By Ken Drenten

There are no major recorded instances of highway robbery in Ohio along the National Road in the 1830s, perhaps because the road was so heavily traveled and well populated, and it would have been difficult to find large sums of money in what was largely an agricultural barter economy.

The closest example of highway robbery in the era was the gang led by David “Robber” Lewis, who was active as a counterfeiter and robber from 1806 to 1820. He and his gang of about 30 men hid out in caves in the central Pennsylvania area near Doubling Gap. He was captured in Driftwood, Pa., and died of a gunshot wound suffered during his capture in 1820.

CHAPTER SIX: Dark Purposes

The man rode a circuitous route back to a secluded area where four men sat around a fire. One of them stood up and pointed a pistol when the man rode up, then relaxed when he recognized him.

“Well?” he was asked.

“It was them all right,” the man said as he swung down from his horse. He was much shorter off the horse, hence his nickname of Shorty. “They’s four of ‘em, includin’ the bounty hunter and that half-breed. They got that woman with ‘em, too.”

“What’d they do?” asked one man who stood by the fire, who holstered his pistol. He had straight black hair that hung limply on either side of his face and wore a long mustache and stubbly beard. “You know Tritt’s a bounty hunter, the one responsible for killin’ Dick and Carson, and puttin’ Neff in jail.”

Shorty shrugged. “They sat and talked for a long time. They was arguin’ about somethin’. I heard the word ‘gold’ mentioned a couple times.”

That perked everyone up.

“What did they say about gold?” he asked.

“I dunno,” said Shorty. “Looked like they was hatchin’ some sort of plan.”

“Lefty, I got a job for yuh,” the black-haired one, named Banks, snarled in a low voice.

“Boss?”

“You go back into town tonight. Find out what that bounty hunter is up to. Stay close to him, but not too close, understand? Don’t kill him. I wanna do that when the time comes. Take Shorty here with you. He knows what the man looks like. Be back tomorrow by sundown. Me an’ Mudd will stay here ‘til you get back.”

Lefty and Shorty frowned at each other briefly. Neither one of them wanted to be away from the fire or coffee tonight. But they would do as they were told.

Jacksontown, named for the current president, was a typical pike town of the times. The main street – National Road — was dusty in dry times and muddy during rainy season. The town continually saw droves of pigs, horses, cows, sheep and other livestock being sent to market, so it wasn’t just mud underfoot.

In addition to some log and clapboard houses, there was a cheap hotel and its attached saloon, a blacksmith’s shop, a cheap eatery, a cooper’s shop, a general store and a drover’s house with attached tavern and stables. A water tank was just behind the drover’s buildings.

A Baptist church was located east of town, and a Methodist church was being raised just west. A handful of houses were on the outskirts of town along the road on either side of the main business area. A ramshackle wooden tollbooth was located about a half-mile east of the town, next to a stone marker indicating the distances to Cumberland, Maryland, Wheeling, Virginia, and Columbus, Ohio.

It was this tollbooth that Lefty and Shorty had espied while they made their way into town on horseback.

“Whaddya think?” Shorty asked Lefty.

“Think about what?” the taller man replied.

“How much ya think he’s got in there?”

“Not enough to risk my hide. You know he’s got a shotgun in there, and he knows how to use it.”

“Mebbe so. But if you was to skittle up behind him while I chat with ‘im, that might …”

“Banks wanted us to stay close to Tritt. Don’t screw it up by tryin’ to do somethin’ else,” said Lefty. “C’mon.”

They made a wide path around the tollbooth. They got back on the road with the lights of town ahead of them.

In town, Tritt and Mac sat in the tavern next to the drover’s house sipping ales after finishing their supper of boiled ham, greens and biscuits. They knew to be careful not to discuss their plans in public, but both knew that it was on their minds.

“So what do you think?” Mac asked.

“I think you’d better not say what you’re thinking,” Tritt replied.

“I’m not sayin’ anything. I’m just asking you.”

“Which is I’m not gonna say nothin’. I told you. It sure was a nice picnic today, wasn’t it?”

Mac screwed up his face, then grinned. “Hey, that Whitworth gal sure seems to take a shine to you, don’t you think?”

“What? Oh, I don’t think so. I mean, what does it matter?”

“Well, you didn’t want to talk about that other stuff, so I thought I’d take up another subject. Hee hee hee!”

It was Tritt’s turn to grimace. “Well, I’d just rather not talk about her, either,” he said. His face changed expression, then he nudged Mac under the table. “Hey, don’t look now, but do you recognize those two sitting at the table way back in the corner?”

Mac glanced and nodded once. “I run into them before,” he said in a low voice. “It’s a good bet they’re not here for friendly socializin’. They’re known to be thieves and worse, but no one’s caught ‘em with the goods yet.”

“One of them was in the hotel saloon when I had my run-in with his friend,” Tritt said. “I think I recognize the other one from a couple days ago, but he might have been wearing something over his face then. We need to be careful, Mac.”

Mac was just about to say something when Susan came over and sat down. “I gotta go,” he said.

Tritt held up a hand, and then sighed. “Stay out of trouble,” he said.

NEXT: The Two-Way Road

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

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