Killing Halfbreed (31 page)

The name of the dead gunslinger was Michael Spade.  I knew him by reputation.  He’d been a mercenary who was supposed to be a pretty fast draw from what I understood, but was mostly known for his dirty methods, including shooting men in the back.

Many on the outlaw trail called him “Ace,” which made him even more appealing to possible employers.  Dishonest men who were intent on stampeding their opposition liked the idea of having an “ace” up their sleeve.

It was known not to call him “Ace” to his face though.  Not because of any inferred reference to dirty tactics, but because he didn’t like being associated with luck or chance.  I’d heard he’d killed over it.

Regardless, his luck had run out in Cottonwood.  He laid on the floor of the Doc’s office for four or five hours before anybody thought to move him.  We were too caught up in getting Doc safely locked up inside a cell, explaining to the townspeople what had happened, and getting Bill Hartford looked after to worry about him.

Amazingly, Hartford hadn’t been killed by Spade’s shot.  The bullet had struck him in the head and knocked him out, but instead of penetrating the skull, it had only furrowed a path under the skin and traveled around the curve of his skull.  I’d only seen such a wound once before and it amazed me this time as much as it had then.

We obviously couldn’t let Doc care for him, but there were several townswomen who were skilled in the healing arts and lent a hand.  Before you knew it, he was sitting pretty, laid up in a bed with white linens, fluffy pillows under his head, and several women waiting on him hand and foot.  Why couldn’t I get treatment like that, I wondered?

The town council met that afternoon and set Doc’s trial for the very same night.  Justice can be quick when people were motivated.

Jessica and I both testified as to what happened in Doc’s office and of what we suspected he’d done over the past few years.  I knew my testimony wouldn’t hold too much weight with the jury, but it would have some.  When Jessica testified, however, it was a different story.

She told them everything, from the point when she and Ben were first threatened, until this last shooting, and everything she suspected.  Two of the jury members teared up when she described losing Ben that fateful night, and all of them were visibly angry when she told them how she’d been chased off her land and almost killed.

What clinched it was Bill Hartford’s testimony.  The jury had to go to his bedside to hear it, but they got an earful, in typical Hartford style.  He told them that if they "didn’t find that scalawag doctor guilty,” then he wouldn’t be able to consider them men any longer, and they’d be “jes’ as low a scum as he.”

They hardly deliberated before coming back with a guilty verdict.  Shooting a man down in front of witnesses in Cottonwood didn’t bode well for one’s chances in court.  I, for one, could testify to that.  Having a hired gun do it for you, and having that hired gun shoot a man in the back to boot, well that really rankled people around here.

Doc was sentenced to hang by the judge before the guilty verdict was fully out of the jury foreman’s mouth.

When Doc heard the verdict, I guess he figured he had nothing left to lose, because he confessed to the whole scheme and filled in all the blanks we’d hadn’t figured out.  He seemed to want people to know what he’d almost gotten away with.

It turned out that Doc’s scheming had gone further than any of us had imagined.

He'd come out west several years before taking a job scouting for his cousin, who worked for the railroad company.  His cousin had shown him surveys of the proposed path of the new train line. From the surveys, they’d both come to the conclusion that Cottonwood was key to the railroad’s plans.

Because of the layout of the mountains in the surrounding area, if the railroad didn’t pass through Cottonwood, they’d have to make a long detour that would add over a hundred miles of track.  They also noticed the proposed track’s path went right through a pass on what was now my ranch.

Outside of the railroad’s knowledge, Doc and his cousin planned for Doc to establish himself in Cottonwood under an assumed name.  After enough time had passed to avoid suspicion, Doc would lay claim to my valley.  Then, when the railroad arrived, they would charge the railroad company an exorbitant fee to cross the land, but one that was still less than what it would cost to detour.  Doc’s cousin’s position on the planning board would allow him to keep the rail steered toward Cottonwood, and help facilitate the payoff to Doc.  Then, the two of them would split the proceeds, which would be significant.

By sheer coincidence, Doc had been acting the drunk one day in the saloon, when he saw Pick eyeing an old, worn cowhide map.  Pick was going on and on about the map, how he’d bought it from an old trader in the hills, how it was no good, supposed to be for some abandoned mine nearby, but Pick didn’t recognize any of the landmark features portrayed on it.  He’d decided it was worthless and come close to throwing it away several times.

Doc had instantly recognized the features on the map as corresponding to landmarks on my ranch.  As inconspicuously as possible, he’d paid Pick a half-dollar for the map.  Pick paid no attention, hadn’t even noticed the greedy grin peering through the feigned drunken stupor.  As far as he was concerned, a drunk and his money were soon parted.

Doc had taken several trips up to the valley to try to find the old mine, and after several months of searching, he’d finally found the site one afternoon.

He’d waited a few more months before he staked his claim to keep from arousing suspicion, and that had been his fatal flaw.  Ben and Jessica had moved in and claimed the whole vale for a ranch, railroad pass and mine together.  Doc cursed and spit for a full week when he found out — in private, of course — he didn’t want to give his cover away after so much work.

He’d quickly come up with the cattle rustling scheme as a remedy for his problems.  He knew none of the other ranchers were exactly thrilled with the idea of Ben sitting on their spare watering hole, so he’d capitalized on that.                                         He’d recruited Rob Murphy to head the cattle rustling ring and used Murphy to do the rest of the recruiting so no one would be able to tie him to it later.  He made sure Rob picked reliably corrupt men from each of the three ranches, and then they stole from all three ranches, so suspicion would fall on the newcomer, Ben Talbot.  They’d even done things like leaving one of Ben’s branded horses behind after a raid to make him look guilty.

Since the rustlers worked for each of the ranchers, there was never a notable absence of men from any one ranch when a raid occurred.  Also, all three ranches were hit equally, so the plan of throwing suspicion on Ben had worked perfectly.

Doc had sent for the Talon boys, but made sure to never meet with them in person.  Instead, he’d always used Murphy or Andrews as a go-between.  Certain local ranch hands would take turns rustling the cattle and then the Talons would drive it up the trail to sell before anyone could track it.  Thus, the guilty hands weren’t gone long enough to be missed and the Talons were ready to sell and make a quick buck.  The Talons took a cut off the top and gave the remaining proceeds to Andrews.  Andrews would take his percentage and then deposit each man’s cut into his account with the bank.

Doc’s cut was known only to himself, Carlton, and Murphy, but it was considerable.  Over the past year and a half, they’d probably gotten away with nearly five thousand head of cattle.

Doc thought the pressure from neighbors would have driven Ben off, but being a Halfbreed, he’d stubbornly stayed on, with Jessica by his side.

One night, John Talon finally caught Ben by himself while Ben was tracking the rustlers.  They’d been stealing him blind too, just like the Big Three.

They’d buried Ben in a shallow grave up in the hills.

It had only been a matter of time after that till they’d been able to drive Jessica from her property.  After she fled, Doc had waited a little while before claiming the land for himself, again, in an attempt to avoid unnecessary attention.

Then, I showed up and took over where Ben left off.  Doc must have almost had a heart attack when he realized who I was.

Just days before my arrival, Doc had sent for Michael “The Ace” Spade, hiring him to remain behind the scenes and enforce Doc’s will from the shadows.  Spade was the one who’d shot the cowhand in the back the night before I arrived.  I remembered now seeing Spade in the saloon the day of my arrival, but he must have been very good at his job, because I hadn’t seen him since, in spite of the fact that he’d never left town since.                                                                                 

Doc had hoped to be rid of me when I’d stupidly gunned down Tom Logan.  He’d almost jumped with glee hearing the news that I was to be hung.

The miraculous dream sequence experienced by all the town council members had caught him completely off guard as it had everyone else, including myself.  If it hadn’t been for that intervention by God, I’d be a dead man now and he’d be the very wealthy ruler of that little vale, without anyone else being the wiser.

He’d sent Spade to kill me several times after that, but everything from random circumstances to Elizabeth Miller had gotten in his way.

After Elizabeth partnered up with me, dressed as Will, they’d given up on attacking me directly, not so much because Doc saw any wisdom in that, but more because Spade was simply spooked by me by then.  He said I was
unkillable
.  He had apparently been a very superstitious man.

Over the next months, Doc had the Talons and various members of the rustling gang attack my ranch and steal cattle.  They were the ones who’d burned down my cabin, of course.

On top of everything else Doc had his fingers in, he was running a blackmail operation in conjunction with Michael Byers, the newspaperman.  That was the one feat of this whole operation which made me appreciate the skillful intricacies of deceit Doc knew how to play.  How on earth he managed to glean so much dirt on others from his other criminal operations, and then use Byers to blackmail those people, without their suspicions ever coming back to rest on him, I would never figure out.

Even with that scheme, he maintained the same pattern, doing everything through Byers, never acting directly.

It was with the help of Byers that he was able to stir up so much public opinion against me and even make sure I could not find local help for my herd.

Doc and Renee DuBois had been lovers, of which he bragged and she confessed in tears.  She’d clenched my pant legs from her knees as she begged me to forgive her.  She’d allowed him to use her to lure me into the alley.  She swore she hadn’t known he was going to try to kill me.  She’d thought he was only going to scare me.  Big wet tears rolled down her painted cheeks as she recounted the story.  I thought they were real tears, but you can never be quite sure with a woman like her, especially if you’ve been burned before.

She’d expected Doc to be the one in the alley that night, but as it turned out, it was Spade who’d attacked me and shot Elizabeth from the dark.  Doc had been watching from across the street.

Carlton Andrews denied any knowledge of any of the schemes, especially the rustling ring.  He admitted knowing about the gold mine on my property, but said his partnership with Doc had been a pure business decision.  He admitted some of his methods in dealing with me had been less than ethical, and he regretted them, but had felt, at the time, they were unavoidable.

When asked why he’d helped Doc conceal his identity, he said he had no idea Doc was anybody but who he claimed to be.  Doc had simply asked him to keep their business relationship a secret, and he had, not finding the request unusual, even though he had not understood the reasons for it.

As for the cut he took from the rustling operation, he apologetically explained that he’d had no idea of the source of those funds.  The Talon brothers had simply agreed to open an account with him and pay him ten percent in fees for handling the money.

I wasn’t buying any of it, but since, according to him, I’d been his only “ethical” victim, the rest of the town and the ranchers were willing to let it go.  He’d been a respected member of the community for too long to have his reputation questioned easily.  I figured it probably had a lot more to do with the fact that he held the deeds to a lot of the property here in town.  Plus, he wouldn’t go down without a long legal fight, and nobody seemed to have the dander to take him on.

Doc was hung the next day.  It was a simple affair.  Not a lot of people came out to see it, not even close to the number that had come to watch me die.

I got a hold of the rope they were to use ahead of time and slicked it down with oil.  I wanted no more nightmares filled with the sounds of a creaky rope.

As he approached the gallows, he was smiling.  He didn’t look around.  He did look at the sky for a moment right before they slipped the rope around his neck, but he never stopped smiling.

He didn’t have any final words, which I thought was sad.  I hated it, but I found myself feeling pity for this man who’d killed my brother and so many others.  I don’t know if I could have extended mercy to him if I’d been given the choice.  Either way, it wasn’t mine to give.  He had to pay for his crimes.  Society demanded it.  God demanded it.

The trap door fell open, just as it had fallen open for Joshua Miller, and as it would have fallen open for me.  Doc dropped swiftly, and when the rope drew taut, the cracking of his neck was audible.  At least, he’d gone quick.

Staring at his body swaying in the wind, I thanked my God who had saved me from that fate.  I felt a stab of guilt when I considered the many He’d allowed to die in my place since this drama began, and I still did not understand the why of it all.  Maybe I never would.

Regardless, if there was any emotion I felt toward God, it was a deep and sincere gratefulness.  Because of His mercy on me, I could breathe deep the fresh morning air and witness the wide array of oranges and pinks spilling across the western desert every night at sunset.