U.S. Marshal Finch – Chapter Twelve and the Legend of Old Pete

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 20, 2026

Marshal Finch and the Legend of Old Pete

The road into Gotebo looked ordinary.

That should have been Chester Finch’s first warning.

His cherry-red moped sputtered along at a heroic twenty-two miles per hour, its emergency beacon lazily rotating while a cloud of dust followed behind. Beside him trotted George Jones, his loyal hound, who was already regretting every life decision that had led him to western Oklahoma.

The Legend of Old Pete Finds Its Way To Gotebo

Ahead, the hills moved.

Not metaphorically.

Actually moved.

Chester slowed his moped.

The hills stopped.

He adjusted his spectacles.

The hills blinked.

“Oh, George,”

Chester whispered.

George whimpered.

Because the hills were goats.

Hundreds of them.

Standing perfectly still on the ridges overlooking town.

Watching.

Waiting.

And somehow managing to look judgmental.


The town square was deserted except for the members of the Gotebo Goat Ropers, who huddled behind overturned wagons.

JD pointed toward the hills.

“They’ve been up there all morning.”

“They move?” Chester asked.

“No.”

“They attack?”

“No.”

“They eat anything?”

“Everything.”

Chester nodded.

“That’s generally what goats do.”

JD leaned closer.

“These are different.”

He pointed toward the center ridge.

There, silhouetted against the afternoon sky, stood the largest billy goat Chester Finch had ever seen.

The creature was massive.

His beard blew dramatically in the wind despite there being no wind.

One horn appeared chipped.

The other looked polished.

And hanging around his neck was something that looked suspiciously like an old silver pocket watch.

The townspeople removed their hats.

“That’s Old Pete.”

Chester squinted.

“You named him?”

“We didn’t.”

“He named himself.”

Chester blinked.

“Goats can’t do that.”

Nobody answered.

Because at that moment Old Pete stamped one hoof.

A smaller goat trotted down the hill carrying a piece of cardboard in its mouth.

The goat dropped it at Chester’s feet.

Written in surprisingly neat lettering:

SURRENDER TOWN.

RETURN ALL TOMATOES.

MORE SALT LICKS.

SIGNED, OLD PETE


Chester read the note twice.

Then three times.

Then turned it upside down.

George Jones sniffed it.

“George,” Chester said.

George sneezed.

“I don’t suppose you can explain this?”

George looked away.

Which Chester interpreted as a no.


That evening the townspeople gathered in the church basement.

Old Mrs. Crenshaw stood.

“My grandfather swore these goats descended from the herd of outlaw Pete Spence.”

“Impossible,” Chester said.

“The old ranch was in Arizona.”

Mrs. Crenshaw nodded.

“Some say Old Pete is his descendant.”

Another man stood.

“Some say he’s the reincarnation of Pete Spence.”

A third man adjusted his overalls.

My cousin Earl says Pete Spence never died at all.”

“He became a goat.”

Chester slowly removed his glasses.

Cleaned them.

Put them back on.

“I have arrested thieves.”

Everyone nodded.

“I have arrested kidnappers.”

More nodding.

“I once arrested a man who claimed he was married to a weather vane.”

Murmurs of appreciation.

“But I have never…”

He paused.

“…investigated the possibility that an outlaw from Tombstone returned as livestock.”

The room fell silent.

George Jones barked.

Everyone looked at him.

“I think George agrees with me,” Chester said.

George barked again.

“No?”


Later that night Chester camped outside town.

At exactly midnight he awoke.

Something was standing over him.

He opened one eye.

Old Pete.

The giant billy goat stared down at him.

Neither moved.

Neither blinked.

Finally Chester sat up.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve been thinking.”

Old Pete chewed something thoughtfully.

“If you really are Pete Spence…”

The goat snorted.

“…then you’re awfully hairy.”

Old Pete snorted louder.

Then—

to Chester’s horror—

the goat turned.

Walked away.

And with one hoof scratched something into the dirt.

Chester hurried over with his lantern.

There in the moonlight were four words:

I KNOW WHERE MORGAN HID IT

Chester stared.

Morgan.

As in Morgan Earp.

He slowly looked up.

Old Pete was gone.

Only hoofprints remained.

And one silver pocket watch.

Ticking.


Chester picked it up.

Inside the lid was an inscription:

TOMBSTONE
1882

Chester swallowed hard.

George Jones growled.

Far away on the ridge, hundreds of goat eyes glimmered in the darkness.

And somewhere among them, Old Pete laughed.

Or coughed.

With goats, it was difficult to tell.


Next Chapter: Marshal Finch and the Secret of the Silver Pocket Watch

Will Old Pete reveal a century-old mystery?

Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!
Stories concerning Marshal Finch always appear at High Noon, Arizona time. Where the Sun is High. The Desert is Hot. And the Time Never Changes!

Did Morgan Earp hide something before his death?

And why have the goats begun digging holes all over Gotebo?

To Be Continued… cluck, cluck, cluck.

Stories concerning our Moped Riding Hero always appear at High Noon Arizona Time. Where the sun is high, the desert is hot, and time never changes!

Guthrie’s Arlington Hotel: Hospitality in the Wild West

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | 2025 Truth Endures©

4–6 minutes

The Arlington Hotel: First Lady of Guthrie

The Arlington Hotel – Guthrie, Oklahoma Territory, 1889. One of the first hotels in the land-run boomtown of Guthrie, Oklahoma Territory. Owned and operated by the fearless Madame Jeffries Star, the Arlington offered hot meals, open doors, and a warm bed to settlers, drifters, and dignitaries alike, serving as both a rest stop and a symbol of frontier resilience.
This rare 1889 photograph captures the Arlington Hotel.
It was one of the first hotels established in Guthrie.
This occurred just days after the historic Land Run opened the
Unassigned Lands of Indian Territory.

In the spring of 1889, the red dirt of Oklahoma Territory was still freshly turned. The streets of Guthrie were more dust than road. Madame Jeffries Star, a bold woman, put up a hand-painted sign above a wooden doorway. It read: “Arlington Hotel – Meals Served at All Hours.”

It was less a hotel than a grand idea built with timber and tenacity. The two-story structure is captured in a faded photograph from that year. It stood proudly among a sea of tents. Hastily constructed shacks surrounded it. Its clapboard siding gleamed in the midday sun, and smoke curled from the kitchen chimney like a ribbon of welcome.

Guthrie had exploded into existence almost overnight with the Land Run of April 22, 1889. Nearly 10,000 settlers poured in by wagon, horseback, and foot, each staking their claim to this new frontier. But when night fell, those same pioneers found themselves with nowhere to go.

Enter Madame Star.

Suggested to be a woman of mystery. Some said she had once owned a boarding house in Kansas City. Others heard she had performed on stage in New Orleans. No one knew for sure. What people knew, though, was that she was shrewd and tireless. She was capable of running a kitchen, a business, and a town council meeting if needed. They had all read about her.

Guthrie Oklahoma 1989

The Arlington Hotel was the first of its kind in Guthrie. It offered rooms upstairs and meals downstairs. There was always a pot of coffee brewing. Cowboys shared breakfast with lawyers. Surveyors clinked glasses with newspaper journalists. Sometimes, soldiers bunked beside farmers who were too exhausted to argue over who got the corner bed.

Madame Star insisted that the Arlington be open 24 hours a day. “Because,” she would say, “history doesn’t keep office hours, and neither should hospitality.”

Meals were hot but straightforward: bacon and biscuits, black-eyed peas, and strong coffee so thick it would float a horseshoe. In the parlor, people came not just to rest, but to talk, to strike deals, to dream out loud. The hotel quickly became Guthrie’s beating heart—a place where the dust of the land met the polish of civilization.

Legend has it that the first territorial judge was hastily appointed just days after the Land Run. He spent his first night in Oklahoma sleeping in Arlington’s parlor. He used a law book for a pillow.

By the end of 1889, the town had a newspaper, a post office, and a telegraph line. Yet, it had always had the Arlington. At the center of it all was the name Madame Star. The image of a lady with her sleeves were rolled and her apron tied. Shouting instructions to her cook. While she poured hot coffee for a stranger fresh off the train.

She reportedly ran the hotel for nearly a decade. Then she vanished from public life as mysteriously as she had arrived. Some say she married a wealthy cattleman and relocated to the South. Others believe she returned to the stage, this time in Denver. But no one knows for sure. No one really knew what she looked like. Some thought they had seen her moving about the kitchen. Others said they saw her walking up the stairs. But she was too busy to stop and chat.

The photo taken that first year is what remains. It is a time capsule of promise. It shows a wooden hotel standing tall against a treeless prairie. And beneath the sign that reads “Arlington Hotel,” one can make out the name painted in bold:

“Prop. Madame Jeffries Star.”

The story was told up and down the rail lines. Its purpose was to pull more people into Oklahoma from the surrounding area. But, research indicates it seems Madame Jeffries Star isn’t a real historical figure. Instead, it is a name featured in an old promotional caption or photograph related to the Arlington Hotel. One photo description I found reads:

“Photograph of the Arlington Hotel, the first hotel in Guthrie, Oklahoma Territory. Prop. Madame Jeffries Star, meals served at all hours.”(1)

The name Madame Jeffries Star appears in promotional materials or signage tied to the Arlington Hotel. Yet, there’s no supporting historical record, biography, or documentation confirming she was a real person. It’s that Madame Star was a marketing persona—much like later figures including Ronald McDonald or Jake from State Farm.

The Arlington is often referred to as the first hotel in Guthrie, Oklahoma. But to avoid historical disputes, we prefer to say it was “one of the first.” There’s no verified evidence placing a real Madame Star anywhere in the country during that time period.

So who did own the hotel? The earliest known location was at 1st and Vilas, later moving around 1896 to North 2nd. Records suggest that the owner was James Douglas—the only documented proprietor I found.

Interestingly, I also came across references to over fifty other hotels operating in Guthrie between 1889 and 1910. They all did brisk business. This continued until the state capital was moved to Oklahoma City. Many in Guthrie have long considered this decision nothing short of a political robbery.

The Days Of My Youth, When The West Was Really Wild!

A True Story By: Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

When the West was wild, and I was nine years old. Strapped on my waist were two silver cap guns and a gunslinger belt. My horse was a pony named Little Bit, named so because of the bridal’s bit size for the horse. On Saturday mornings, my youngest sister and I would watch the antics of Roy Rogers and Del Evans on black-and-white television. During the rest of the weekend and after school, we did our best to live out what we had seen in real life.

My sister’s horse was named Sugar and slightly bigger than mine. Still, mine was fast and could run at a lope, making the breeze hitting my face seem as though we were going at the speed of light. On our farm near a hill south of our home, there were miniature bluffs where my sister and I would ground tie our horse, hide behind, and carry out a shootout with the invisible villains we imagined approaching and trying to steal the farm. We lived miles from town, and this would be our entertainment. Our parents were aware of our riding trips, and while our dad would rather be present, he trusted us to be responsible and safe.

As we roamed the hills on those long, dusty afternoons, it felt like we were the only two kids in the world with such grand adventures. The bluffs were our fortress, the sky our ceiling, and the occasional hawk circling overhead became a witness to our endless battles against make-believe outlaws. The smell of fresh earth, mingled with the sweat of our horses, was intoxicating. It was freedom, pure and simple, a feeling that inspired us and now fills us with nostalgia.


Sometimes, when the wind would shift just right, I’d catch the faint scent of Mom’s cooking from the farmhouse and know it was nearly time to head home. But in those moments, I was Roy Rogers, protector of the ranch, with Little Bit galloping beneath me as we chased the bad guys across the plains.


One day, after an especially exciting shootout, our father must have noticed we’d been gone a little too long. We saw him standing on the front porch as we rounded the bend toward the house. Dad crossed his arms, and his face was stern—Dad always believed in knowing where we were, and he didn’t much like the idea of us riding off without him. But as we neared, I saw the corner of his mouth twitch and a glimmer of pride in his eyes. His silent support reassured us and made us feel more connected to him. Maybe he recognized some of the cowboy spirit in us, or perhaps it was the sight of two kids who had spent the day living their version of the Wild West.


He never scolded us that day, though he didn’t have to say much. With a smile, he helped us unsaddle our horses, and as the sun dipped low behind the hills, we knew our adventures would have to wait until the next day.


But deep down, I think Dad knew, just as we did, that the West wasn’t so wild after all—it was just our way of making the world a little bigger, a little braver, and a whole lot more fun. As the sun dipped low behind the hills, we knew our adventures would have to wait until the next day, filling us with excitement and anticipation for the next chapter of our Wild West escapades.