame me for the failure of his 'said' stinking wild west show.
I did not 'commandeer' any 'said' train locomotives.I did not shoot any 'said' Mexican cow detective. I did not steal any cattle. I did not shoot any Pinkertons. I Simon Spence did not repeatedly hold up any 'said' passenger trains nor hold anyone ransom.
I did not repeatedly rob any 'said' passengers on any 'said' trains.I did not steal any firearms or any 'said' rail road carload of firearms cartridges.
I did not scare off or attempt to scare off any 'said' customers for any 'said' stinking wild west show of any 'said' stinking Waldo Cantrell. I did not commit any 'said' hold ups nor robberies and thus cause any 'said' stinking wild west show’s bank rupture and stinking demise.
And of that, let the record show. I Simon Spence have spoken and my words are truth. Any man disputes me-- I’ll shoot him dead."
posted by dsekou at 10:58 AM
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