Booth Hill -Thomas Calabrese

Hot Lead Justice

Thomas Calabrese- The Hill family left Liberty, Missouri on April 18, 1886, and headed west on the Santa Fe Trail. It was not decided on whether they would go to Arizona or continue to California, but they had plenty time to decide for they would be on the trail for over a month. George Hill found a buyer for his forty-acre farm and sold everything that would not fit in two horse drawn prairie schooners. (wagons)

George and Betsy Hill had four children, Andrew, Daniel, Booth and Ruby. Ruby was born with a weak respiratory system and the harsh and unpredictable winters of Missouri were having a detrimental effect on her health and the local doctor recommended a drier and warmer climate. George, Betsy and Ruby were in the front wagon and the three boys followed in the second. Andrew was the oldest and did most of the driving and Daniel and Booth relieved him when he got tired.

When they made it to Arizona, George gazed out over the barren landscape and drawled, “This don’t look like farmland to me. I reckon’ we should keep on a gitting’ to Californie.”

The family took the Kearny Trail to California and when George saw the San Pasqual Valley, located north of San Diego, all he could say “Yup, this is it.” then proceeded to purchase sixty acres of land near the San Dieguito River from Judge Oliver S. Witherby.

The first three years were rough for the Hill family as they slowly acclimated to their new environment, but after that, things slowly improved. George was a natural born farmer and one of the first things that he did was visit the residents in the area to get their opinions on crops. A Mexican farmer, named Juan Ortiz had been in the valley for twenty years and was a fountain of knowledge and eager to share his expertise.

He told George about the extended droughts that he had experienced and warned the new arrival about the risks of putting in too many crops that required a lot of water. George heeded the advice and while he planted wheat, corn, hay, he also put in almonds, pistachios and grapes. George had a rapport with the land and could rub the soil between his hands and could literally feel its potential. After the first successful harvest, George was doing so well that he discussed leasing more property from Judge Witherby with the option to buy, but the best news for the Hill family was that Ruby’s health had improved dramatically since their arrival in California.

As a reward for their hard work, George rewarded his two youngest sons with two dollars each and told Daniel and Booth that they could take a couple days off from their chores and go to the coast. It was a twenty-two-mile ride by horseback from their ranch to the beach in Oceanside. The two boys saddled up before sunrise and were ready to hit the trail when their George reminded them, “I’ll see you day after tomorrow, have a good time and stay safe.”

 It was fifteen miles down the trail when Daniel got off his horse and vomited, “I don’t feel so good.”

            “Lie down for a while,” Booth suggested.

Thirty minutes later, Daniel struggled to his feet, looking pale and feeling weak, “I ate some berries yesterday, I reckon that’s it, I better turn around.”

            “Okay,” Booth was obviously disappointed.

            “You don’t have to go back,” Daniel said.

            “I don’t want to go without you,” Booth replied.

            “There’s no telling how long it will be before you’ll have the chance to go again,” Daniel said, “You’re more than halfway so you might as well go the rest of the way.”

            “I would like to get in the ocean, that’s for sure,” Booth responded thoughtfully.

            “That’s it!” Daniel encouraged, “Once you’re there, you can decide how long you want to stay.”

            “As long as you don’t mind,” Booth said.

The two brothers went in different directions, Daniel’s horse at a slow walk and Booth’s at a steady gallop. When he got to the beach in Oceanside, Booth dismounted, took off his boots and socks and walked in the Pacific Ocean for a half hour while his horse rested. He stopped off a local livery stable just before sunset.

            “How can I help you, young fella’?” Moss Grimsby asked.

            “I’d like to board my horse for the night,” Booth said.

Moss Grimsby responded, “Two bits for a stable, four bits for stable and hay and six bits for stable, hay and oats.”

            “I’ll take the last offer,” Booth counted out seventy-five cents, “Here’s six bits.”

            “Where are you going to stay?” Moss asked.

            “I’ve got a buck and a quarter left, I’ll take my bedroll, get some grub and sleep on the beach,” Booth replied.

            “A little warning…sleep far back from the water, a wave can come in and sweep you out to sea,” Moss warned.

            “Thanks,” Booth said, “See you in the morning.”

Booth got some food from Bunky’s General Store, ate on the beach and slept under the stars to the sound of crashing waves. He awakened before sunrise, feeling refreshed and happy that he came. Booth got his horse and headed home and was only two miles from home when he passed twelve men on horseback and two wagons. One of men glared at Booth who pulled his horse off the trail to let them pass. The two wagons were filled with a variety of items and Booth thought he recognized his mother’s small wood dresser in the last wagon but just assumed that it was a similar piece of furniture.

As soon as he reached their property line, Booth felt a cold chill and sensed that something was wrong. When he got closer to the house, Booth saw his two brothers lying in the dirt. He jumped off his horse to check on them and found that they had been shot numerous times. When he went inside the house, he saw that his mother, father and sister Ruby were also dead. The house was completely ransacked and everything of value had been taken.

Booth Hill walked around in a tear-filled haze for next few weeks. Judge Witherby did everything he could to help during this difficult time, including making the funeral arrangements for Booth’s deceased family, “If you want to keep the property, I can get you a few men to help out.”

Booth didn’t have to think twice before he replied, “Thank you very much sir, but I can’t stay there knowing what happened to my family.”

            “I understand, I’ll give you a fair price for it.”

Later on, Sheriff Willis Carson approached Booth with a handful of wanted posters, “Take a look at these and see if anybody looks familiar.”

Booth carefully examined the artist renderings of the outlaws and stopped at the sixth one, “This is one the man that I saw on the trail.”

Sheriff Carson shook his head in disgust, “Tiburon Mason, as bad as they come, him and his men have been raiding farms and ranches all through California, Nevada and Arizona for years then they hightail it over the border into Mexico every time the law gets close.”

Tiburon Mason was a bloodthirsty psychopath and sadist who took what he wanted and killed anyone who stood in his way or happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The men who rode with him were equally despicable human beings, and together they were creating a legacy of carnage and mayhem throughout the west.

Judge Witherby was extremely generous, and Booth took three thousand dollars and rode out. He forced himself not to look back and when he got to Escondido, he saw a shop with the sign Gunsmith and entered. Newley Hagan, the proprietor asked, “How can I help you?”

            “I’m looking for a job,” Booth answered.

            “I ain’t looking for no help,” Newley replied.

            “I’ll work for free, sweeping, cleaning, anything you want me to do.”

            “Why in the hell would you want to work for free, boy?” Newley asked.

            “Because I need to learn about guns,” Booth answered.

            “I ain’t got no time to be teaching nobody nuthin.”

Booth reached into his pouch and took out two fifty-dollar gold pieces, part of the money that he got for the sale of his family’s farm, “I’m willing to toss in a hundred dollars for lessons.”

Newley looked at the young boy and saw the fierce determination in his eyes and responded, “So what you’re saying is, that you’re going to pay me to work, I don’t see how I can pass up that deal.”

For three weeks, Booth did exactly what he was told and never said more a few words to Newley during the entire time of doing menial chores. Finally when his curiosity got the best of him, the Gunsmith finally asked, “I thought you wanted learn about guns?”

            “I do,” Booth said.

            “Then why haven’t you said anything?” Newley asked.

            “We had a deal, I’m keeping my end of it, I figured you’d keep your part when you were ready,” Booth said, “Was I wrong?”

            “You were not wrong,” Newley smiled, “One thing though.”

            “What’s that?” Booth asked.

            “Why do you want to learn about guns?”

            “I want to know what the hell I’m doing when I catch up to the men who killed my family.”

For the next six months, Newley imparted information about pistols, rifles, ammunition and   Booth was not only an attentive and gifted student, but an obsessed one. The young boy learned about double action, single action, and balance and how to disassemble any weapon and make the necessary repairs and adjustments.

Even Newley was amazed at how quickly Booth picked up things, “You got a real future as a gunsmith.”

            “That was not my intention, but like my Pa used to say, once you learn something, nobody can take it away from you,” Booth replied.

            “I’ve taught you everything I know and if you are bound and determined to ride the vengeance trail, then you better be damn sure that you’re ready to do what’s needs to be done because hesitation and mercy will get you killed,” Newley pointed to his head, “Always make your decisions with your head and not your heart when dealing with your enemies.”

            “I’ll remember that.”

The first order of business was choosing the right pistol and after careful deliberation Booth decided that the Colt 45 M1878 Peacemaker was right for him. Newley installed rosewood handle grips that fit perfectly in the young man’s hands and Booth eventually decided to wear two shoulder holsters, one on the left and one on the right with a single holster on his left hip. This would give him three pistols and eighteen rounds before having to reload. Booth practiced for hours drawing each weapon in rapid succession until it became second nature to him.

Newley commented, “If you go through eighteen rounds and you’re still standing and your enemy is still fighting, then you got big problems. Back in the Civil War, raiders sometimes carried as many as eight pistols into battle when they fought against infantry soldiers with single shot rifles. It won’t be quite as easy for you because the men that you are going after will be carrying pistols and probably be mighty good at using them.”

 Booth responded, “I intend to be ready for whatever or whoever I have to face, I do have one advantage, I don’t care if I live or die as long as I avenge my family.”

Booth eventually got to the point when he could draw all three of his pistols faster than most men could draw one.

Newley commented, “You may be the faster draw that I’ve ever seen, but you still have to hit what you’re aiming at once you’ve cleared leather.”

Next step in Booth’s education was accuracy. Six weeks later he was able to draw three pistols in rapid succession and fire two rounds from each one in under two seconds. All six shots hit inside a bullseye that was no bigger than three inches in diameter.

            “I’ve gotten used to having you around and since I can’t talk you out of going, there’s one thing you can do for me,” Newley said.

            “What’s that?”

            “Stay alive, it’s no disgrace to live to fight another day,” Newley suggested.

Two days later and Booth was saddled up and ready to go, “Newley said, “I have to go down to the telegraph office, don’t leave before I get back.”

            “I won’t,” Booth promised.

While waiting for Newley to return a young man about the same age as Booth walked in carrying two rifles, one was a Shiloh Sharps 1874 Long Range rifle 50-70 carbine and the other was a Henry 44 caliber repeating rifle. “I was wondering if you could take a look at my rifles.”

            “I was just about ready to git going, but I reckon I got a little time,” Booth replied.

            “Want me to tell you what’s wrong?” The young man asked.

            “Thanks anyway, I’ll figure it out,” Booth answered and took the Sharps rifle first and disassembled it and made several adjustments then did the same with the Henry and handed them back to the young man, “Here you go, see if they work any better.”

The young man took the Sharp and checked it, then did the same with the Henry and both of them worked perfectly, “What did you do?”

            “The Sharps had powder build up on the breech, this model has a tendency to do that so I cleaned it and the Henry had a weak trigger spring so I replaced it.”

            “How much I owe you?” The young boy asked.

            “Two bucks oughta’ do it,” Booth answered just as Newley walked in, “Here’s the owner, you can pay him.”

The next morning, Booth said farewell to Newley and got on the trail and headed south with no particular destination in mind, just a general area. When the sun started to set, Booth looked for a place to camp for the night, and he saw a horse and campfire up ahead. Booth called out, “Is it alright to ride in?”

A voice called out, “Keep your hands where I can see them!”

Booth kept his hand high and rode in. A man was hiding behind a boulder with his rifle pointed at him and called out, “Do I know you?”

            “I can’t see your face,” Booth responded.

The man stepped into view and they both recognized each other at the same time from the gunsmith shop.

            “John Jefferson Hawk, but they call me J. Hawk.”

            “Booth Hill.”

Later, with their backs propped up against their saddles and gazing out into the darkness, J. Hawk pulled out a wanted poster and handed it to Booth, “My pa caught Bass Hardin cheating at cards whupped him good. When he turned to walk away, Hardin shot him twice in the back, I’m going to kill him.”

Booth pulled out a wanted poster from his pocket and handed it to J. Hawk, “Tiburon Mason and his men killed my family.”

Next morning, “I was thinking that since we’re both looking for outlaws that maybe we oughta’ partner up,” J. Hawk suggested, “You interested?”

            “I was kind of thinking the same thing,” Booth replied, “How good are you with those rifles?”

J. Hawk pointed to a tree about a hundred yards away “See that tree?”

            “Yup.”

J. Hawk took the Henry repeater, took aim and shot six branches off with six shots, “How good are you with those smokewagons?”

There was a tree about fifty feet away and Booth drew his pistols in quick succession and shot six branches off that tree.

            “Let’s ride,” J. Hawk suggested.

The two young men found Bass Hardin in a saloon in Julian, California, playing poker with two other gunfighters and two miners. Booth entered the drinking establishment and sauntered up to the bar where he could see Bass Hardin’s reflection in the mirror.

            “What do you want boy?” The bartender growled.

            “I want that yellow bellied snake Bass Hardin,” Booth said loudly for everyone in the saloon to hear.

The place went deathly silent as Booth turned around to face the outlaw. The two miners dropped their cards and made a hasty exit for the door as the outlaw responded, “I’m Bass Hardin, what do you want?”

The other gunfighters made a move to draw their pistols, but Booth killed both men before they barely touched their weapons. The bartender made a move for a shotgun under the bar and Booth stuck his pistol under his nose, “Leave it be,” when the bartender hesitated, Booth reminded him, “If you’re looking for haircut, I can part it for you about through the middle of your forehead.” The bartender nodded weakly and backed away.

Bass Hardin made a move for his weapon and Booth holstered his two weapons and drew two other ones and fired six rounds that hit the wall within inches of Hardin’s head. The gunfighter raised his hands, “Don’t shoot.”

            Booth walked over and slapped Bass Hardin several times across the face, then took his weapon and pulled him outside by his shirt, “I’m going to give you the chance to die like a man.”

 Once they got into the street, Booth put Hardin’s gun back in his holster and turned to walk away, “You better be ready to draw when I turn around.” Before he had even taken three steps, Hardin reached for his pistol with every intention of shooting Booth in the back. Suddenly he felt a burning sensation deep inside his chest and fell to his knees, a moment later he was lying dead in the dirt. J. Hawk walked up, his Sharps rifle barrel till smoking, and spit on Bass Hardin, “Once a back shooter, always a back shooter.”

Two days later, the two young men heard a woman’s scream in the distance. J. Hawk commented, “I’ll circle around,” then rode off at a quick gallop.

When Booth came around a bend in the trail, he saw a group of highwaymen ransacking a cover wagon. Another man was molesting a young woman while her husband and two little children cowered on the side of the trail as another outlaw kept his pistol on them.

When he got up to the wagon, Booth yelled, “What’s going on around here?”

Several men stepped out of the wagon while a big potbellied individual pulled the canvas cover back and glared at Booth, “Who in the Sam Hell are you?”

Booth looked off to the left and saw that J. Hawk was in position then commented, “Are you robbing this people?”

            If you’re looking for trouble, I’ll give you a barrel full,” Potbellied threatened.

            “I’m always looking for trouble, serve it up fat man,” Booth grinned.

When Potbellied reached for pistol, Booth shot him twice and started shooting the other men while J. Hawk opened fired from his position. When Booth and J. Hawk were done, eight outlaws were lying on the ground. Booth walked over and calmly shot two seriously wounded men to put them out of their misery.

The man rushed over to console his wife and looked over at the two young men “Who are you?”

            “I’m Booth Hill and this is J. Hawk,” Booth commented.

J. Hawk started searching the dead bodies for valuables and the woman cried out, “You’re robbing the dead!”

            “Damn right!” J. Hawk responded, “That’s what they were going to do to you!”

  J. Hawk filled up a hat with gold coins, currency, and pocket watches, then handed it to the distraught man, “This is for you, use it wisely.”

Booth added, “Take their guns, saddles and horses and if you feel guilty about it, bury the scum, if not then leave ‘em for the worms and buzzards. One more thing, if you’re going to live out here, you’d better learn how to defend your family.”

Booth and J. Hawk did not have any trouble finding Tiburon Mason’s hideout in Tijuana, Mexico. It was no man’s land for the lawless and there were dozens of vicious outlaws who paid a tribute to Tiburon to enter his sanctuary.  There was a large sign on the side of the trail when they started to get close ‘’If you ain’t known, you ain’t welcome’ and underneath those words in bigger print was this warning. ‘We kill strangers.’

Booth smiled, “Who can turn down an invitation like this?”

            “You know that we probably won’t it make it out of this alive,” J. Hawk replied.

            “If that’s a problem for you then you should turn around.”

            “I got no problem with it, I was just making conversation,” J.Hawk said, “See you in hell.”

            “It’s not how long you live, it is how many bad men you take with you that counts,” Booth philosophized.

When they got to a small shack further down the trail, there was a wooden gate across it. Six-armed men came out to meet Booth and J.Hawk.

            “Didn’t you see the sign?” One man said.

            “We saw it,” J. Hawk snarled, “So?”

            The six men were hardcases, but they were caught off-guard by the boldness of these two strangers. After a few seconds of staring at each other, Booth finally said, “Aw what the hell,” and drew his pistols and shot five men. J. Hawk shot the sixth one.

            “You didn’t show those hombres any mercy,” J. Hawk smiled.

            “Why should I?,” Booth replied.

When they got to the section of Tijuana that was controlled by Tiburon Mason, it was like the two young men had entered a different world. It was not only survival of the fittest, but survival of the meanest and Tiburon reigned supreme in his kingdom.

            “It’s a good day to kill or be killed,” J. Hawk inhaled deeply.

            “Nobody gets out of life alive,” Booth answered.

When Booth entered the saloon, he didn’t need a wanted poster to identify Tiburon Mason, the man’s face was seared into his memory. He quickly surveyed the room, there were twenty-armed men, several senoritas and two bartenders. Booth walked up to the table where Tiburon was sitting with two women and two men and stated, “My name is Booth Hill.”

            “Tiburon laughed, “Boot Hill!  That’s a strange name, boy.”

            “Best remember it, it’s the last one you’ll ever hear.”

Tiburon looked at the three pistols that Booth was carrying, “You’re well- heeled for a young pup, but a real man only needs one gun if he knows how to handle it.”

            “You killed my family,” Booth calmly stated.

            “I kill a lot of families, what’s your point, boy?” Tiburon snarled.

            “Your killing days are done and your dying day is here.”

            “That’s big talk.”

            “It’s only big talk if I don’t back it up,” Booth said, “Make your play, Mason before I shoot you down like the varmint scum that you are.”

Tiburon Mason made a move for his pistol and Booth shot him six times before he could clear leather and continued firing as he ran out of the salon, leaving dead bodies in his wake.  J. Hawk was waiting across the street with his rifles and shot four men who were chasing Booth. Before leaving Tijuana, Booth and J. Hawk left twenty-seven outlaws lying dead as a brutal reminder of their visit.

 The Wild West was filled with highwaymen, murderers and scoundrels who ran roughshod over innocent and law –abiding citizens. When Booth and J. Hawk saddled up in search of these ruthless predators, the canyons ran red with blood and prairies echoed with the sound of hot lead justice.

 Every outlaw, no matter how tough he was or how many notches were on his gun accepted the cold and harsh reality that while Booth Hill, was a man and Boot Hill was a place, they meant the same thing…death.

The End