Blood Valley (19 page)

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Authors: William W. Johnstone

BOOK: Blood Valley
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“No, they don't know that,” I spoke up. “Them folks think God is on their side in this. And maybe He is, I don't know. What I do know is that if there was three times their numbers, when they go up against all these seasoned gunhands, just a whole lot of 'em won't be comin' back to their wives and families.”
“And there ain't nothin' we can do about it?” Rusty asked. “I mean, legal-like?”
“Not a damn thing. Just follow along behind 'em and help tote off the dead.” I looked towards the east, as a growin' glow on the horizon caught my eyes. I pointed it out to the boys.
De Graff, he grunted. “Somebody's house and barn is on fire. Ass-kickin' time in the valley, boys.”
 
 
At first light, me and Rusty was in the saddle, ridin' toward where we'd seen the fire flames in the night.
Within seconds of our spotting the fire, the church had emptied and folks had lit out of town, ridin' lickety-split toward the fire, all of them knowin' it would be burned down to the ground by the time any of them reached the scene.
But fortunately for all concerned, especially the law, none of the Rockinghorse hands, Circle L hands, or gunfighters had remained in town—the saloons closed—so there hadn't been any trouble.
It was a farmer's house and barn, naturally, and the smell of coal oil was still strong in the air when me and Rusty arrived, hours after the fire had burnt itself out.
When we reined up, there was about forty-some-odd men gathered. Hog farmers, nesters, small ranchers, and the like. And they was all wearin' the same colored blue shirt and dark britches; each one of them had a yellow bandana tied around their neck.
Dolittle's Irregulars.
They was irregular, all right. It was the damndest-lookin' bunch of men I'd ever seen. But they sure thought they was something, though.
The Reverend Dolittle rode over to us, his big horse just a-prancin'. Colonel Dolittle was all dressed up in his Union Army uniform—minus the U.S. brass—and he was full of hisself. He was wearin' two pistols in the army flap holsters. Looked like Remington .44s. The 1858 model. His men was all carryin' different types of weapons. From shotguns to Sharps.
“Sheriff!” Dolittle spoke, his voice hard and loud and damned irritatin'. “What do you intend to do about this outrage—if anything?” he added, and that made me plumb hot under the collar.
“Well, sir . . .
Colonel
sir . . . first off, I want you and your so-called army to get the hell out of here and go back to tendin' your own business. Let me and Rusty prowl around some and try to pick up some tracks.”
“I personally found tracks,
Sheriff.
Also the cans containing the combustible fluids used to ignite the fire. The tracks lead east, toward the Circle L range. I have already dispatched several men in that direction.”
“Have you now? Well, mayhaps you'd tell me on what authority you done that and what you intend to do if your dispatchers find the men.”
“My authority is commanding officer of the Army of the Lord. And when we find the men responsible for this night-riding, we shall hang them, since it is quite obvious to me that you are incapable of enforcing the law in this valley.”
First time in my life I ever hit a preacher. But I sure popped this one. I leaned over and knocked him slap out of the saddle. He landed on his butt and started hollerin'.
He was stunned. He just didn't believe anything like this was actually happenin' to him. His mouth opened and closed about a half dozen times before anything come out that even resembled understandable words.
“I'll . . . I'll have your badge for this!” he finally yelled.
“Fine, preacher. You just do that. And then after you've done it, try to find someone who'll take the job and operate within the limits of the law. Think about that, you overbearin' loudmouth.”
I didn't have no way of knowin' it at the time, but I was only a few hours away from turnin' in my badge, voluntarily.
Dolittle's so-called Army of the Lord had not moved. They could have easy taken me and Rusty out of action, but instead, they just stood still and watched as I knocked their Colonel out of the saddle and then stepped out of the saddle and jerked Dolittle to his feet and shoved him toward his big horse.
“Now you get up there and ride, preacher. And if I ever need your help in law business, I'll sure ask you.” Turnin' to his army, I yelled, “Ride, damnit—right now!”
They rode. With their blue shirts and matchin' britches and yellow bandanas, they rode out. I didn't know where they was goin', and didn't much care, as long as it was away from me.
“Let's start trackin', Rusty. Maybe we can catch up with those men Dolittle sent out before anything bad happens to them.”
We found the men Dolittle had dispatched, as he put it. Found them on the ground, mostly shot all to hell and gone. One Circle L puncher was on the ground, a big bloody hole in his chest. He was dead as a cold hammer. It looked to me like they had been waitin' for the law to arrive.
“Any of you boys wounded?” I asked.
They shook their heads no.
I pointed to a puncher. “You . . . ride into town for Truby. No need to get the Doc. Ride, cowboy, ride.”
He took off and we dismounted. I inspected the bodies of the men. Lookin' around, I asked what had happened.
A puncher shoved his hat back on his head. “We was movin' cattle to the lower graze.” He pointed. “Right there they is. These men come ridin' up like they was God Almighty and said we was under arrest for nightridin'. Told us they was the En-forcers . . . something like that. I told that one,” he pointed, “to go right straight to hell. That's when that one,” again, he pointed, “shot Jimmy out of the saddle with a shotgun; blowed him clean out of the saddle. We finished the fight and you can see how it come out. That's it, Sheriff.”
I believed him. These men were not gunfighters; they wasn't tied down in no quick-draw rig. They was just workin' cowboys—but they was tough. They'd fight for the brand if somebody come along and pushed them enough.
'Bout that time, Big Mike and Junior come ridin' up. I could tell they was cocked back and lookin' for a fight.
But I wasn't gonna give it to them, not just yet. So I pulled their fuses quick. “Just sit easy, boys. The fight's over and I intend, by God, to see that it stays over . . . least for now.”
Big Mike stuck his chin out at me. I got to admit, it was a temptin' target. “You plannin' on takin' my crew to jail?”
“Nope. These men,” I waved at the Enforcers, “had no business on your range. And they opened the dance. No charges agin' your hands, the way I see it.”
Big Mike, he stepped back and stared at me. Oh, he knew that I knew—without bein' able to prove it—that some gunhands from his payroll had fired the man's house and barn. But it wasn't this bunch of cowboys who'd done it. And I wasn't puttin' no innocent man in jail just 'cause he rode for a couple of bastards.
He stared at me for a time, then stepped up real close, pushin' his face up to mine. “What the hell does it take to rile you, Pickens?”
“Sometimes, not much, Mike. But on the other hand, I'm usually pretty easygoin'. Most of the time, that is.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah.” I raised my voice so's all could hear. “You see, Mike, I figure there's enough folks in the valley ridin' around all primed and cocked for trouble, without you or me addin' to it. Don't you agree?”
I smiled at him. He knew I had deliberately put him in a bind agin, right in front of his own men. There wasn't nothin' he could do except agree with me. But man, I could see the hate shinin' at me through his hot eyes.
When he spoke, his words was low, meant only for me. “We'll tangle, you and me. Sometime, somewhere. I'm lookin' forward to breaking every bone in your body, you jerk!”
I stepped back and grinned, clasping him on the shoulder. “Why . . . Mike . . . thank you! That's the nicest thing you ever said to me.”
His men was all lookin', wonderin' what it was he'd just said. They couldn't hear, so they had to guess at it. And Mike? Lord, but he was some kind of mad.
Mike choked back a curse and slipped away from my friendly hand on his shoulder. His face was red as a beet as he swung back into the saddle. Without lookin' back, him and Junior galloped off.
I looked at the Circle L punchers. “You boys give me your names, and you can get back to shovin' cows around.”
 
 
Me and Rusty rode back to town with Truby and the bodies of Dolittle's Irregular Enforcers. 'Bout twenty of Dolittle's Army of the Lord was meetin' with him at the church. Dolittle and his bunch come runnin' out and makin' all sorts of noises about what they was gonna do to them that killed the men.
“You!” I pointed to Dolittle. “You ain't gonna do nothin' about it. I done warned you, preacher. Now don't push me no more.”
He mumbled something under his breath and wheeled around, stalkin' off, his men followin' him, mutterin' dark things . . . just low enough so's I couldn't hear none of it.
Soon as I stabled Pronto and was walkin' up the boardwalk to the office, George Waller come rushin' up, all in a sweat. That was the sweatin'est fellow I ever did see.
“Where are the prisoners, Sheriff?”
“What prisoners? There ain't no prisoners—yet,” I added. Then I told him what all had happened.
“Those damn fools!” he swore. “Out playing soldier boy when they ought to be home, gettin' in a crop and tending to their business.”
I agreed.
George, he cussed some more, and walked around in a little circle on the boardwalk. Then he looked up at me. “I forgot to tell you. There is a United States Marshal waiting to see you in your office, Sheriff.”
Me and the Marshal shook hands and then got right down to business. He careful inspected the pictures Langsford had took of Al Long and then went over each and ever' item in Al's kit once I got it out of the safe. Al's brothers had been bonded out of the bucket and wasn't nowhere around, that I could see.
“Congratulations, Sheriff,” he told me. “You sure bagged you a good one. Where do you want the re-ward money sent?”
I pondered on that for a time. “Where are you out of, Marshal?”
“Lander, for the time bein'. Tell you what, I can have the money deposited with Wells Fargo and give you a receipt for it. If you'd like to do it that way. It'd be the safe way.”
“That sounds good to me.” I signed for the money and then said, “Sit back and pour yourself another cup of coffee, Marshal. I got to bend your ear some.”
Chapter Three
I took it from the top, from the shootin' at the saloon that first night I rode Critter into town, right up to the present moment.
That Marshal, he poured him yet another cup of coffee and leaned back in his chair. Rusty, Burtell, and De Graff had joined us in the office. There was a nice breeze blowin' in through the barred and curtainless widows, and it was a pleasant day.
The Marshal, he sighed and shook his head. “And you want my advice on the best way to handle it, right?”
“I'd sure appreciate it.”
“Git the hell outta this valley!”
I give him my best dubious look.
“That ain't exactly what you wanted to hear, right?”
“That's it in a nutshell.”
He sipped at his coffee and thought for a moment. Then he began to smile. “I think I got it!”
“What?” I leaned forward and listened to him explain his plan. The more he talked, the more antsy I got. When he finally wound down, I said, “Man . . . I got enough badges as it is. A deputy U.S. Marshal—me?”
“But it's perfect, Sheriff—don't you see? Right now, there ain't nothin' I can do. I got to ride clear down to Medicine Bow to settle a dispute. By the time I get back, you'll probably be dead or shot up real bad, and then I can issue federal warrants and me and other Marshals can make a move.” He shook his head. “It's bad business to kill a U-nited States Marshal. We frown right hard on that.”
If the thought the last look I give him was strange, this one should have curled his toenails. “Uh . . . now wait a minute, Marshal. You want to give me this badge so's I can get killed?”
“Or shot up. Look at it this way, Sheriff: think of the great service you'd be doin' the good people of this valley.”
“Well, yeah . . . but what about
me?”
“Well, hell, I never said the plan was perfect, did I?”
“You shore didn't! Look here, could I be a U-nited States Marshal and still be sheriff of this county?”
“Oh, sure. We do that all the time.”
“What's it pay?”
“Not very damn much. But where you make your money is the six cents a mile they give you when you travel. And that's all the time. Plus, you get to keep all the re-ward money. And that can add up right smart.”
“Six cents a mile could add up.”
“Shore does.”
“You stay put. I got to find George Waller.”
George, he was leery at first, until I told him that as a U-nited States Marshal, I'd have a whole lot of authority and I would still be around to help out if he'd name Rusty the sheriff after I turned in my badge.
“Well, that ain't up to me. If you want Rusty as sheriff, all you got to do is appoint him to your position, and put it in writing. Then he serves out the remainder of your term.”
And that's how Rusty got to be Sheriff of Puma County.
“Raise your hand, Cotton Pickens.”
I raised my hand and was sworn in. It was a sight more fancier badge than the one I pinned on to Rusty's shirt. He sure was proud of it, though.
“What else?” I asked, polishin' the fancy badge with my shirtsleeve.
“A whole lot more,” the Marshal said. “This was the easy part.”
The Marshal, he took him a deep breath. “Now listen up, I got to re-cite you something, from memory. As a legal swore-in Deputy U-nited States Marshal for this here district of the Territory, this here is what you can and cain't do. First thing you got to remember is this: You got to bring 'em in, alive or dead. It don't make no difference. But you got to bring 'em in 'fore you can collect any re-ward money. And they don't stink so bad—most of the time—if they're alive. But bring 'em in.
“Now then, a Deputy U.S. Marshal can arrest a person with or without no warrant first issued, if you got knowledge that a crime has been committed, about to be committed, or somebody is thinkin' on committin' a crime. You can arrest for murder, manslaughter, assault, with intent to kill or maim, attempts to murder. Arson, robbery, rape, incest, burglary, larceny, adultery, horse-stealin', cattle-rustlin', changin' brands, someone gettin' all up in your face and bein' smart-mouthed, obstructin' justice, willfully and maliciously placin' obstructions on a railroad track, and just about anything else you can think of. You have the full power of the U-nited States government behind you, and you don't have to listen to no pissant district judge. You can do anything you wanna do with an Injun. You understand all that? Good. Now where's the outhouse? I gotta take a crap!”
 
 
The smile on Rolf Baker's face changed to a real frown when I rode up and he spotted the U.S. Marshal's badge pinned on my shirt. But the frown quickly disappeared and he was all smiles again as he shook my hand.
When I'd looked in the safe once more, back at the office, I'd found a packet of papers, rolled up tight and tied with string. I hadn't said nothin' to the boys, savin' the papers to read by myself later. And they all dealt with A.J., Matt, and Rolf. The sheriff who'd been killed last year had himself a suspicion that the Big Three wasn't exactly on the up and up, and he'd done some diggin'. He hadn't come up with much; just enough to make me have a little naggin' suspicion in the back of my mind that Rolf Baker wasn't on the clean side, as he would like me to believe. Lots of things just weren't addin' up in my head.
The sheriff had seemed to think that the Big Three had come here from New York City. Why he thought so, I didn't have no idea. But I was gonna find out the truth, if I could. Now, as I wasn't tied down in town no more, I could roam, and that's what I intended to do.
'Cause something about that U.S. Marshal's badge sure caused worry to jump into Rolf's eyes. And he wasn't by hisself, neither. The only one who didn't have worry in their eyes upon spottin' the badge was Pepper, and she fairly squealed with delight. But Martha and Jeff, they didn't like it at all.
It was just real odd. And it made me suspicious as all get-out.
On this trip, I had packed me a bedroll and several days worth of grub. I was gonna stay out in the valley, or beyond, just movin' around, lettin' people see me in my new capacity.
Pepper didn't see it, but some of the softness had been sliced off of her family's friendliness towards me. It was enough to put me on the alert, and I didn't like it at all. I had me a gnawin', sick feelin' in my belly that wasn't put there by none of Miss Pepper's fried chicken. It was there 'cause now I believed that Rolf and Jeff was all mixed up in something real bad.
What, I just didn't know. But the Federal badge on my chest meant that I was gonna have to be the one to find out—or Rusty would and then share it with me.
But any way it was cut, it might mean the end of me and Pepper . . . if I waited. So I decided to wade right in and take the plunge, so to speak.
Me and Pepper, we went for a stroll down by the little creek that ambled along not too far from the main house.
“Pepper, I got me a plan. Now you might not like it. If you don't, say so.”
“Let me say something first, Cotton.” Now she had a worried look in her eyes.
“All right.”
“Something is wrong here at the ranch.”
“What?”
“I . . . don't know for sure. I was riding yesterday, on the north range, high up. I crossed Jeff's tracks and decided to follow him, thinking maybe we could sit and talk like we used to do. Something we haven't done much of lately. Then I was giving my horse a rest when I spotted several riders heading my way. I pulled into a stand of timber and watched them. They reined up and waited.”
“Was you close enough to them to recognize any of them?”
“Yes. They were gunfighters. I recognized that Stamps person and that Dundee man. There were two more that I'd seen in town.”
Waldo Stamps and Clay Dundee.
“You're sure you were on Quartermoon range?”
“Oh, yes. Positive. But then . . . Jeff and my father rode up and dismounted. They talked with the men at length and father gave them something. Cotton, it was money!”
Well, there it was. The sheriff who'd been killed was right, and my own hunches had been correct. But I wished they wasn't. All I could do was give out with a long sigh.
“What does it all mean, Cotton?”
I was truthful with her. “I don't know yet, Pepper. But it can't be nothin' good. Does your father or brother know you spotted them?”
“Oh, no!”
“Your ma?”
“No. No one else. You're the first I've told about it.”
“Keep it that way, honey. Don't let on to nobody. I think that's best for the time bein'.”
“All right. Whatever you say. Now what was it you were going to tell me?”
“Pepper, I don't want no great big fancy weddin'. I just want a little simple one.”
“So do I.” She spoke soft, her words just audible over the burbling of the little crick. “But what is this leading toward?”
I took me a deep breath. “Pepper, let's e-lope. Tonight!”
That kiss she planted on me was answer enough.
 
 
There's some sort of sayin' about the best-laid plans of people. But I disremember exactly what it is. But it sure applied to me that comin' night. Me and Pepper had agreed to hightail it out of the county as soon as the house got dark with folks in bed. But when I got to Pepper's bedroom window, I could hear the sounds of cryin' from somewheres in the house and Rolf was sittin' in a chair by the window, and he was plumb unfriendly towards me.
“There is no need to sneak about in the night, Cotton,” he said, a hardness to his voice. “Pepper has changed her mind. Changed it about a lot of things.”
“Yeah? Well, I didn't figure you was here to give away the bride.”
“You will no longer be welcome at this house, Marshal Pickens. And there will be no wedding. Now, or ever. Is that perfectly clear to you?”
“Real clear. But I would like to hear it from Miss Pepper herself.”
“My daughter is, at the moment, indisposed.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Rolf glared at me. I could almost feel the heat from his eyes. He was some hot. “Look, you ignorant saddle bum, ride out of here. Keep riding. If you have any sense at all—which I doubt—you'll ride clear out of the state. Now do you understand all that? Is that clear to you?”
Sure was. In a way. So I tipped my hat and tipped on out of there. But Rolf Baker was forgettin' one important item. As a sheriff, I had me some power; but as a U-nited States Marshal, I had me a hell of a lot more power. And now I had me a plan.
I didn't think it was Pepper who'd changed her mind; I felt her daddy had done that for her. And not allowin' her to speak to me had just made me mad as hell.
So, Mister Rolf Baker, let's just see what New York City has to say about you.
 
 
At dawn, I rolled out of my blankets and made me a pot of coffee for breakfast. Then I broke camp and kept on ridin' south. I'd had a few hours sleep after hours of hard ridin'. By noon, I would be a full county away from Doubtful.
The sun was right up over my head when I rode slow down the dusty main street of the town. I had stopped about two miles out of town and took me a bath in a little creek. Man, but that water was some cold!
I told the boy at the stable to leave Pronto alone; just give him all the corn he could eat and be careful doin' it. He bites. Although I doubted he would bite a young boy.

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