CHAPTER 7
TUCSON AND PRESC0TT, 1865 - 1867
So it came about that, in the early Spring of 1865, a tall, dark bearded man with a haggard face and a haunted look in his eyes rode into Tucson. A day later the ladies of the town first noticed the elegant, clean-shaven man in his mid-30s, wearing a new suit and a fixed smile - but, they fluttered amongst themselves, it was such a lovely smile! Who was he? Where had he come from? Was he married? Speculation was rife amongst the eligible females as Miller walked around the old town, smiling and tipping his hat to them as he saw their admiring glances. "Maybe I've got a chance at a fresh start here, after all." he thought to himself.
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After a short time he heard that the general store owner was selling out and heading West to California so, without any hesitation, he concluded a deal with the man and bought the shop. He found that his predecessor had excellent goodwill, which Orville worked hard at enhancing with his smile and enforced charm. He soon realised that the young ladies in the town were frequenting his shop with increasing regularity, intrigued by him and those dark, haunted eyes. There was one young lady in particular, called Ellie Burton, who caught his eye. She was the sister of the town's saddle-maker, Moss Burton, a well-respected man. As time went by Miller gradually got to know Ellie better, they walked out together and she eventually invited him home to tea. Moss Burton, however, took an instant dislike to him on an instinctive level. He just did not trust these strange, dark eyes. Ellie, however, would not be dissuaded from associating with Orville, whose strong personality overshadowed her weaker-willed brother. Orville knew that his air of respectability would be further enhanced by marrying such a woman as Ellie, so he courted and proposed to her. Ellie, quite taken in by his flashing smile and quiet laughter, accepted. He buried his festering hatred in a personality of plausible charm. No matter how much Moss Burton probed Orville to reveal his past, Orville shut up like a clam, and the haunted expression in his eyes stopped Burton from pressing him further in the matter, so he kept his doubts to himself, as Ellie was happy for the first time in her life.
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Miller eventually made enquiries as to the whereabouts of his aunt who had taken in his sister after his parents' murder. He discovered that, in the ensuing years, the old lady had died and Sally had married a banker, who had been transferred to a major branch in San Francisco. He never heard from, or saw, his sister again.
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Shortly after marrying Ellie, Miller realised that he would have to take her away from the bad influence of Moss, as he discovered that he was trying to set her against her him. Hearing of a general store becoming available north in Prescott, he sold up in Tucson and he and Ellie moved north.
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A year after he arrived in Prescott, Miller was certain that his past had been buried and forgotten, as he had worked hard at becoming a respected member of the community there. However, one evening while enjoying a drink with a neighbour, Don Westerley, he noticed three scruffy cowboys entering the bar then, returning to his conversation, he promptly forgot about them. The leader of the three, however, drank nearby and overheard Westerley address Miller as 'Orville'. A little more intelligent than most of his kind, he looked closer at the man's profile. "Hm." He thought. "Cain't be that many Orvilles around. Wonder if'n his second name is 'Miller'?" He turned to one of his campadres. "Hey," he hissed, "you heard that Orville Miller the bounty hunter got killt, didn't ya?"
"Shore did - but why're you whisperin', Jeff?" said the other, loudly.
Jeff shot a glance towards Orville, who was deep in conversation with Westerley and had paid no attention.
"Shhh! See that man over there? Heard the other guy with him call him 'Orville'. Now, with a beard, don't he jest look like that bounty hunter?"
The other two turned casually around, leaning on the bar, and looked at Orville's profile, then turned back.
"Could be, could be. But I heard tell the Pecos Kid got him awhile ago."
"Yeah, but if'n he ain't dead, then that's him and I'm gonna make him dead. I got a debt agin' him fer my brother. You in with me?"
A few minutes later, a mutual acquaintance of both Orville and Westerley came into the bar, saw them and called over "Hiya Miller, Westerley!" and they acknowledged the man, who sat with them.
"Tellt ya!" said Jeff. "It's him, all duded up an' lookin' purty. Let's change all that!" and the three chuckled amongst themselves and moved to a quiet corner to formulate a plan. They watched which way Miller went home that night, and the following night they lay in wait.
Miller emerged from the bar quite late, and Westerley said good night and made his own way home. There was a dark spot along the road that Miller usually rode past quickly, but this night he had taken a little more than usual to drink, and he let his horse take him home.
Suddenly, the horse's head bobbed up in surprise and, simultaneously, a shot rang out and Miller felt a terrific impact on his right shoulder, knocking him off his mount. Stunned and shocked by the fall and the pain in his shoulder, the alcoholic haze left him and he realised that he was going to have to fight for his life again. He saw three men encircling him, just visible in the darkness. His gun had fallen to the ground as he fell and he knew he must get it if he was to stand a chance against his unknown assailants. His right arm was useless, the collarbone had been broken by the bullet but, despite the pain, he rolled towards the gun, grasping it in his left hand and, rising to one knee, then to his feet in one swift movement, he aimed and fired at the nearest white face. At the same moment, a knife zipped past, grazing his right cheek and flying on past him. Taking quick aim in the direction the knife had come from he fired again, and the bullet hit the second man between the eyes and he toppled, dead before he hit the ground. Miller went down on one knee again, gasping in pain as his injured shoulder moved, bone scraping bone. He saw another white face in the darkness and aimed for it, pulling the trigger, just as a large thrown stone hit his head. He fell just as the third man, staggering forward and clutching his chest, fell dead on top of him.
The local populace had heard the gunfire and came running. They found Miller, struggling to get out from under the dead outlaw. His shoulder wound was bleeding, as was the cut on his cheek, but there were three dead men lying around him.
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When he was well enough to receive visitors, the Sheriff of Prescott came to see him. After exchanging courtesies, he got to the point of his visit, whilst Ellie fussed around her husband.
"Mr Miller, do you have an explanation for what happened?"
Miller had had enough time to work out an explanation, and he put on his most innocent face and proceeded to lie his way out of it. "They must've mistaken me for somebody else, or just wanted to rob me, I reckon."
"Now who could they be mistaking you for, Mr Miller?"
"I heard tell that there used to be a bounty hunter called Orville Miller who worked around the Abilene area, but I also heard that he got killed or the trail to El Paso awhile ago."
Oh, I see. Kind of unusual first name you have, Mr Miller. Can't be many men with the same name as you."
"No, but obviously there was one. He's dead, though. I'm not."
"You are very lucky not to be, Mr Miller. A remarkable piece of self-defence for a man not accustomed to defending himself, if I may say so."
"When I fought in the Mexican War I learned how to handle myself, Sheriff. Kind of thing you never forget, I reckon."
Miller's connection with the Mexican War was news to Ellie, but she said nothing.
The Sheriff grunted, sure in his mind that there were not two Orville Millers, but he was unable to prove it, nor, indeed, did he want to.
Turning his hat in his hand and looking down at it, the Sheriff said hesitantly: "Perhaps it might be an idea if you moved out of the area for a while - just to protect your good ladywife, you know. Wouldn't want anything happening to Mrs Miller."
"No. You're quite right, Sheriff. I hadn't thought of it, but we'll talk it over." and Orville extended his free hand and held his wife's, smiling at her from his bed.
"Right, Mr Miller. Hope you have a speedy recovery."
"Thank you Sheriff." and Ellie saw him out.
Ellie returned to her husband's bedside. "Is it true, Orville? Is there any danger?"
"Well, if one gang of hoodlums can mistake me for a dead bounty hunter, I reckon it could happen again."
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