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30 Chapter 4 Ameteor passed over the Lewiston-Clarkston Valley on August 7, 1931, apparently burying itself in the Blue Mountains near the B. H. Brown home, the harvest crew reported. “It appeared to be traveling about 200 miles-an-hour as it flashed low across the mountains and dipped into the foothills.” Wayne Bezona set his copy of the Lewiston Morning Tribune on the table, his breakfast half-eaten. John Wormell had been laid to rest the day before and the town seemed to have simply picked up and carried on. The Tribune reported that Louis Folch, whose foot was crushed when it was caught in the cogwheels of a combine, was improving. The forest fire that broke out in the Blue Mountains southwest of Anatone was almost extinguished; teas and anniversaries were still occurring; and men and women were traveling to other communities to see friends and relatives. There was also a notation about the Board of Commissioners meeting to pick a new sheriff to fill out John’s term. Six had applied for Chapter 4 31 the job. He would make the seventh, if he officially applied. Halsey had asked him to consider taking the job. But suddenly the burden of enforcing the law without Johnny seemed hard. People were angry at anyone in government, and they blamed government for all their problems—banks foreclosing mortgages and taking farms and homes, unemployment, poverty. Prohibition didn’t help either. If anyone thought he was going to turn a blind eye to all the bootlegging going on in the hills, they would be very disappointed. He was going to uphold the law, regardless of whether he agreed with it. The law was sacred. Sacred as a father’s word. That’s what he told his children. And that’s what he told the voters back in 1923 when, after being urged to campaign by some of his fellow Anatone ranchers, he stood on a street corner in Clarkston talking about the need for a tough law man who wouldn’t be soft on criminals. He wasn’t. There weren’t many who dared to challenge him, at six-foot-two and 230 pounds. And he prided himself on being the toughest lawman around. Even with his children. If he thought they were so much as catching fish out of season, he would make them show him their hands and sniff them for the telltale aroma. He loved his children, but being soft wouldn’t make them good, law-abiding citizens. “Obey the laws of God, the laws of your father, and the laws of the country,” he told them. His children were turning out fine, all of them. Grace, his wife (or Queenie because she was the Queen Bee of the family), cleared the kitchen counter and table and placed the dishes in the sink, leaving him to brood. A hint of early fall was in the air, a barely perceptible chill, with the crispness of apples. Summer was leaving; fall would be upon them soon. The boy remained in jail and Johnny’s death was yet to be avenged. As the days passed the letters that flooded the county courthouse increased, as did the calls from reporters around the world. Could it be true that a twelve‑year‑old boy had slain a respected law enforcement officer, a boy who now faced execution or life in prison? Which were they more upset at, the fact that he had committed the murder or the fact that he was going to have to pay for it? Bezona knew the answer and it angered him. 32 Day by day more strangers appeared in the town looking for the “barefoot ‑boy murderer,” hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Bezona bristled at Junior’s growing celebrity. Patterson had needed to send a doctor in to treat the boy’s trench mouth when his mouth started to bleed. As the doctor said, he probably had never been taught to brush his teeth. His mouth was full of open sores. Bezona was anxious to have the charges filed and the trial over. But Halsey was determined to plod along at his own pace. When the pressure was on, Halsey would only smile, lean back in his chair, and fold his hands. He’d file the charges in the near future, he told Bezona. Reporters had asked him the same question. It made little difference because the boy wouldn’t be arraigned until Judge Kuykendall...

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