Descendents of Floyd & Grace Lytle
Ken Thompson's Unofficial Medicine Lodge Website
A short story by
Norman E. Thompson
1893 was a long way off from the Civil War, Buford thought as he read the story in the Saturday afternoon
newspaper. Regardless, he continued on with the newstory. "Jesse James and other outlaws of the same history, were
fighting the Civil War every time they robbed a bank or train. Those outlaws had so much hatred towards the Union
that every bank robbery, every train robbery and every bullet through a man's body was
done of vengeance for the
Confederacy," the story said. "Judge Isaak Parker said those were the words straight from Jesse's mouth." Buford
thought back to the preacher's words from the Sunday morning sermon, "Thou shalt not kill."
"Honey, remember, we're going to visit the Smith's. It's nigh 2 pm in the afternoon," Buford's wife Clarice said
with a slight southern accent. Buford was a foot soldier in the Civil War, and he brought his southern bride with
him out of Missouri when the war was over. They homesteaded 90 acres in the Gyp Hills and had made Medicine Lodge
their home since the end of the war. She walked up and looked at the newspaper story over Buford's shoulder. "Hon,
now don't you go reading about that nasty ill-mannered Jesse James. You know that man gives me nightmares."
Yes, Buford remembered. He and his new bride were passing through the town of St. Joseph, Missouri, when it happened.
Their buggy was going down Main Street when they heard a shot. The horses reared up and Buford pulled the buggy to the
side of the street, otherwise they might have been shot. As the second shot rang out, two men came running out of the
bank and jumped on their horses. A man on the roof of the hardware store took a shot with his Colt .45 but it was
darn hard to hit a man from 50 feet. The two men stuck their spurs into the flanks of the horses, and galloped north
out of town. Buford saw the sheriff come riding up, and heard the man on the hardware store roof yell out, "Sheriff,
it's Frank and Jesse James! They went north!" And now, even thirty years later, sometimes Clarice would have nightmares
of an outlaw shooting her and Buford.
"We better hurry on over to the Smith's. Now you just forget all about that
Jesse James. He's dead now. They put a bullet right through his head and it made
a hole in the wall!" Buford put his hand over his forehead. "Forget I said
that. Forget everything. I don't want you having those nightmares. Go git your fancy hat and gloves and we'll have
a nice ride into town on a pleasant Sunday afternoon," he said as he gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Next Sunday morning, like clockwork, Buford and Clarice sat down in their same place, the same pew they sat in
every Sunday. Anna Mae Jones and Molly Finch were busy chattering about a new dress that John Barber's wife was
wearing. Out of politeness, Clarice joined into the conversation. "Isn't it a pretty dress?"
"Clarice, who's that stranger in the front pew? I've never seen him before," Anna Mae said, trying not to stare.
She didn't want anybody to think that she was staring at people in church.
"I don't know. I've never seen him before either," Clarice answered, just as the preacher walked down the aisle,
with Nort William's son lighting the candles on the altar. The choir sang Amazing Grace and the preacher had a
really good sermon that day. Anna Mae tried not to stare at the stranger, but she noticed he seemed to pay close
attention to the sermon, the way he nodded his head. And when the plate was passed around, he put in a silver dollar.
At the end of the service, all the people lined up to shake hands with the preacher. Anna Mae and Molly were in front
of Buford and Clarice, and the stranger was the last in line. Buford turned around and offered a handshake, and said,
"Good morning, sir. You must be new in town. I'm Buford Clemons and this is my wife Clarice."
"Mighty pleased to meet you," he said, shaking Buford's hand and nodding to Clarice. He was a tall and lanky man,
wearing a black suit and a fine white silk shirt. He had a moustache, and a thick dark swath of whiskers under his
lower lip. "I'm Jim. I'm from Oklahoma territory and came up here looking for work. People call me Deacon Jim."
"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Deacon Jim," Clarice said. "These are my friends, Anna Mae Jones and Molly
Finch." Deacon Jim nodded his head to each woman and said, "mam".
The line had thinned out so Anne Mae and Molly could shake hands with the preacher. Buford and Clarice took their
turns and complimented the preacher on his sermon while shaking hands. "Welcome to Medicine Lodge. Now we expect to
see you here every Sunday morning," the preacher said with a big grin to Deacon Jim.
"Thanks for your hospitality. I'm Jim. People call me Deacon Jim."
Monday afternoon Buford took his buggy into town and went to the blacksmith. One of his horses needed to be shoed.
As he came out of the livery stable, he saw Deacon Jim coming out of the hardware store. "Deacon Jim, it's me, Buford.
How about a drink with me over at the saloon? I've got a little time to kill while the blacksmith shoes my horse."
"Thanks for your hospitality, Buford, but I don't drink."
"Aw, one little whiskey won't hurt ya!" Buford said.
"Naw, Buford, don't go makin' me mad. People don't like me when I get mad." Deacon Jim answered.
Buford could sense a strange feeling. He could see a strange look of anger in Deacon Jim's eyes. "Okay, okay,
don't get mad. Just tryin' to be friendly," Buford said in a bewildered but apologetic voice. "Say, how about coming
over for supper. Clarice makes some great venison steak and potatoes and gravy!" Buford offered up to mend the situation.
"Thanks but I'll just eat in the hotel tonight," Deacon Jim answered back. Buford noticed the strange look in his
eyes was gone. Deacon Jim nodded and walked off down the street.
Every Sunday morning, week after week, Deacon Jim was always in church, in the same place in the same pew. He was
always polite to people but kept to himself. He met all the people in the church, and got several invitations to supper,
but always declined. Somebody said he lived in the log cabin on the old Rucker place down by the Elm Creek. He worked
the harvest in the summer and worked with cattle in the winter. He never drank and never smoked and was always polite
to everybody.
One Sunday after church, Dean Stanton met with Deacon Jim at the door of the church. "Deacon Jim, some of us guys
are gettin' together a friendly little poker game over at the saloon. We'd like you to come along and join in."
"Naw, don't you go gettin' me mad!" Deacon Jim raised his voice. All the other people in the church stared in
apprehension.
Dean could see the rage and anger in the eyes of Deacon Jim. "Okay, hey, it's just a friendly game. We don't play
for keeps anyway!" Dean said hesitantly. "I better go now, the guys are probably starting without me. If you change
your mind, we'd be happy to have you join in."
"Thanks but no thanks," Deacon Jim said with a voice of anger as he walked past the preacher and on towards home.
Buford looked at Dean and said, "Whew, somethin' ain't right with that man. He done that once before to me and
I just wanted to get away. He's a scary soul."
"Buford, come on over to the saloon and get in on the game with us," Dean said, trying to calm his own nerves.
It was a chilly day in January. Deacon Jim rode up in front of the hardware store and wrapped the reins to tie up
his horse. Buford was just coming out of the bank and walked over to the General Store where Clarice was getting her
cooking supplies. Buford waved to Deacon Jim but didn't say anything. He noticed that Deacon Jim had a Colt .45 strapped
around his waist. As Buford got close enough to talk to Deacon Jim, he said, "Say, that's a mighty fine gun you got
there. I've never seen you packing a gun before."
"Hello, Buford. I don't wear no guns in church," Deacon Jim answered. Buford could sense that strange anger and
rage in Jim again.
"Yeah, that's right. Well, it's good seein' ya, Deacon Jim. I gotta go get Clarice at the General Store now.
You take care," Buford said trying to get away from that look in the eyes of Deacon Jim. Buford hurried on into the
General Store. As he opened the door, he heard horses galloping into town. He looked up and saw six banditos riding
up to the hardware store. All six of them had gunbelts draped across both shoulders, and they wore big wide sombreros.
They all had moustaches. The leader, at least Buford thought it was the leader, had four gunbelts strapped around his
waist, giving him a total of eight Colt .45's. Buford yelled to the General Store owner and Clarice, "Look's like
there's something going on out here. Maybe a bank robbery. Everybody hide."
"Si, jefe, es el caballo de ese Deacon Jim. Conozco la silla," one of the banditos said to the leader.
"What's he saying?" Buford whispered to the General Store owner. "I don't know no Mexican."
"I think he said that he recognizes the saddle and horse of Deacon Jim," the General Store owner whispered back.
"Are they bank robbers?" Buford wondered as he crouched in front of the windows.
Just at that time, Deacon Jim walked out of the hardware store. Buford could sense that wild rage and anger in his
eyes. Deacon Jim walked tall and proud but shook with that wild rage.
"Deacon Jim, le voy a matar!" the bandito leader yelled as he drew his first pistol. But he was too late. Deacon Jim
pulled his Colt .45. The first bullet went through the center of the forehead of the leader. The second bullet went
through the cheek and into the head of the second bandito. The third bullet went through the right temple of the third
bandito. The fourth bullet went through the ear of the fourth bandito. The fifth bullet went through the left eye
of the fifth bandito. The sixth bullet went through the heart of the sixth bandito.
With that same wild rage and anger in his eyes and voice, Deacon Jim said, "That was fun. Let's do it again," to
the dead bodies laying in the street. He calmly got on his horse and calmly rode out of town.
After Deacon Jim was out of view, Willie the Cripple climbed out of his hiding place in a whiskey barrel, and ran
to the sheriff's office. "Sheriff, there's been a shootin'!" he yelled.
The Sheriff opened the door and ran over to check the men for a pulse.
The Sheriff looked up and shook his head no to the onlookers. Suddenly the telegraph man ran up. "Sheriff, you got
a telegram from Judge Isaak Parker! He say's Sheriff, be on the lookout for a killer named Jim Miller. He goes on
psychopathic rages and has killed forty men in Oklahoma territory. People call him Deacon Jim."
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Updated 11/11/08
