By Ken Drenten

An 1834 report noted there were two taverns to every mile of the National Road between the Ohio River at Wheeling, Va., and Zanesville. The road reached Vandalia, Ill., in 1840.

CHAPTER TWO: Debts Must Be Paid

Tritt sat in the sheriff’s office with the others to give his deposition. The office was small, cramped and dirty, with a wood floor caked with mud and dirt from the road. On the wall behind a scratched-up desk was a calendar with “Xs” crossed off on the days leading up to today’s date, May 18, 1833.

“So they clearly threatened you with harm before you fired?” the sheriff wanted to know.

He nodded. “That’s what one of them said.” The passengers agreed noisily, and the sheriff held up his hand, holding a stubby pencil.

“I’ll have to write up a report on this, you understand, but it sounds to me like self-defense,” he said. “And you saved the lives of these people here. This gang may have been part of one that’s wanted for several other robberies and a few murders not only here in Ohio, but along the road in Pennsylvania too, I believe. At any rate, they were a bad bunch.”

“I figured as much.”

“Well, you folks are free to go,” the sheriff said. “Damn lucky you came along when you did. Too bad about poor Sanders and Jacobs, though.”

The others left, but the sheriff motioned for Tritt to stay.

“Mr. Tritt, you bought yourself a poke of trouble runnin’ into that bunch, you know that, don’t you? I appreciate what you did, but I wish we was buryin’ all of them instead of just the two. And I know you’re a private citizen, but I really wish you hadn’t left the one you shot have a chance to get away. It worries me. A gang like this will be out for blood.

“And the town where I live – Hebron, you know — is right next door to where he was shot. He may come back and cause trouble here and in my town. Which I don’t like. And make no doubt, next time he sees you he’ll shoot you in the back.”

Tritt made no response but turned to look out the dusty window.

“What really worries me is that this foursome was most likely part of a larger bunch that you haven’t even seen. They’ll know you but you won’t know them. So you be careful, you hear?”

“Yes,” Tritt said. “I appreciate the advice, sheriff.”

The sheriff regarded him for a moment. “Not that it’s any of my business, but what do you do for a living? We don’t often get gents like you who handle themselves in situations like that unless they’re bushwhackers, law enforcement men or something else.”

“I guess you could call me something else,” Tritt said.

“You don’t say. Do tell.”

Tritt shrugged. “I’ve had some experience in the Army. I served my time with General Jackson.”

“Hmm. Mind telling me where you served?”

Tritt grinned. “Where he went, I was obliged to do the same. All the way down to New Orleans.”

The sheriff grunted approvingly. “You helped Old Hickory beat the British, then.”

“The British, and then whoever else he especially wanted to get out of his way. Indians, ruffians, you name it. We weren’t regular Army. Kind of a special unit, sent to do the dirty work that the regulars couldn’t or wouldn’t do.”

“I see. What puts meat on the table now?”

“Reward money,” Tritt said. “A few odd jobs. All honest work.”

“Bounty hunter, then?”

He shrugged. “I’ve done some work tracking down wanted men. But also I’ve wrangled horses, worked on building that National Road out there, cleared timber, built fences and dug my share of the canal. But I’ve never gone hungry,” he said.

“Ever think on becoming a deputy sheriff?”

Tritt grinned. “No thanks, Sheriff. I got plenty of problems to deal with without that.”

“But you have experience tracking wanted men. I’ve just seen the results of your skills for myself. So may I call on you if I need your services as a man for special situations?”

Tritt grimaced. “Sure.”

“Anyway, you have some reward dollars coming to you for the two you plugged today.”

Tritt’s eyebrows lifted a twitch.

“See, I like you. It’ll be in gold, not scrip. You’ll get $5 for the one and $10 for the other. I’ll get your reward money, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. That stage robbery attempt kind of put a kink in the bank’s plans for today.”

“Gold, eh? That’s fine,” Tritt said. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning.”

Ken Drenten is creator and editor of Dusty-Tires.com, a travel blog for out-of-the-ordinary places in Ohio.

NEXT: A Business Proposition

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