The Law of a Fast Gun (14 page)

For a moment it looked as if the cowboy had a notion to draw his pistol, and his hand hovered in position.

“If you make one move toward that pistol, you will be dead,” Hawke said menacingly.

The cowboy moved his hand away from his pistol, then pointed at Hawke, Deputy Foster, and Marshal Truelove.

“You’ll be hearin’ from us!” he said. “We ain’t about to take this lyin’ down!”

The cowboy turned then, and galloped out of town, leaving his friend lying in the road behind him. The dead cowboy’s horse stayed behind, and Truelove walked over to look at the brand.

“Damn,” he said. “There’s going to be hell to pay now.”

“Why?” Hawke asked.

“This isn’t a Bar-J horse. That means we’re going to have another outfit to deal with.”

“What are we going to do with him?” Foster asked.

“He’s not our problem now,” Truelove said. “He’s Robert Griffin’s problem.”

Kerry Parker, the young cowboy who was killed, rode for the Slash Diamond outfit. Tucker Evans owned the Slash Diamond, and neither he nor any of his men knew much about Kerry Parker, so there was no place to send his body. As a result, plans were made to bury him in the Braggadocio cemetery, and an invitation was sent out to all the cowboys in all the encampments around Braggadocio.

The invitation met with an overwhelming reception, and so many cowboys wanted to come that the owners had to select some to stay back and keep watch over the herds.

Almost fifty cowboys gathered on the road about one mile south of town.

“Where is the young man’s body?” Jessup asked Tucker Evans.

“The undertaker said he would meet us with a wagon at the edge of town,” Evans replied.

“A wagon? Not a hearse?”

“A wagon is what I wanted,” Evans said.

Robert Griffin had brought the wagon to the edge of town, just as he promised. When he got it in position, he saw Marshal Truelove and Deputy Foster walking toward him. Both were carrying shotguns.

“Are you goin’ out to meet them?” Truelove asked.

“No,” Robert Griffin replied. “I told them I would meet them here. And I’m just as glad. I don’t think I would care much about going out there all by myself. I feel a lot better waiting here with you and the deputy.”

“Ha,” Truelove said. “There’s likely to be thirty or forty of them at least. Maybe more. If they wanted to start something, you don’t really think Foster and I could prevent it, do you?”

“You mean you couldn’t?”

Truelove shook his head.

“Then what are you doing out here with a shotgun?”

“It’s my job,” Truelove said.

“Marshal, here they come,” Foster said.

“Yeah, I see ’em,” Marshal Truelove said.

“Damn, how many did you say there would be?” Robert Griffin asked quietly.

“Thirty or forty,” Truelove answered.

“There’s a hell of a lot more than that. Looks like just about every cowboy in Nebraska is here.”

When they reached the edge of town, Truelove stepped out into the street and held up his hand to stop them.

“You goin’ to keep us from comin’ into town, are you, Marshal?” Clint Jessup asked. “Are you sayin’ we can’t bury our dead?”

“You can come into town,” Truelove said. “But I’m counting on you and the other owners to make sure none of your men are armed.”

“We know the rules,” Jessup replied. “None of us are carrying guns. We don’t like it, but nobody is armed.”

Truelove looked back along the road where the cowboys were riding two by two, almost as if in a cavalry formation. They returned his glance with stern gazes of their own.

“All right,” Truelove said, stepping out of the way. “You can come in.”

“You want me to lead the way in?” Robert Griffin asked.

“Yeah,” Tucker Evans said. “But wait a minute.”

Evans got down, then took something from the back of his horse. It was two signs, and he walked over to the wagon that was carrying Kerry Parker’s coffin and attached a sign on each side.

“Now,” Evans said as he remounted. “You lead the way in.”

“Yes, sir,” Robert Griffin replied, positioning the wagon at the head of the column.

With the wagon in the lead, the procession started into town. The sign on one side of the wagon read:

KERRY PARKER, KILLED WHILE DEFENDING HIS RIGHTS

On the other side of the wagon the sign read:

AN INNOCENT COWBOY MURDERED FOR NO REASON

As the wagon and large parade of cowboys passed down the street, the town stood still. The hoofbeats of the horses clopped loudly on the dirt street, echoing back from the false-fronted building that lined the way. Most of the citizens watched the procession from inside the homes and stores that lined the street, but several stood outside, watching silently.

The procession turned into the cemetery, then stopped beside a grave that had already been dug. Tucker Evans swung down from his horse and turned to face the assembled cowboys.

Gideon McCall had offered his services, but he was turned down by Tucker Evans, who told them that the cowboys would take care of their own.

Tucker Evans spoke over the cowboy’s grave.

“Some of you fellas from the other outfits might have met Kerry Parker when you were in town together. Some of you might have even ridden with him at one time or another, because I know how you boys move from ranch to ranch.

“But for those of you who didn’t know him, let me tell you what he was like. He would ride flank, or point, or drag, without complaint. He never crowded the chuck wagon, and you could roll him out of his blankets when he had nighthawk and you could count on him to do his job. He was a dependable worker and a good man, and he deserved a lot more
than to be shot down in the street just for wanting to hang on to his own, private property.

“So now we’re buryin’ him here in the enemy’s own backyard, so to speak. We’re doin’ that because nobody knows for sure where Kerry’s folks are, or even if he has any folks. I guess that makes us his folks, so that bein’ the case, I’m goin’ to ask each of you now to sort of pray a silent prayer for our friend.

“Amen,” he concluded.

A few of the riders tossed in their own amens.

After the burial, a sizable number of the cowboys stayed in town. They went first to the Nebraska House, where they occupied every table in the restaurant, intimidating the few diners who were already there and running them out.

After their meal, during which so many dishes were broken that it wound up costing the proprietor more money than he made from the meals he served, the cowboys went to Foley’s. There, using an axe handle as a ball bat and empty beer mugs as a ball, they had a game of baseball. Foley watched in helpless despair as his glasses were broken and scattered all over the floor.

Their behavior was no more civilized at the Hog Lot, where they terrorized the girls by jerking down the top of their dresses and pulling up the hems of their skirts. When they finally rode out of town at around midnight, they announced their departure by loud whooping and yelling. Whooping and yelling was all they could do, because they had left their guns behind.

“I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I THINK,” JUBAL GOODPASTURE
said to the group of community leaders who had been called together. “I think we ought to form us a vigilante committee. ’Cause if we don’t, things is goin’ to get out of hand just real quick around here.”

“Jubal’s right,” Schermerhorn said. “A vigilante committee is just what we need.”

“A vigilante committee?” Truelove said, and shook his head. “No, sir. I’ve been around vigilante committees before. Once they get started, they can’t be controlled.”

“I didn’t mean a vigilante committee exactly,” Jubal said. “I’m talking about something more like a posse. With you in control, of course,” he added. “You could deputize us.”

Truelove shook his head. “No, you can put a mule in horse harness, but it’s still going to be a mule. Call it whatever you want, but if you put a lot of armed men on the street and let
them think they have some sort of law enforcement power, you are just asking for trouble.”

“Come on, Marshal, you aren’t going to be able to handle all these men by yourself. They’re coming into town now in groups of thirty to forty every time they come.”

“But they are coming unarmed,” Truelove said, holding up his finger. “Don’t forget, when they come into town, they are not wearing their guns.”

“The marshal is right,” Gideon said. “The worst thing we could do now is put a lot of armed, untrained men in a position of authority over a bunch of prideful, young, and antagonistic cowboys. Let them come into town and make a little noise. If they aren’t carrying guns, they can’t really hurt anyone.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, Parson, but seein’ as they ain’t never come to your church, and seein’ as how they ain’t never goin’ to, you don’t have nothin’ to worry about. But those of us who have businesses to contend with aren’t all that happy to see ’em come into town and raise hell like they do.”

“I agree with the preacher,” John Harder said.

“You agree with him?” Jubal asked, surprised at Harder’s position. “I woulda figured that you would agree with me. You’ve had more damage than just about anyone else in town, except maybe Foley.”

“Yes, and so far it’s just a few broken glasses,” Harder said. “I can always get more glasses. What I don’t want is to lose another girl the way I lost Cindy. And as long as the cowboys continue to come in without their guns, about the only thing we’re going to have to worry about is a little noise here and there.”

“I agree with John Harder,” Foley said. “I’m doin’ a good business with the cowboys right now, and as long as they don’t shoot nobody, well, I can live with a few broken glasses.”

“And a mirror and a window or two?” Jubal asked.

Foley nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Like I say. As long as there’s no shooting.”

“All right,” Jubal finally agreed. “Matt, if you don’t think you want a posse—”

“I don’t want one,” Truelove said.

“And if you other fellas are willing to put up with the noise and the fistfights and such, then who am I to say we must have a posse?”

“I think you are right to be concerned, though, Jubal,” Marshal Truelove said. “These are violent men who are short-tempered and not very intelligent. While they are here, we’ll have to do all within our power not to spook them.”

“Sort of like walkin’ around a herd of cattle when they’re likely to stampede,” Clemmons said. “Is that it?”

Jubal laughed. “I reckon that’s about it,” he said. “I don’t think I could have said it any better myself.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Clemmons replied. “If you could have, I’d hire you as a reporter.”

“The score is now three dead cowboys, all three shot by someone in town,” Major Jessup said. “But the townspeople are armed and we aren’t. Does that seem right to you?”

Jessup was talking to Evans and Townes, both of whom had ridden over to the Bar-J encampment in order to discuss the situation.

“It doesn’t make that much difference whether it is right or wrong,” Townes said. “The point is, it’s the way things are, and we are just going to have to live with it.”

“I don’t agree,” Jessup said. “People have never had to live with what’s wrong. We fought the British to right what was wrong, and we fought the Yankees to right a wrong.”

Townes and Evans both chuckled.

“Well now, Jessup, seein’ as both Tucker ’n’ me fought for the North, we might just have a different take on that war,” Townes said.

“All right, but even the North fought to correct what they thought was wrong. My point is, we don’t have to just sit out
here and take it. We can make things right, even if we have to fight for it.”

“Look, I don’t know what started all this,” Evans said. “But you and your outfit are the one who got here first. In fact, it was your men that got the town all riled up in the first place.”

“Yeah,” Townes agreed. “And now you’re askin’ us to join in a fight when we don’t even know which side is right and which side is wrong.”

“Let me remind you that Kerry Parker rode for the Slash Diamond,” Jessup said. “And who was it that killed him? It wasn’t the Bar-J. It was the people in town.”

“I agree,” Evans said. “But Jake was ridin’ with Kerry when that happened, and even he says it was Kerry’s fault, that instead of turning over his gun when he was told to, he tried to draw on the marshal.”

“Why are you so all-fired worked up about it anyway?” Townes asked. “You have all your cows shipped out, you’ll be pullin’ out of here, leavin’ us with the trouble you’ve started.”

“You’re right, we’ll be pulling out of here tomorrow morning,” Jessup said. “So it’s not my men, or me, that I’m concerned about now. It’s the right or wrong of the thing, and I just think that what the town is doing is wrong. What’s right is right, and what’s wrong is wrong.”

Evans and Townes looked at each other for a long moment.

“Go ahead,” Evans said.

“Go ahead what?” Jessup asked, confused by the way the two men were acting.

“This business about what’s right is right and what’s wrong is wrong,” Townes said. “Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, of course I believe it,” Jessup said.

“Uh-huh. Well, if you really believed that, you would have shared the trains.”

“Share? What do you mean, share?”

“I mean, instead of you shipping three hundred cows each day, you would’ve shipped one hundred, the Slash Diamond would have shipped a hundred, and the Rocking T would have shipped a hundred. Instead, you kept the whole train for yourself.”

“Will you two be sharing the trains?”

“We will.”

“Well then, it’s a moot point, isn’t it? My cows are already shipped.”

“Do you think that was right?”

“It’s the way it has always been,” Jessup said. “Whoever gets here first has first rights to the trains. I was here first.”

“Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem,” Townes said. “But that was before you got the town stirred up so. They’re actually talking about closing down the shipping pens. It would take us a month to six weeks to make other arrangements. Our cows would be so late that we would be at the tail end of the market, that is, if we made this season’s market at all.”

“Which means,” Evans said, “that your cows, being the first ones there—and maybe the only ones there—will be getting top dollar.”

“Gentlemen, if it is any consolation to you,” Jessup said, “tonight is the last night my boys will be able to go to town. I plan to go to town with them to make certain that nobody gets into trouble.”

“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” Evans asked.

“It’s never too late for good manners,” Jessup replied.

“Let’s go, Charley,” Evans said. “I wouldn’t want us to overstay our welcome here. It wouldn’t be…” He paused and looked pointedly at Jessup. “…good manners.”

The two men started to leave, but Townes looked back. “Jessup, there may come a time when you need help from another rancher,” he said. “If that time comes, don’t be looking toward the Rocking T.”

“Or the Slash Diamond,” Townes added.

“This is the last night we’ll be comin’ into town,” one of the Bar-J riders told Trudy. “Are you going to miss me?”

Smiling, Trudy put her hand on the cowboy’s cheek and turned his face so she could look directly into it.

“I have no doubt but that I will cry for days,” she answered.

“Ooowee, Abe, did you hear that?” Cracker asked. “She’s goin’ to cry for days. Why, I’ll bet she’ll be that upset that she won’t have nothin’ to do with any of the boys from the Rocking T or the Slash Diamond.”

“Of course I won’t,” Trudy said. “I’m a Bar-J girl from start to finish.”

Abe—the object of Trudy’s professional attention—Tex, Brandt, Cracker, Carter, and Deekus, were all in the Hog Lot for their last Saturday night in town. The Hog Lot was filled, not only with Bar-J riders, but with cowboys from the other two cattle companies. It also had the regular compliment of locals.

“You know what I miss?” Cracker said. He looked toward the place where the piano had been, its spot along the back wall now replaced with a table. “I miss the piano playin’.”

“I don’t,” Deekus said. “I hate that son of a bitch.”

“Oh, I don’t miss the piano player,” Cracker said. “Just the piano playin’.”

“Hello, boys,” Jessup said, coming over to their table. “Are you having a good time?”

“Yes, sir,” Abe said. “Major Jessup, I want you to meet my girlfriend, Trudy.”

The others around the table laughed. “Your girlfriend?” Cracker said. “Why, hell, Abe, she’s anybody’s girlfriend that has the money. Ain’t you, Trudy?”

Trudy leaned up against Abe, pushing her breasts into his face.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t have favorites,” she said. “And Abe is my favorite.”

“Honey, why don’t you pick yourself a man?” Brandt asked. “Ol’ Abe there is only seventeen years old.”

“I like them young,” Trudy said. “When they are young, they haven’t picked up a lot of bad habits.”

“What kind of bad habits?”

“For example, I don’t like for anyone to grab one of my titties, unless I want him to grab it,” Trudy said, and she put Abe’s hand under the scoop of her dress so it was directly on the flesh of her breast. “Like this,” she said.

The table broke into such loud and raucous laughter that everyone else in the saloon looked over to see what was happening.

“Well, you boys continue to behave yourself,” Jessup said. “And, Trudy, you take especial good care of Abe. Oh,” he pulled out some money and gave it to her, “and bring another round of drinks to the table.”

“Thank you, Major Jessup!” Deekus said. The others around the table joined in the thanks.

Jessup walked away from the table, leaving the laughter behind him. He saw Hawke sitting alone at a table in the back of the room.

“May I buy you a drink, Mr. Hawke?” Jessup asked.

“If you want.”

Jessup signaled one of the bar girls and held up two fingers. “Whiskey,” he called.

The girl nodded and went to the place on the counter that was set aside just for them.

“Mr. Hawke,” Jessup began. “I’ve come to apologize for the behavior of some of my men. I know you and I didn’t get off on the right foot, but I was hoping we could part…well, if not friends, at least not as enemies.”

“I have few friends, and fewer enemies,” Hawke said.

Jessup chuckled. “Few enemies, huh? It’s hard for me to believe that a man with your, let us say, volatile personality, doesn’t make enemies.”

“I didn’t say I don’t make enemies,” Hawke said. “I said I have few enemies.”

“Well, now, there is a conundrum for you,” Jessup said. “You admit that you make enemies, but say that you have few. How can that be?”

“Because most of the time when I make enemies, I kill them,” Hawke said calmly.

“Really?” Jessup said. “Well now, that is quite a philosophy.”

“You are leaving tomorrow?”

“Yes. We got the last of our herd shipped out this morning. We’ll pull out at first light tomorrow morning, provided everyone is sober enough to ride. I decided to let them come into town one last time, and I came in with them, just to keep them out of trouble.”

“I’m sure Marshal Trueblood appreciates that,” Hawke said.

One of the girls, Annie Mae, arrived with the two drinks. Jessup paid for them, including a generous tip.

“I never got to see you play the piano,” Jessup said. “Of course, I’m not sure I would have fully appreciated it in here.”

“Probably not,” Hawke replied.

“Mr. Hawke, have you ever considered the unusual twists and turns a person’s life makes? I mean, look at us. You, a classically trained pianist, reduced to playing a piano in a saloon—when the saloon even has a piano,” he added.

“I, on the other hand, was sure that I would be a general by now. Maybe even President. After all, look at Grant. He went to West Point, I went to West Point. The difference is, I resigned my commission to fight for the South. A lost cause, and a lost career.”

“You went to West Point?”

“Yes.”

“You son of a bitch!” someone shouted, and Hawke and Jessup looked over to see a confrontation developing between one of the Bar-J riders and a cowboy from one of
the other outfits. Hawke started to stand but Jessup held out his hand.

“One of them belongs to me,” he said. “I’ll take care of it. In fact, I think it’s time I got everyone out of here. As I said, we’ll be pulling out at sunrise.”

Hawke watched as Jessup separated the two men, then gathered up all his riders. Within five minutes every Bar-J rider was gone.

“Good riddance,” John Harder said.

Turning, Hawke saw that the saloon owner had come up to stand beside him.

“Are they like that every year?” Hawke asked.

Harder shook his head. “Not like this. They seemed especially wild this year. Like I said, good riddance.”