Chapter 1
 April 20, 1865 
Near Appomattox Courthouse, Virginia
 
It had been a wet spring. The field that Mosby’s Partisan Rangers had camped in had almost instantly become a quagmire due to the amount of personnel and animals in such a small area.
 
A drizzle had been coming down all day, but morale wasn’t bad in the bivouac site, the foragers had liberated two cows which were now turning on a spit. This would be the first meat many of the troopers had had in a month.
 
The unit’s commander, John Singleton Mosby, was working on some reports at a field desk in his tent. An orderly stuck his head in and said, “Suh, a courier is here from Gen’rul Lee to see the Cunnel.”
 
“Send him in,” Mosby replied.
 
A youngster no more than 16, with straw-colored hair, in a butternut-hued shirt stepped in and saluted.
 
“Gen’rul Lee’s compliments, Suh.” He fished in his pouch and retrieved the document. He then added, “I’m to wait for a reply, Suh.”
 
Mosby took the dispatch, then hollered for his aide, “Lieutenant Myers!”
 
Myers appeared in the doorway.
 
“Yes Suh.”
“Take this young man to the cook’s wagon so he can get a meal and some coffee.”
“Yes Suh,” Myers said and motioned to the courier to follow him.
 
After the pair had left Mosby broke the seal on the envelope and began to read:
Commanding General, Army of Northern Virginia
To all field commanders:
At noon April 21, all hostilities are to cease and all units are to gather at Appomattox Courthouse and surrender their arms to the Union Forces.
Signed under my hand this day April 20 1865,
 
Robert E. Lee
Commanding General
 
Mosby had been expecting this since the army had gone into winter headquarters in December. What he wasn’t expecting was the added personal note Lee had written.
 
John,
Since the Federals have a standing order to hang anyone in your unit, your troops are released immediately and are not to come to the surrender. Go with God’s blessing.
Robert
 
“Lieutenant Myers!”
“Yes Suh.
“Would you please tell the courier I have a response for General Lee. Once you’ve done that locate Sergeant Tyler and Corporal Ford for me,” Mosby said.
 
“Yes Suh, I believe Sergeant Tyler and Corporal Ford are at the picket line.”
“Fetch’em for me, please.” 
“Yes Suh.”
 
Myers headed away to do what he was ordered. A few minutes later the courier appeared back at Mosby’s tent.
 
“Thanks for the grub, Suh, that the first square meal Ah’ve had in Ah don’t know how long”
 
“You’re very welcome son,” then Mosby further asked,” Do you know what was in this dispatch?”
 
“Yes Suh.”
 
“How do you feel about it?”
 
“It’s a damn shame, Suh, we wuz winnin’ until last year,” the courier replied. Then asked, “Is there a reply, Suh?”
 
“Tell the General thank you for his courtesy, with my compliments, and I will comply to the letter.”
 
Mosby then stuck out his hand and said, “Good luck son, maybe we’ll meet up again in days to come.”
The courier took Mosby’s offered hand and shook it.
 
“Thankee, Suh.” Then he saluted, turned and exited the tent.
 
Lieutenant Myers stuck his head in the tent and said, “Suh, Tyler and Ford are here.”
 
“Send them in.”
 
Sergeant Daniel "Boone" Tyler and Corporal Brady Ford entered the tent and saluted.
 
“Tyler and Ford reporting as ordered, Sir,” Tyler said.
 
Mosby returned the salute and looked at the pair. Tyler was over six feet tall with dark hair and shoulders wider than an ax handle. Ford was closer to five feet and ten inches with curly red hair on a compact muscled frame. Ford was the older of the two and found himself riding herd on the quick-tempered Tyler.
 
The duo had been trail partners since before the war. They had ridden to Virginia from Kansas to join Mosby’s outfit. They had originally ridden with Quantrill’s Raiders in Missouri. They had left Quantrill the night before the fateful raid on Lawrence, Kansas that resulted in the massacre of 150 civilians.
 
Neither Ford or Tyler had anything against shooting Yankees, but they drew the line when it came to cold-blooded murder of civilians.
 
“Boys, I’ve just received the word we will be surrendering tomorrow,” Mosby began. “General Lee and the rest of the army will be surrendering and turning over their weapons to the Yankees, we will not.”
 
Mosby reached into his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of 1824 Napoleon brandy.
 
“I was saving this to toast our final victory, but it looks like survival is all the victory we’re gonna get,” Mosby said.
 
He uncorked the bottle and took a swig then handed the bottle to Ford who upended it and drank deeply. He then handed the bottle to Tyler who took a deep pull on the bottle. Tyler passed the bottle back to Mosby who lifted it in a toast to Ford and Tyler.
 
“Much obliged, Colonel, it was a pleasure serving with you,” Ford said.
 
“The honor was mine,” Mosby said.
 
“What are you boys planning to do?” Mosby asked.
 
“We figgered on heading back to Kansas, if the Yankees allow it,” Tyler said.
 
“The yanks ain’t got any say in the matter, as of right now you boys are free to go," Mosby said. “At least you will be when this bottle is empty.”
 
Mosby then reached into his desk and handed each man $200 in U.S. currency.
 
“Consider this your mustering out pay.”
 
In October, Mosby’s Rangers had captured a supply wagon that happened to have a Union paymaster traveling with it. The unit had been on the move and Mosby hadn’t had an opportunity to turn the money over to higher headquarters.
 
Tyler eyed the money which represented the most he’d ever seen at one time in his life.
 
“Thanks, Colonel,” he said.
 
“You boys earned it, I wish it was more. Safe journey and God’s speed,” Mosby said as he lifted the bottle in a salute.
 

Author Notes

Buckle up Buckaroos, this is the first chapter in the exciting new book Tin Stars and Yankee Gold. Cast of Characters John Singleton Mosby- Confederate commander of the Partisan Rangers Daniel "Boone" Tyler- Kansas boy who had cast his lot with the losing side of the Civil War. Goes by Boone. Brady Ford- Longtime mentor to Boone. Had taught the younger man to ride, rope, and shoot * This first chapter is based on historical fact with some poetic license taken. I hope you enjoy it

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Near the Missouri/Kansas Border
May 1865
 
Boone Tyler, former Sergeant CSA Cavalry, and former Corporal Brady Ford reigned up in front of the farmhouse.
“Hello the House,” Boone hollered.

“You reckon anybody’s home?” Brady asked.

A clattering from inside answered the question. A gray-haired man in bib overalls stepped out on the porch cradling a shotgun.

“Whatch ya’ll want?”
 
“We hoped to water our horses and mebbe get a meal for ourselves, we’re willing to pay for it,” Boone answered.

Boone kept a cautious eye on the shotgun. He had no doubt the man knew how to use it and wouldn’t hesitate to do so.

“You boys fight for the cause?”

“Yessir, with Mosby’s Rangers in Virginia,” Brady answered. 

A big grin spread across the farmer’s face.
“Light and set, Boys, there’s beans and bacon on the stove, it ain’t much but yore welcome to it. My name’s Calvin Whipstock.”

Whipstock switched the shotgun to his left hand and stuck his right hand out.

“Pleased to meet a couple of Mosby’s men. You can water yore critters over yonder and there’s some grain in the barn it looks like yore animals can use some”

“I appreciate it sir, I’m Boone Tyler and this is Brady Ford,” Boone said as he took Whipstock’s hand.

After they had taken care of their animals Boone and Brady entered the house. Whipstock put the pot of beans in the middle of the table.
 
“Have a seat, boys, and dig in, coffee’s hot and there’s plenty of it.”
 
Brady ladled a plateful of beans out which he passed to Boone. At the same time Boone was pouring three cups of coffee. He passed the cups to Whipstock and Brady; Brady passed another plateful to their host. Each grabbed hunks of corn bread and attacked their plates. Since eating was serious business on the frontier, there was no idle chit chat during the meal.

Whipstock let out a big burp when he was done eating. Taking out a corn cob pipe he leaned back and filled the bowl. Striking a Lucifer match to the packed tobacco he puffed the pipe to life.

“Where ya’ll headed?”

Mopping up the last bean juice with a crust of bread, Brady answered.
“West.”

“That’s probably best. The damn Yankees are making it uncomfortable around here for anybody whut wore the gray,” Whipstock said. “I’ll probably be doing the same my ownself next month.”

“Why would you do that? This place looks like it would support you,” Boone observed.

“That it would. Except some damn Yankee named Perkins showed up with a carpetbag full of money and is buying up all the properties comin’ up for tax sale.”

Mopping up the last bacon grease on his plate with a hunk of bread, Boone looked up and cocked his eyebrow.
“Is that so?”

“Yup. Came out here last week and said I owed $300 on my mortgage and he was going to evict me and take my place. I ain’t seen $300 cash since ’59.

“That’s a lot of specie,” Boone agreed.

“Said I got to vacate the premises by the end of the month. Won’t even wait to let me bring in my crop,” Whipstock said.

“Damn Yankees,” Brady added.

“It’s a damn shame. With the war over and all the night riders or soldiers trampling everything I might’ve come up with the money.”

“Maybe yore luck’ll change,” Boone said, then added, “In fact, I guarantee it.”

Brady looked at his partner quizzically.
“How can you guarantee it?”

“You know the Good Lord always provides for good folks that need it.”

“Amen,” Whipstock agreed.

As the pair saddled up, Boone asked Whipstock where the bank was located, it was in the town of Harleyburg.
“It’s three miles down the road you come in on. But it’s south and yore headed west."

“We need to supply up and thet’s as good as any place,” Boone said as he swung into the saddle. “Much obliged for the grub, and remember whut I said about the Lord looking out for good folks,” 

A puzzled Whipstock looked at Boone.

“Take care, boys. Safe journey,” he said as he waved.

About a mile down the road Brady glanced at Boone and could see the wheels turning in as his friend was deep in thought. Another mile passed and the curiosity got the better of him.

“Why we headed to Harleyburg, we don’t need no supplies.”
 

“We’re going to give the Lord a nudge to helping Mr. Whipstock.”
****

Harleyburg, Missouri
Harleyburg wasn’t much to look at. One dusty road leading through the center of town. As Boone and Brady entered from the north they passed a general store, a dress shop, and a saloon on the left-hand side. On the other side of the street was another saloon, the blacksmith shop, and a barber shop. The town marshal’s office was in the dead center of town, and directly across the street was the First Bank of Harleyburg.

“What’s the plan?” Brady asked as they tied their horses to the hitching post in front of the bank.

“Yore going to relieve the tellers and the vault of the money while I pay Perkins a visit. Tie it in a quick release we’re going to be in a hurry to leave.”

The pair entered the bank without any undue attention from the other two customers or the teller. They got in line and waited their turn. When they got to the front of the line the teller asked if he could help them.
Boone drew his LeMatt revolver and said, “I’d like to make a withdrawal, all of it.”

Brady stepped around the side of the cage and threw some sacks to the teller and said, “Fill’em up and don’t be stingy.”

Boone strode to the front door and turned the sign on the door to let the public know it was closed for business. He then entered the manager’s office. Behind a cherry wood desk sat a portly, balding man. The nameplate on the desk identified him as J.C. Perkins.

“What do you mean by barging in here you lout,” Perkins sputtered.

“I’m here to do the Lord’s work, you damn Yankee Carpetbagger,” Boone said. “Where do you keep the mortgage records?”

“Th-th-they’re right here in my drawer,” Perkins stammered.

Boone motioned with his pistol and said, “Get them out, and be quick about it.”

Perkins started pulling files out of his desk and piling them on the desk. Boone found a metal trash can and put it in front of the desk. He started looking through the pile until he found Whipstock’s mortgage.
He threw the file in the can, struck a Lucifer and threw it on the papers.

Pointing the LeMatt at Perkins, he said, “Start feeding the fire.”

Perkins paled but the barrel of the pistol being pointed at him looked as big as a railroad tunnel.
As he started throwing papers into the flames, he looked at Boone and said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“The Lord’s work, yore done forclosin’ on hard workin’ folks around here. If I was you I’d pack and git back to Boston, New York, or wherever yore from.”

Meanwhile in the lobby, Brady was pleased as punch to discover the clerk knew how to open the vault. And he was more than willing to do so.

While the teller was emptying the contents of the safe. An elderly woman ignored the closed sign on the door and waddled up to the teller’s cage.

“May I help you, Maam?” Brady asked.

“Where’s Joe Clark, you ain’t the regular teller,” she said.

“No Maam, I ain’t. Joe’s busy in the back, kin I help you?”

“I need to withdraw some money to pay my store bill,” she said as she started to pull out her bank book.

‘No need for the bank book, Maam,” he said. “How much is in yore account?

“$63.”

“Well today’s yore lucky day, you got interest due, Here’s $75.”

“Thank-you, young man,” she said snatching the bills from Brady’s hand, stuffing them in her purse, and exiting the bank before that Yankee Perkins changed his mind.

Brady turned around to see Clark finishing up.

“This don’t bother you we’re robbing you?”

“Nope, that bastard Perkins has been robbing folks around here for six months to part them from their money and land,” Clark explained.

“You might want to keep $100 for yoreself, well call it yore severance pay.”

Clark grinned.
“Thanks.”

Having finished burning the mortgages. Boone told Perkins to turn around.

“Are you going to shoot me now?”

“Nope, bullets are too good for Yankee trash like you. Gonna tie you up,” Boone said.
He took to rawhide thongs from behind his belt and tied Perkins’ wrists together. Once he made sure the knots would hold, he gave Perkins a tap on the temple with his pistol. The fat banker dropped like a stone to the floor. Boone went into the lobby where he found Brady leaning back in a chair. When Brady saw him, he grinned.

“What took you so long? I been ready for 10 minutes.”

“You know paperwork always takes longer; you tie the clerk up yet?”

“Didn’t see no need to, he’s been helpful.”

Boone looked at Clark thoughtfully.

“He might get blamed for helping us, maybe you could just knock him out.”

Brady pulled his pistol and gave Clark a tap behind the ear.
“Sorry, Joe.”

Tyler grabbed some sacks, checked the street to make sure it was clear. Satisfied they hadn’t drawn any attention he and Brady went to their horses and loaded up.

As they headed out of town Brady looked over at Boone.
“I reckon we found us a new vocation.”

Boone smiled at that observation.
“Yup, from here on out the only concerns we have are tin stars, and Yankee gold.”
 

Author Notes

Cast of Characters Boone Tyler- Former Mosby Raider now outlaw Brady Ford- Boone's partner in crime Calvin Whipstock- Down on his luck farmer J.C. Perkin- Yankee Carpetbagger Joe Clark- Bank teller Specie-money in the form of coins rather than notes. This is chapter 2. Enjoy

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