Chapter One—“Get Off Our Land!”
For the next few weeks, I rode…north. Maybe I was feeling sorry for myself as I rode, but I was empty, very empty. Empty to the point of not really caring about much of anything. I’m not the suicidal type—that’s a copout—but I did go to bed at night with a prayer on my lips that maybe, just maybe, the good Lord would find it in his mercy to take me home to Him so I could be with my Julie. Or Robin if she didn’t survive the Indian onslaught. I’d lay there and frown…what if they are BOTH up there? Which one would I choose? Well, I decided to let the Lord sort that out, and figured Robin probably wouldn’t want me anyway. And concluded I could never turn my back on Julie. I would sigh…and think of Robin. Then close my eyes and feel a little guilty. It’s not that I didn’t think of Julie; I did, all the time…well, at least all the time that I wasn’t thinking about Robin. Melancholy …because I could never have either one again. Empty. Hoping the Lord would take me home…
I took my time as I headed north. I still had quite a bit of money left over from what I had “borrowed” from the drummer and gambler at the beginning of this story. Still, it wouldn’t last forever so I was half-way searching for a nice place to settle down and find a job.
I topped a hill and spread out below me was a lovely valley with a river meandering at an angle through it. The valley was spread out like a baseball field, with mountains running down the foul lines and a barrier of white capped peaks probably 50 miles in the distance. It was as pretty a valley as I had seen, with water, grass, and a lot of livestock that I could see on both sides of the river. When I say “river,” it wasn’t the Mississippi; in fact, it probably wasn’t deeper than a man could ride a horse through. But it was wider than a stream and it no doubt provided good water for whoever lived here. To continue the baseball field allusion, the river started well beyond the foul pole down the left field line, obviously having its origin in the mountains to the west. It then made a sharp right turn in left center field, crossed the infield just to the left of second base, wound over the pitcher’s mound, and then past home plate a little ways up the first base line. I subsequently learned that the region was called Clearwater Valley, named after the river.
In one of the bends of the river nestled a little town. It didn’t look huge, but maybe I could find a good meal, a hot bath, and a soft bed there. And the more I looked at the valley, the more I decided that, if anybody was hiring, then maybe I’d stop here awhile. And if I liked it enough, I might stay for good. I thought I was far enough away from Rogersville now that maybe the law wouldn’t find me. I hoped so. I’d hate to have to deck another lawman and run again.
There were some trees in the mountains and I wound my way through them, heading towards home plate. I was near the floor of the valley when Ol’ Paint started limping.
“What’s wrong, boy?” I asked him, and he just shook his head and then stomped his left front hoof. I dismounted at the edge of a small clearing and kneeled down to see what the problem was. I lifted Ol’ Paint’s hoof and discovered, unsurprisingly, a rock wedged in his shoe. It shouldn’t take too long to clear that up. Before I could start, however, I was slightly interrupted.
“Get off our land!”
I glanced to where I heard the command—it was behind me—and saw a young woman standing about 20 yards away. I did a quick inventory. She was pretty. Raven black hair down to her shoulders, which could have used a brushing, but all in all, gave her a rather wild, sexy look. Her eyes were green, her lips were full, her curving eyebrows matched her hair, her skin was tanned, she had curves in all the right places and legs long enough to have some fun with. I reckoned she might be 20, she might not. She was dressed in men’s clothing—a red and black checked woolen shirt that she had rolled up to her elbows, jeans that had seen better days, and boots that didn’t have much heel left on them. She didn’t look like white trash, but it didn’t look like she was going to be the belle of the ball anytime soon, either. At least not dress-wise.
Her most outstanding feature, however—or at least the one I was immediately concerned with—was the double-barreled shotgun she had pointed in my direction. Held very steady. I had no doubt she knew how to use it. And she probably would if I came to deserve it. Which I had no intention of doing if I could help it.
I took all that in with a two-second glance then went back to Ol’ Paint’s problem. “I’ll be gone in just a moment. Horse has a rock in his shoe.” I pulled my knife from the holster on my left hip and started trying to work the rock loose. It was stuck pretty good.
I heard her cock the shotgun. “You can do that down the hill, mister. The horse won’t die. Now go, or you and that horse won’t have to worry about that rock or anything else any more.”
I ignored her and kept picking at the rock.
She pointed the shotgun up in the air and let off one barrel of it. “The next one saws you in half,” she said to me.
I’ll admit, I jumped when she fired that gun. But I didn’t believe she would kill me. It wasn’t in her eyes. I flipped the rock out of Ol’ Paint’s shoe, then stood up and faced the woman.
She had the shotgun pointed at me again. “You don’t hear very good, do you,” she said.
“I hear just fine. Are you going to use that second barrel?”
“I will if you don’t get off my land.” Her finger tightened on the trigger.
I looked at her then leaned against Ol’ Paint, my elbow crooked against the saddle. “Go ahead.” It was pretty obvious that I was calling her bluff. If it was a bluff. Frankly, the way I still felt, I didn’t care one way or the other.
Her lips tightened. “I’m warning you, mister.”
I just stood there and looked at her.
She sighed, and lowered the shotgun, setting it by her side, holding it by the barrel, butt end on the ground. “Will you please leave our land?” She gave me a look that would have melted Antarctica, if I had been Antarctica. “Is that good enough for you?”
“Almost.” I thought I’d teach her a lesson in manners.
I drew my gun, fired, and her shotgun exploded. She cried out and took a step back, dropping the now-useless shotgun. She flicked her right wrist back and forth, no doubt to relieve the tingling she must have felt from the impact of the bullet smashing against the gun. But she recovered quickly and she wasn’t happy.
“Ohhw! You….! That was my best shotgun!”
I holstered my weapon. “The moral of that story, lady, is watch out who you point your gun at. Unless you really intend to use it. I don’t cotton to people threatening me for nothing.”
“You’re on our land!”
“You’ve said that three times now. What’s the crime in passing through?”
“You’re a gunslinger and you work for Jim Perry. Or Gail Sanders.”
I mounted Ol’ Paint and glared at her. “I’m not a gunslinger and I’ve never heard of Jim Perry or Gail Sanders. Get your facts straight. The next fellow you run into might not be as nice a guy as I am.” I kneed Ol’ Paint and we started off down the hill.
But she called after me. “Who are you, mister?”
I stopped. “I’m just a drifter who doesn’t work for Jim Perry or Gail Sanders and who especially doesn’t like being threatened with shotguns.” Then I did cast at glance at her, and gave her a wry smile. “Regardless of what they look like.”
“Ohw!” she said, and picked up a rock and threw it at me. She missed, but it was close enough for me to catch. I did. “I don’t like rocks thrown at me, either. If you ever do that again, I’ll turn you over my knee and spank your butt till you won’t sit down for a week.”
“You wouldn’t dare! I’ll kill you if you ever even touch me.” she shouted, her fists curled at her side, flexing them, rage written all over her face.
Instead of answering, I took a roll of bills out of my pocket, found one, reached into my saddlebag for a piece of string, tied the money around the rock and tossed it back in her direction. “Here. Buy yourself another shotgun.”
She didn’t move. “I don’t want your money!”
I headed my horse down the hill and didn’t look back. “Suit yourself. Oh. And go brush your hair.”
Kelly Atkins stood there and watched him disappear from sight, her hands on her hips, her blood boiling. Go brush my hair…Ohw! The nerve of him. Then she frowned, idly running a hand through her hair to straighten it some. I wonder who he is. I’ve never seen him before and he doesn’t look like one of Perry’s thugs. And, wow, I’ve never seen anybody move so fast with a gun. One moment it was in his holster, the next moment…She glanced down and saw the rock with the money tied around it. She picked it up, and untied the string. Her eyes got huge. Holy Moses! 50 dollars! I could buy the best shotgun or rifle in town with enough shells to last for two years…
Kelly looked back to where he had disappeared, trying to be angry again, but it wasn’t quite coming off. Still she tried. Spank my butt, will he. I’ll kill him if he tries, I’ll kill him deader than a doornail, I don’t care if they hang me from the highest tree. But then she frowned. A bit of a warm flush was coming over her and it felt pretty good. Well, maybe I wouldn’t kill him TOO dead…
I took my time as I headed north. I still had quite a bit of money left over from what I had “borrowed” from the drummer and gambler at the beginning of this story. Still, it wouldn’t last forever so I was half-way searching for a nice place to settle down and find a job.
I topped a hill and spread out below me was a lovely valley with a river meandering at an angle through it. The valley was spread out like a baseball field, with mountains running down the foul lines and a barrier of white capped peaks probably 50 miles in the distance. It was as pretty a valley as I had seen, with water, grass, and a lot of livestock that I could see on both sides of the river. When I say “river,” it wasn’t the Mississippi; in fact, it probably wasn’t deeper than a man could ride a horse through. But it was wider than a stream and it no doubt provided good water for whoever lived here. To continue the baseball field allusion, the river started well beyond the foul pole down the left field line, obviously having its origin in the mountains to the west. It then made a sharp right turn in left center field, crossed the infield just to the left of second base, wound over the pitcher’s mound, and then past home plate a little ways up the first base line. I subsequently learned that the region was called Clearwater Valley, named after the river.
In one of the bends of the river nestled a little town. It didn’t look huge, but maybe I could find a good meal, a hot bath, and a soft bed there. And the more I looked at the valley, the more I decided that, if anybody was hiring, then maybe I’d stop here awhile. And if I liked it enough, I might stay for good. I thought I was far enough away from Rogersville now that maybe the law wouldn’t find me. I hoped so. I’d hate to have to deck another lawman and run again.
There were some trees in the mountains and I wound my way through them, heading towards home plate. I was near the floor of the valley when Ol’ Paint started limping.
“What’s wrong, boy?” I asked him, and he just shook his head and then stomped his left front hoof. I dismounted at the edge of a small clearing and kneeled down to see what the problem was. I lifted Ol’ Paint’s hoof and discovered, unsurprisingly, a rock wedged in his shoe. It shouldn’t take too long to clear that up. Before I could start, however, I was slightly interrupted.
“Get off our land!”
I glanced to where I heard the command—it was behind me—and saw a young woman standing about 20 yards away. I did a quick inventory. She was pretty. Raven black hair down to her shoulders, which could have used a brushing, but all in all, gave her a rather wild, sexy look. Her eyes were green, her lips were full, her curving eyebrows matched her hair, her skin was tanned, she had curves in all the right places and legs long enough to have some fun with. I reckoned she might be 20, she might not. She was dressed in men’s clothing—a red and black checked woolen shirt that she had rolled up to her elbows, jeans that had seen better days, and boots that didn’t have much heel left on them. She didn’t look like white trash, but it didn’t look like she was going to be the belle of the ball anytime soon, either. At least not dress-wise.
Her most outstanding feature, however—or at least the one I was immediately concerned with—was the double-barreled shotgun she had pointed in my direction. Held very steady. I had no doubt she knew how to use it. And she probably would if I came to deserve it. Which I had no intention of doing if I could help it.
I took all that in with a two-second glance then went back to Ol’ Paint’s problem. “I’ll be gone in just a moment. Horse has a rock in his shoe.” I pulled my knife from the holster on my left hip and started trying to work the rock loose. It was stuck pretty good.
I heard her cock the shotgun. “You can do that down the hill, mister. The horse won’t die. Now go, or you and that horse won’t have to worry about that rock or anything else any more.”
I ignored her and kept picking at the rock.
She pointed the shotgun up in the air and let off one barrel of it. “The next one saws you in half,” she said to me.
I’ll admit, I jumped when she fired that gun. But I didn’t believe she would kill me. It wasn’t in her eyes. I flipped the rock out of Ol’ Paint’s shoe, then stood up and faced the woman.
She had the shotgun pointed at me again. “You don’t hear very good, do you,” she said.
“I hear just fine. Are you going to use that second barrel?”
“I will if you don’t get off my land.” Her finger tightened on the trigger.
I looked at her then leaned against Ol’ Paint, my elbow crooked against the saddle. “Go ahead.” It was pretty obvious that I was calling her bluff. If it was a bluff. Frankly, the way I still felt, I didn’t care one way or the other.
Her lips tightened. “I’m warning you, mister.”
I just stood there and looked at her.
She sighed, and lowered the shotgun, setting it by her side, holding it by the barrel, butt end on the ground. “Will you please leave our land?” She gave me a look that would have melted Antarctica, if I had been Antarctica. “Is that good enough for you?”
“Almost.” I thought I’d teach her a lesson in manners.
I drew my gun, fired, and her shotgun exploded. She cried out and took a step back, dropping the now-useless shotgun. She flicked her right wrist back and forth, no doubt to relieve the tingling she must have felt from the impact of the bullet smashing against the gun. But she recovered quickly and she wasn’t happy.
“Ohhw! You….! That was my best shotgun!”
I holstered my weapon. “The moral of that story, lady, is watch out who you point your gun at. Unless you really intend to use it. I don’t cotton to people threatening me for nothing.”
“You’re on our land!”
“You’ve said that three times now. What’s the crime in passing through?”
“You’re a gunslinger and you work for Jim Perry. Or Gail Sanders.”
I mounted Ol’ Paint and glared at her. “I’m not a gunslinger and I’ve never heard of Jim Perry or Gail Sanders. Get your facts straight. The next fellow you run into might not be as nice a guy as I am.” I kneed Ol’ Paint and we started off down the hill.
But she called after me. “Who are you, mister?”
I stopped. “I’m just a drifter who doesn’t work for Jim Perry or Gail Sanders and who especially doesn’t like being threatened with shotguns.” Then I did cast at glance at her, and gave her a wry smile. “Regardless of what they look like.”
“Ohw!” she said, and picked up a rock and threw it at me. She missed, but it was close enough for me to catch. I did. “I don’t like rocks thrown at me, either. If you ever do that again, I’ll turn you over my knee and spank your butt till you won’t sit down for a week.”
“You wouldn’t dare! I’ll kill you if you ever even touch me.” she shouted, her fists curled at her side, flexing them, rage written all over her face.
Instead of answering, I took a roll of bills out of my pocket, found one, reached into my saddlebag for a piece of string, tied the money around the rock and tossed it back in her direction. “Here. Buy yourself another shotgun.”
She didn’t move. “I don’t want your money!”
I headed my horse down the hill and didn’t look back. “Suit yourself. Oh. And go brush your hair.”
Kelly Atkins stood there and watched him disappear from sight, her hands on her hips, her blood boiling. Go brush my hair…Ohw! The nerve of him. Then she frowned, idly running a hand through her hair to straighten it some. I wonder who he is. I’ve never seen him before and he doesn’t look like one of Perry’s thugs. And, wow, I’ve never seen anybody move so fast with a gun. One moment it was in his holster, the next moment…She glanced down and saw the rock with the money tied around it. She picked it up, and untied the string. Her eyes got huge. Holy Moses! 50 dollars! I could buy the best shotgun or rifle in town with enough shells to last for two years…
Kelly looked back to where he had disappeared, trying to be angry again, but it wasn’t quite coming off. Still she tried. Spank my butt, will he. I’ll kill him if he tries, I’ll kill him deader than a doornail, I don’t care if they hang me from the highest tree. But then she frowned. A bit of a warm flush was coming over her and it felt pretty good. Well, maybe I wouldn’t kill him TOO dead…
Chapter Two—Don’t Stop Till You Find the Bananas
I rode on into the town, and got there a little after noon. The sign on the outskirts said the name of the place was River Bend, which I thought was fairly appropriate given the location. It wasn’t much of a town—one main street that was L-shaped, two rows of false fronted buildings, a couple of side streets with some houses running along them. I’d seen a few hundred cowtowns just like it, so I didn’t stop and gape.
In fact, even if the town had been mesmerizing, I wouldn’t have noticed. My stomach was queasy; I figured the last bit of ham I ate that morning might have been spoiled. So the first thing I wanted was a glass of milk. That always seemed to help settle my tummy when it ached.
I didn’t spy a restaurant off hand, but there was a saloon just to my left. I wasn’t much of a saloon-goer, but I figured I couldn’t get into too much trouble, given the time of day it was. So I reined up, tied my horse to the hitching post outside, and went into the bar through the swinging doors.
Pretty typical place. Maybe a dozen tables to the right, bar straight in front of me, stairs to the left leading to a second floor, piano against the staircase, sawdust covered floor, a few usually missed spittoons here and there around the room. There were a handful of men sitting at tables. They glanced at me when I came in and visa-versa, but then I walked up to the bar.
There was a short Chinese fellow for a bartender, which was a little unusual—a lot unusual, bartenders tended to be big, burly fellows that didn’t take no snuff offa nobody—but I figured this Chinaman’s name was probably Chop Headee and nobody gave him any snuff, either. I nodded at him, and he said, in perfect English, “What’ll it be?”
“I got a stomach ache,” I told him. “You got any milk?”
I heard some snickering and snorting from the fellows at the tables, but I ignored them. The Chinamen surveyed me for a moment, and nodded. He reached under the counter and said, “Fresh and cold, just this morning.” He poured me a glass.
Before I had a chance to drink it, I was introduced to another of the saloons employees. “Aw, you got a wee tummy ache, handsome? Maybe Molly can help make you feel better.”
I turned around and there stood a long, curly-headed blonde who was almost at tall as me and probably outweighed me. Not that she was fat, she was just…tall and probably outweighed me. She was wearing one of those little red and black frilly things—I don’t know what they called them—that barely covered her breasts and hips. Not really bad looking, actually.
I took a swig of the milk. It was fresh and cold. “Yes, to the tummy ache, Molly, but maybe some other time on making me feel better. I’d hate to barf all over you.”
That seemed to turn her off a little, which was my intention. I drank the rest of the milk and asked the barkeep for another one. One of the men who had been sitting at the table sauntered over. I glanced at him, annoyed. He was itching for a fight, I could tell that right off. But he was a big fellow—at least three inches taller than me and outweighed me by a good 50 pounds. He probably outweighed Molly, too. Maybe her and me put together.
“Milk, huh, stranger,” he said. “Don’t you know what this place is? It’s a saloon. We drink whiskey here. Milk is for sissies. Sissies. Is that what you are? A sissy?”
“Well, if drinking milk makes me a sissy, then I guess I am one.” I lifted the glass to drink from it and, just as I got it to my lips, the fellow reached up, tilted the glass, and the whole contents ran down my chin and the front of my shirt.
I jumped back involuntarily, but still got the milk bath. He laughed, and all his buddies behind him did, too.
The Chinaman bartender said, “Don’t start anything, Jake.”
Jake, the big man, snarled. “I don’t like sissies, China.” He looked back at me. “Only sissies drink milk.”
I really didn’t feel like fighting. So I sighed, put the glass back on the bar, pulled out a coin and tossed it to the bartender. “Thanks,” I said. And started walking towards the door.
“Hey, sissy. Don’t you want some more milk? Are you gonna let me call you a sissy, a little girl? You’re not a man, you’re a woman…”
“Oh, shut up, Jake.” That from Molly, and that’s all I heard because I went outside.
I didn’t care a whit what that fellow thought about me, so I put it out of my mind immediately. The milk had helped, but another glass would have been nice. So, I made plans. Get a bath, get my clothes cleaned, find a restaurant, and have a good meal with lots of milk. Then get some supplies from the general store. Maybe even ask around about a job. I wonder if Jim Perry or Gail Sanders is hiring…I nodded, satisfied. I spied the barber shop about a block down the street on the opposite side, so, since I’d been riding all day, I thought I’d just walk. It was almost a mistake.
As soon as I started to cross the street, a team of horses pulling a wagon came around the corner like a bat out of hell. “Get out of the way!” the driver—a woman—shouted at me, and I did just that, jumping back as quickly as I could. She barreled on down the street, scattering people right and left. Once she was past them, people went on about their business as if this had been an every day occurrence. Well, maybe it was in this town. I started to cross the street again, but this time looked both ways before I did.
The barber shop was right next to Dave’s General Store, which was right next to the Gold Dust Café. Couldn’t ask for better than that. I’d already shaved, so I didn’t need that, and I’d had a haircut a few weeks back and didn’t want to do that. So it was bath and dry cleaning. The warm bath felt good even though it wasn’t cool outside. But it certainly beat a frigid mountain stream.
I came out of the barber shop, feeling like a new man. At least physically. For about five minutes, I could get Julie or Robin out of my mind. Then one of them would come back—or usually both—and melancholy would sweep over me again. That’s what happened when I left the barber shop, but I didn’t have a lot of time to contemplate my woes.
“Hey, sissy!” I looked to my left and groaned. Here came Jake with his puppy dogs trailing him, and he had a grin on his face from ear to ear.
He continued, and his voice was loud, loud enough that probably everybody in town could hear him. “Why don’t we head back over to the saloon, sissy, and I’ll buy you another glass of milk? Would you like that? Milk’s just the kinda stuff sissies like to drink.” And he laughed and laughed and all his buddies did, too.
This guy had to be retarded. “What’s your problem, buddy?” I asked him. “I had a stomach ache and I wanted a glass of milk. I can’t really see that that’s such an unusual thing. Or any of your business.”
By this time, folks were watching, not stopping, but walking slowly and keeping an eye on the situation, like something interesting, such as a fight, might happen real quick. Jake got an ugly expression on his face. He poked a grimy finger in my chest and said, “I don’t like sissies. I don’t like ‘em clutterin’ up my town. So I tell you what I’m gonna do, mister. I’m gonna pound you into the dirt, then put you on your horse and send you outta here with a warnin’ to never come back. But I’ll be nice and won’t pound you too hard, just enough to maybe knock the sissy out of you.”
I looked him up and down. Big. Yeah. I decided that, if I was going to fight him, it might be a good idea not to let him hit me. I knew a good way to do that. So I said to him, “You know what, Jake?”
He was rolling up his sleeves. There was a circle of people around now and I even thought I heard some guy quickly taking bets. Jake responded, “What?”
“I saw a baboon in a zoo one time that looked just like you. His name was Jake, too. Reckon he was your father? Or maybe it was you earlier in your life.”
I heard several gasps, as in “what does that fool think he’s doing, bating Jake like that?” Well, I knew exactly what I was doing.
It was far from my best line ever, but my words had the desired effect. Jake’s face clouded up and he popped all his knuckles. “I was gonna go pretty easy on you, mister, but the only thing worse’n a sissy, is a sissy with a smart mouth. Now I’m gonna pound you real good.”
And then he did exactly what I thought he would do. He threw a punch that started last Thursday and would end the next Tuesday. But it would have knocked over an elephant if it had connected. Which it didn’t.
Jake’s problem was that he was a brawler, not a fighter. Most men don’t know how to fight, they just start swinging from the heels and a guy like Jake will win a scrap like that every time. I wasn’t about to brawl with him. And I knew how to fight.
I ducked under his roundhouse and started jabbing. A left to his nose. Another. Another. Another…Quick, short jabs that, one, broke Jake’s nose, two, kept him off balance, and three, never gave him a chance to get set and try to swing again. Each punch staggered him back a step or two. Then, with him still off balance, I put everything I had into a right to his gut. He ooooof’d, bent double, and headed for the ground. I helped him by locking the fingers of both hands together and coming down hard on the back of his neck. He hit the dirt, face-first.
A man that has been gut-punched and lost all his wind has lost the fight. Nobody can fight if they can’t breathe, and that was Jake’s situation at the moment. I should have just turned around and walked away at that point, but I was mad now and did something pretty mean. I went over and stomped on Jake’s right hand, breaking several bones in his fingers, and then slammed my foot into his right knee, which, at best, dislocated it. He screamed in pain, and rolled on the ground in agony.
“I…I’m gonna…kill you…mister….kill you…you…you hear…me?” Jake was able to gasp out those words as he held his right hand in his left and rocked back and forth on his back.
So I knelt beside him, pulled my gun, and stuck the barrel of it up his broken nose. He cried out again, but I said, “Well, if you’re planning on killing me, mac, then maybe I better kill you first, just so I won’t have to worry about you dry-gulching me sometime.” I cocked the hammer back on the gun.
Jake was still gasping for breath, but his eyes got big. “D-don’t. I was…just… funnin’. I wouldn’t…dry-gulch…nobody…”
“No, maybe not, but I’ll tell you what you are going to do. You’re going to get on your horse and ride out of this town and never show your face here again. Because if I ever do see you again, I’ll blow you to kingdom come and it will be self-defense because all these people heard you say you were going to kill me. You got that? Ride!” He saw nothing but fire in my eyes.
“Yeah…yeah…I’ll…I’ll go.”
I stood up, the gun still pointing at him. I looked at his friends, who were standing there, shocked. “Get him and get him out of here,” I said to them. And then to Jake. “And you ride south, baboon, because I’m heading north. And south is that way”—I pointed—“where the bananas grow, in case you don’t know. Don’t stop till you find them.”
I motioned to the men, who reached down and helped Jake up. He was groaning, holding his right hand, which he’d never use in a fight again, and limping away. He was just a bully, but people like that make me mad. I didn’t especially like being called a sissy, either.
So, ignoring the crowd which was staring at me like I was some kind of creature from outer space, I started to walk off. And when I turned around, I came face to face with the woman who had almost run over me in her wagon earlier.
I snarled at her. “And, lady, if you ever come close to hitting me with your wagon again, I’ll slap your pretty little teeth down your pretty little throat.” I none-too-gently pushed her out of the way and headed for the restaurant.
Nobody else got in my way.
I went into the restaurant. There were a few people in it, but I found a table at the back, and sat down, facing the door so I could see who came in. I sighed and dropped my hat onto the chair next to me, starting to cool down. The waitress came over and handed me a menu.
“I want a glass of milk first thing, please,” I said, and she gave me a once-over, nodded, and walked off.
Well, that’s great, Conners. You find a place you halfway like and blow your stack…almost kill a man, then insult a woman…I sighed again…Keep riding, I guess…
But not quite yet…
In fact, even if the town had been mesmerizing, I wouldn’t have noticed. My stomach was queasy; I figured the last bit of ham I ate that morning might have been spoiled. So the first thing I wanted was a glass of milk. That always seemed to help settle my tummy when it ached.
I didn’t spy a restaurant off hand, but there was a saloon just to my left. I wasn’t much of a saloon-goer, but I figured I couldn’t get into too much trouble, given the time of day it was. So I reined up, tied my horse to the hitching post outside, and went into the bar through the swinging doors.
Pretty typical place. Maybe a dozen tables to the right, bar straight in front of me, stairs to the left leading to a second floor, piano against the staircase, sawdust covered floor, a few usually missed spittoons here and there around the room. There were a handful of men sitting at tables. They glanced at me when I came in and visa-versa, but then I walked up to the bar.
There was a short Chinese fellow for a bartender, which was a little unusual—a lot unusual, bartenders tended to be big, burly fellows that didn’t take no snuff offa nobody—but I figured this Chinaman’s name was probably Chop Headee and nobody gave him any snuff, either. I nodded at him, and he said, in perfect English, “What’ll it be?”
“I got a stomach ache,” I told him. “You got any milk?”
I heard some snickering and snorting from the fellows at the tables, but I ignored them. The Chinamen surveyed me for a moment, and nodded. He reached under the counter and said, “Fresh and cold, just this morning.” He poured me a glass.
Before I had a chance to drink it, I was introduced to another of the saloons employees. “Aw, you got a wee tummy ache, handsome? Maybe Molly can help make you feel better.”
I turned around and there stood a long, curly-headed blonde who was almost at tall as me and probably outweighed me. Not that she was fat, she was just…tall and probably outweighed me. She was wearing one of those little red and black frilly things—I don’t know what they called them—that barely covered her breasts and hips. Not really bad looking, actually.
I took a swig of the milk. It was fresh and cold. “Yes, to the tummy ache, Molly, but maybe some other time on making me feel better. I’d hate to barf all over you.”
That seemed to turn her off a little, which was my intention. I drank the rest of the milk and asked the barkeep for another one. One of the men who had been sitting at the table sauntered over. I glanced at him, annoyed. He was itching for a fight, I could tell that right off. But he was a big fellow—at least three inches taller than me and outweighed me by a good 50 pounds. He probably outweighed Molly, too. Maybe her and me put together.
“Milk, huh, stranger,” he said. “Don’t you know what this place is? It’s a saloon. We drink whiskey here. Milk is for sissies. Sissies. Is that what you are? A sissy?”
“Well, if drinking milk makes me a sissy, then I guess I am one.” I lifted the glass to drink from it and, just as I got it to my lips, the fellow reached up, tilted the glass, and the whole contents ran down my chin and the front of my shirt.
I jumped back involuntarily, but still got the milk bath. He laughed, and all his buddies behind him did, too.
The Chinaman bartender said, “Don’t start anything, Jake.”
Jake, the big man, snarled. “I don’t like sissies, China.” He looked back at me. “Only sissies drink milk.”
I really didn’t feel like fighting. So I sighed, put the glass back on the bar, pulled out a coin and tossed it to the bartender. “Thanks,” I said. And started walking towards the door.
“Hey, sissy. Don’t you want some more milk? Are you gonna let me call you a sissy, a little girl? You’re not a man, you’re a woman…”
“Oh, shut up, Jake.” That from Molly, and that’s all I heard because I went outside.
I didn’t care a whit what that fellow thought about me, so I put it out of my mind immediately. The milk had helped, but another glass would have been nice. So, I made plans. Get a bath, get my clothes cleaned, find a restaurant, and have a good meal with lots of milk. Then get some supplies from the general store. Maybe even ask around about a job. I wonder if Jim Perry or Gail Sanders is hiring…I nodded, satisfied. I spied the barber shop about a block down the street on the opposite side, so, since I’d been riding all day, I thought I’d just walk. It was almost a mistake.
As soon as I started to cross the street, a team of horses pulling a wagon came around the corner like a bat out of hell. “Get out of the way!” the driver—a woman—shouted at me, and I did just that, jumping back as quickly as I could. She barreled on down the street, scattering people right and left. Once she was past them, people went on about their business as if this had been an every day occurrence. Well, maybe it was in this town. I started to cross the street again, but this time looked both ways before I did.
The barber shop was right next to Dave’s General Store, which was right next to the Gold Dust Café. Couldn’t ask for better than that. I’d already shaved, so I didn’t need that, and I’d had a haircut a few weeks back and didn’t want to do that. So it was bath and dry cleaning. The warm bath felt good even though it wasn’t cool outside. But it certainly beat a frigid mountain stream.
I came out of the barber shop, feeling like a new man. At least physically. For about five minutes, I could get Julie or Robin out of my mind. Then one of them would come back—or usually both—and melancholy would sweep over me again. That’s what happened when I left the barber shop, but I didn’t have a lot of time to contemplate my woes.
“Hey, sissy!” I looked to my left and groaned. Here came Jake with his puppy dogs trailing him, and he had a grin on his face from ear to ear.
He continued, and his voice was loud, loud enough that probably everybody in town could hear him. “Why don’t we head back over to the saloon, sissy, and I’ll buy you another glass of milk? Would you like that? Milk’s just the kinda stuff sissies like to drink.” And he laughed and laughed and all his buddies did, too.
This guy had to be retarded. “What’s your problem, buddy?” I asked him. “I had a stomach ache and I wanted a glass of milk. I can’t really see that that’s such an unusual thing. Or any of your business.”
By this time, folks were watching, not stopping, but walking slowly and keeping an eye on the situation, like something interesting, such as a fight, might happen real quick. Jake got an ugly expression on his face. He poked a grimy finger in my chest and said, “I don’t like sissies. I don’t like ‘em clutterin’ up my town. So I tell you what I’m gonna do, mister. I’m gonna pound you into the dirt, then put you on your horse and send you outta here with a warnin’ to never come back. But I’ll be nice and won’t pound you too hard, just enough to maybe knock the sissy out of you.”
I looked him up and down. Big. Yeah. I decided that, if I was going to fight him, it might be a good idea not to let him hit me. I knew a good way to do that. So I said to him, “You know what, Jake?”
He was rolling up his sleeves. There was a circle of people around now and I even thought I heard some guy quickly taking bets. Jake responded, “What?”
“I saw a baboon in a zoo one time that looked just like you. His name was Jake, too. Reckon he was your father? Or maybe it was you earlier in your life.”
I heard several gasps, as in “what does that fool think he’s doing, bating Jake like that?” Well, I knew exactly what I was doing.
It was far from my best line ever, but my words had the desired effect. Jake’s face clouded up and he popped all his knuckles. “I was gonna go pretty easy on you, mister, but the only thing worse’n a sissy, is a sissy with a smart mouth. Now I’m gonna pound you real good.”
And then he did exactly what I thought he would do. He threw a punch that started last Thursday and would end the next Tuesday. But it would have knocked over an elephant if it had connected. Which it didn’t.
Jake’s problem was that he was a brawler, not a fighter. Most men don’t know how to fight, they just start swinging from the heels and a guy like Jake will win a scrap like that every time. I wasn’t about to brawl with him. And I knew how to fight.
I ducked under his roundhouse and started jabbing. A left to his nose. Another. Another. Another…Quick, short jabs that, one, broke Jake’s nose, two, kept him off balance, and three, never gave him a chance to get set and try to swing again. Each punch staggered him back a step or two. Then, with him still off balance, I put everything I had into a right to his gut. He ooooof’d, bent double, and headed for the ground. I helped him by locking the fingers of both hands together and coming down hard on the back of his neck. He hit the dirt, face-first.
A man that has been gut-punched and lost all his wind has lost the fight. Nobody can fight if they can’t breathe, and that was Jake’s situation at the moment. I should have just turned around and walked away at that point, but I was mad now and did something pretty mean. I went over and stomped on Jake’s right hand, breaking several bones in his fingers, and then slammed my foot into his right knee, which, at best, dislocated it. He screamed in pain, and rolled on the ground in agony.
“I…I’m gonna…kill you…mister….kill you…you…you hear…me?” Jake was able to gasp out those words as he held his right hand in his left and rocked back and forth on his back.
So I knelt beside him, pulled my gun, and stuck the barrel of it up his broken nose. He cried out again, but I said, “Well, if you’re planning on killing me, mac, then maybe I better kill you first, just so I won’t have to worry about you dry-gulching me sometime.” I cocked the hammer back on the gun.
Jake was still gasping for breath, but his eyes got big. “D-don’t. I was…just… funnin’. I wouldn’t…dry-gulch…nobody…”
“No, maybe not, but I’ll tell you what you are going to do. You’re going to get on your horse and ride out of this town and never show your face here again. Because if I ever do see you again, I’ll blow you to kingdom come and it will be self-defense because all these people heard you say you were going to kill me. You got that? Ride!” He saw nothing but fire in my eyes.
“Yeah…yeah…I’ll…I’ll go.”
I stood up, the gun still pointing at him. I looked at his friends, who were standing there, shocked. “Get him and get him out of here,” I said to them. And then to Jake. “And you ride south, baboon, because I’m heading north. And south is that way”—I pointed—“where the bananas grow, in case you don’t know. Don’t stop till you find them.”
I motioned to the men, who reached down and helped Jake up. He was groaning, holding his right hand, which he’d never use in a fight again, and limping away. He was just a bully, but people like that make me mad. I didn’t especially like being called a sissy, either.
So, ignoring the crowd which was staring at me like I was some kind of creature from outer space, I started to walk off. And when I turned around, I came face to face with the woman who had almost run over me in her wagon earlier.
I snarled at her. “And, lady, if you ever come close to hitting me with your wagon again, I’ll slap your pretty little teeth down your pretty little throat.” I none-too-gently pushed her out of the way and headed for the restaurant.
Nobody else got in my way.
I went into the restaurant. There were a few people in it, but I found a table at the back, and sat down, facing the door so I could see who came in. I sighed and dropped my hat onto the chair next to me, starting to cool down. The waitress came over and handed me a menu.
“I want a glass of milk first thing, please,” I said, and she gave me a once-over, nodded, and walked off.
Well, that’s great, Conners. You find a place you halfway like and blow your stack…almost kill a man, then insult a woman…I sighed again…Keep riding, I guess…
But not quite yet…
Chapter Three—“You Folks Have Fun Killing Each Other”
As I was reading the menu, the door opened and the young lady who had threatened to blow me in two with her shotgun came in. She looked around, saw me, and headed towards my table.
She stood there a moment. “Do you mind?” she asked, obviously wanting to know if I objected to her sitting down.
Usually I stood up when a lady came up to a table I was sitting at or came into a room or whatever. But I wasn’t convinced yet that this was a lady. So I didn’t stand. But I did say, “Go ahead,” and she did, across from me.
I looked at her. She was pretty. The raven hair, sea-green eyes, full red lips, pixy nose, nice chin, long neck… “You brushed your hair,” I said.
“Yes. Yes, I did,” she said. “I…hadn’t had much of a chance today.”
I just nodded. The waitress brought my milk. I downed the whole thing, and asked for another. “And bring me some fried chicken—white meat—mashed potatoes, and green beans. Cherry pie for dessert.” I looked at the girl across from me. “You want anything?”
She hesitated. “No, thank you.”
I glanced at the waitress. “Bring her the same thing I’m having. If she doesn’t want it, I’ll eat it.” The waitress nodded and left, the girl smiled.
“You have a nice smile,” I told her. “You ought to do it more often.”
“You ought to try it sometime, too.”
I grunted. “I’m not especially in a smiling mood today. I had somebody threaten to blow me in two with a shotgun, some wild Roman chariot driver almost ran me down with her wagon, and then some gorilla tried to pound me into dust. What is it with you people, anyway? Incidentally, my name is Robert Constance.”
“I’m Kelly Atkins,” she replied. “It’s…nice to meet you under different circumstances.”
I stared at her. “Maybe. Let’s start out by you telling me why you threatened me this morning but now you’re having lunch with me.”
She sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got a big meal coming. Maybe two.” And she smiled at that.
“I am hungry,” she said, “so I might end up eating yours if you don’t hurry.” Then she paused. “Ok, here’s the deal in a nutshell. Jim Perry owns the biggest ranch this side of the river. Gail Sanders owns everything on the other side of the river. Or wants to. There are a number of us smaller farmers and ranchers who have a little piece of land and we want to be left alone. Well, Perry is threatening to run us all off—on this side—and Gail Sanders is threatening on the other side. And then they are going to have a winner-take-all war. Of course, we small fry won’t care, because we’ll all either be dead or gone.”
“So you thought I might be a hired gun for Perry come to run you off your land. Or Sanders to run some people off the land over there.”
She nodded. “Something like that.”
“Do you own your land?”
“My pa and I have a note on it. We need to pay the bank $500 in two weeks or Kragan, the banker, is going to foreclose. That’s all we owe on our land. We’re trying to get him to wait till we can sell some cattle in the fall, but he won’t do it. He thinks if he can get the land he can sell it to Perry.” She grunted. “Perry will kill him.”
I made a face at that. “So you aren’t squatting on Perry’s land?”
“Perry doesn’t really own a thing. Or Gail Sanders. They came—or in Gail’s case, her father—before anybody else and put their cattle on open range. Never paid a dime for it, but they think they own it all anyway. Dad and I filed for our quarter section and we’ve got some good grass and water. We’ll make it if Kragan will let us.” She shook her head. “So we’ve got Perry breathing down our necks, and Kragan threatening to foreclose.” She gave me a wry smile. “I guess I was a little hasty this morning, and I’m sorry, but I’m a little on edge at the moment.”
I frowned. “All Perry has to do is wait for Kragan to foreclose. Buy the notes cheap. Or, more than likely, intimidate him into just giving him the land since he thinks it’s his anyway.”
“Yeah, that’s probably what he’ll do.”
Our food came, and we started eating. Kelly’s words had cut me deep, deep into my heart. Big yo-yo wants to run the little guy out so he can have the whole shebang. Where had I heard that before? I guess I’d never get away from things that reminded me of Julie.
After a few bites, I asked her, “Why did you come and talk to me? Just to apologize?”
“Well, that, but also to tell you that you are a town hero at the moment, but you also might not have very long to live.”
“Jake’s buddies?”
“No, they won’t mess with you. Gail Sanders.”
“Why?”
“She’s the one who almost ran you down this morning.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Soooo…she’s the lovely I said I was going to slap her teeth down her throat.”
Kelly smiled. “Yeah. Oh, I loved it when you said that, and believe me, everybody else in town did, too. And the way you handled Jake Barton. He is—was—segundo on Jim Perry’s ranch, bullied everybody, picked a fight with anybody he could, and nobody could lick him. Believe me, you made lots of friends when you whipped him and ran him out of town.”
“I thought maybe I was a little hard on him, breaking his hand and knee like that.”
Kelly shook her head. “Uh uh. He’s had that coming a long time, believe me.”
“I probably didn’t exactly make friends with Jim Perry, either.”
“Well, maybe not, but he has plenty of hired killers. And he may want to hire you, too.”
I started to say something, but then I saw the restaurant door open and Gail Sanders come in. She spied me immediately and came over. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, in a voice that didn’t sound like she was, “but may I sit down?”
I glanced at Kelly, who shrugged. So I made a motion for Gail to sit. Notice: I didn’t stand for her, either.
She wasn’t exactly ugly herself. Strawberry blonde, lush and wavy down past her shoulders, blue eyes, firm mouth and chin, skin that had been out in the sun, but that only enhanced her natural color and made her more beautiful. She was about the same height and build as Kelly. I could tell immediately that there was no love lost between the two.
“I guess this little tart has told you who I am,” Gail said. The “tart” being Kelly, of course.
I saw Kelly’s eyes blaze, but I smiled and winked at her. “Yes. You’re Gail Sanders, Roman chariot driver extraordinaire.”
She grunted at that. “Sorry about that. I get in a hurry sometimes.” Then, “I’ll come right to the point. I want to hire you. $100 a month.”
My eyebrows shot up. “For what?”
She gave me a “get serious” look. “I suppose you know how to use that gun as well as you do your fists.”
“Well, I do know which end of it the bullet comes out of.”
She nodded. “It won’t take long for what happened today to get around. I have some people squatting on my land across the river”—here she threw a glance at Kelly, though the Atkins weren’t on Gail’s side—“and they need some… encouragement…to leave. I’d rather it be done peacefully, but some of them need persuading.”
I was working on my cherry pie now. My milk glass was empty and I caught the waitresses eye and held it up for a refill. “I don’t know,” I said. “I think I’ll go talk to Jim Perry and see if he’ll offer me $150 a month.”
Gail didn’t seem to like that and Kelly’s eyes narrowed at me as well. She wasn’t quite sure whether I was serious or not. I actually hadn’t told her anything about myself, except my name, so as far as she knew, I was a gunslinger for hire.
“I don’t think he’ll pay that much.”
I shrugged. “I guess it depends on how highly he values my services. From what I hear, he’s got an opening now.” I took a swallow of milk to help the dry cherry pie go down.
“For a segundo, yes, but I doubt he pays that much for that position. Well, I’d like for you to come out to my ranch this afternoon, if you would. I want to show you around, see if I can talk you into helping me.”
I looked at her and wiped my lips with my napkin. “Where’s your ranch?”
She gave me directions. I nodded. “I’ll be out there later.”
She gave Kelly a smug look, and said, “Ok. I’ll be waiting,” and she got up and left.
Kelly had a disgusted expression on her face, and started to get up as well. “I wish I had shot you now,” she mumbled.
“Kelly, sit down,” I said. “I have absolutely no intention of helping either Gail Sanders or Jim Perry.”
She slowly slid back into her chair. “Then why did you tell her you’d go out to Clearwater this afternoon?” Clearwater, I assumed, was the name of the Sanders ranch.
“Well, maybe because you didn’t invite me out to your place.”
She gave me an annoyed look. “You’ll go to work for her if she pays you enough, won’t you.”
I sighed and finished my milk. “Kelly, I’m just drifting at the moment, and I have no desire to get into the middle of a range war. I…” I stopped. Somebody came into the restaurant and he looked important. Everybody was bowing down to him like he was king. I made a motion with my head. “Jim Perry, I presume.”
Kelly glanced quickly, then said, “Yeah.”
And, not too surprisingly, he came over to our table. He saw Kelly and grunted. “She doesn’t have enough money to hire you.” He sat down without asking.
He was a big man, probably mid-50s. Iron gray hair, thick, wavy. Sharp eyes that matched the color of his hair. Weather-beaten face that might once have been handsome, but now was showing the lines of age. He wasn’t quite able to control the paunch in his stomach, either, but he was obviously one tough hombre—and he was just as obviously used to getting his way.
I said, “Gail Sanders just offered me $100 a month. What will you pay?”
“150.”
I shot a glance at Kelly and tried to hide a smile. “Not bad.” Then I said to Kelly, “And how much will you pay?”
“I can’t afford to pay you anything.”
I looked at Perry. “Is she and her old man bothering you that much?”
“If I let her and the other squatters stay, they’ll take all my land within a year.”
“Why don’t you just buy what you have now so they can’t do it?”
“I got here first. It’s mine by right of prior possession.”
I paused for a few moments. “I had a man tell me that one time, Mr. Perry. He wanted every inch of a valley, and he didn’t need half of it. He just wanted it because he was greedy. I filed, bought, and paid for 160 acres in an out of the way corner of it, wasn’t bothering him in the least. Had a few cows, some horses, was doing ok. My wife was expecting our first child. I was gone to town one day and when I got back to the ranch, I had been burned out, and all my livestock killed. My wife was in the house when they burned it down. Her ashes indicated she had been raped and there was a bullet hole in her forehead.”
I saw Kelly wince. Perry just stared at me.
I didn’t say anything else, my mind was drifting back to Julie. My home…Julie… never see my home again…
Kelly was saying something. I looked at her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked what you did?”
“I’m sitting at this table right now.”
Perry sneered. “So you ran instead of fought. Not sure I’d want to hire you after all.”
I looked at him. “The fellow who did that to me, Mr. Perry, didn’t live much longer. Neither did five of his thugs who had a part in it. Unfortunately, he owned the law in that area.” I stopped for a moment “I buried my wife on my land. I’m not sure I could ever go back.”
“I’m so sorry,” Kelly said.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about your wife, too,” Perry said. “That was uncalled for.”
“What are you going to do if Kelly and her father refuse to leave their land? And the other settlers?”
“I’ve been trying to buy them out, but they won’t sell. They are on my land. What would you do?”
“I’d run them off, if I had a clear title to that land. You obviously realize you don’t have a legal leg to stand on or you wouldn’t be trying to buy them off. Why don’t you take that money and file legally on the land you’ve been using and that way you won’t have any more settler problems?”
“Why should I buy land that I’ve been using for 20 years, made improvements on, have worked and slaved over all this time? Now these tinhorns come around and want to take advantage of all the work I’ve put in. I’m not about to let them do it.”
“So if they don’t leave, you’re prepared to do what Wilson Brant did to my wife.”
“Well, not that, but I’ll do what’s necessary.”
Kelly said, “It will be necessary, Mr. Perry, because my dad and I aren’t leaving the land we bought. You’ll be guilty of murder, not that I figure that will bother you much.”
“You’re going to be leaving it, missy, because the bank is fixing to foreclose on you. I’ll get that land back easy enough. Your dad is really the only one I’m worried about. As soon as you and he leave, the rest of those squatters will pack up and head out, too.”
Kelly said to me, “We all bought our land legally.”
I motioned with my head to Perry. “He owns the law around here, doesn’t he.”
She just nodded. “The deputy is pretty honest, but he’s in love with Gail Sanders. The sheriff was elected with Perry money.”
“That’s not true,” Perry said sharply.
Kelly looked at him and didn’t back down. “Yes, it is. And everybody knows it. At least you could be honest about that if nothing else.”
He sneered again. “Well, you’ll get to know him better in a few days when he comes and drives you off my land.” He said to me, “What are you going to do? I’ll still give you a job.”
“Mr. Perry, I like this area. It’s very pretty. And under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t mind staying here. If you’ll leave these people alone, I’d come to work for you, just punch cows. $30 a month, beans and board. But I’m not going to work for a man who’s going to do to people what somebody did to me.”
“I don’t need any more cowhands,” he said.
“You need a segundo, in case you hadn’t heard.”
“Yeah, I heard. That’s why I’m here. Nobody’s ever done that to Jake before.”
“He won’t be doing it to anybody else, either.”
Perry’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your name, mister?”
“Robert Constance.”
“Never heard of you.”
“Never heard of you, either, till this morning. I’ll make my offer again. I’ll come to work for you, on the condition you leave the Atkins and other people alone.”
He shook his head. “Not as long as they are on my land.”
I stood up. “We’re going in circles. There’s a lot of people who are going to be hurt, Perry, and you are the only one who can stop it. But I guess I’ve run into your type before.” I dropped some money on the table. “You folks have fun killing each other.” I walked out of the restaurant.
And I had every intention of riding out of that valley. The whole thing reminded me of what had happened to me, depressed me to no end, and was making me ill. All I wanted was to top the next rise and, hopefully, find some decent people for a change.
That wasn’t going to happen, though.
She stood there a moment. “Do you mind?” she asked, obviously wanting to know if I objected to her sitting down.
Usually I stood up when a lady came up to a table I was sitting at or came into a room or whatever. But I wasn’t convinced yet that this was a lady. So I didn’t stand. But I did say, “Go ahead,” and she did, across from me.
I looked at her. She was pretty. The raven hair, sea-green eyes, full red lips, pixy nose, nice chin, long neck… “You brushed your hair,” I said.
“Yes. Yes, I did,” she said. “I…hadn’t had much of a chance today.”
I just nodded. The waitress brought my milk. I downed the whole thing, and asked for another. “And bring me some fried chicken—white meat—mashed potatoes, and green beans. Cherry pie for dessert.” I looked at the girl across from me. “You want anything?”
She hesitated. “No, thank you.”
I glanced at the waitress. “Bring her the same thing I’m having. If she doesn’t want it, I’ll eat it.” The waitress nodded and left, the girl smiled.
“You have a nice smile,” I told her. “You ought to do it more often.”
“You ought to try it sometime, too.”
I grunted. “I’m not especially in a smiling mood today. I had somebody threaten to blow me in two with a shotgun, some wild Roman chariot driver almost ran me down with her wagon, and then some gorilla tried to pound me into dust. What is it with you people, anyway? Incidentally, my name is Robert Constance.”
“I’m Kelly Atkins,” she replied. “It’s…nice to meet you under different circumstances.”
I stared at her. “Maybe. Let’s start out by you telling me why you threatened me this morning but now you’re having lunch with me.”
She sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got a big meal coming. Maybe two.” And she smiled at that.
“I am hungry,” she said, “so I might end up eating yours if you don’t hurry.” Then she paused. “Ok, here’s the deal in a nutshell. Jim Perry owns the biggest ranch this side of the river. Gail Sanders owns everything on the other side of the river. Or wants to. There are a number of us smaller farmers and ranchers who have a little piece of land and we want to be left alone. Well, Perry is threatening to run us all off—on this side—and Gail Sanders is threatening on the other side. And then they are going to have a winner-take-all war. Of course, we small fry won’t care, because we’ll all either be dead or gone.”
“So you thought I might be a hired gun for Perry come to run you off your land. Or Sanders to run some people off the land over there.”
She nodded. “Something like that.”
“Do you own your land?”
“My pa and I have a note on it. We need to pay the bank $500 in two weeks or Kragan, the banker, is going to foreclose. That’s all we owe on our land. We’re trying to get him to wait till we can sell some cattle in the fall, but he won’t do it. He thinks if he can get the land he can sell it to Perry.” She grunted. “Perry will kill him.”
I made a face at that. “So you aren’t squatting on Perry’s land?”
“Perry doesn’t really own a thing. Or Gail Sanders. They came—or in Gail’s case, her father—before anybody else and put their cattle on open range. Never paid a dime for it, but they think they own it all anyway. Dad and I filed for our quarter section and we’ve got some good grass and water. We’ll make it if Kragan will let us.” She shook her head. “So we’ve got Perry breathing down our necks, and Kragan threatening to foreclose.” She gave me a wry smile. “I guess I was a little hasty this morning, and I’m sorry, but I’m a little on edge at the moment.”
I frowned. “All Perry has to do is wait for Kragan to foreclose. Buy the notes cheap. Or, more than likely, intimidate him into just giving him the land since he thinks it’s his anyway.”
“Yeah, that’s probably what he’ll do.”
Our food came, and we started eating. Kelly’s words had cut me deep, deep into my heart. Big yo-yo wants to run the little guy out so he can have the whole shebang. Where had I heard that before? I guess I’d never get away from things that reminded me of Julie.
After a few bites, I asked her, “Why did you come and talk to me? Just to apologize?”
“Well, that, but also to tell you that you are a town hero at the moment, but you also might not have very long to live.”
“Jake’s buddies?”
“No, they won’t mess with you. Gail Sanders.”
“Why?”
“She’s the one who almost ran you down this morning.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Soooo…she’s the lovely I said I was going to slap her teeth down her throat.”
Kelly smiled. “Yeah. Oh, I loved it when you said that, and believe me, everybody else in town did, too. And the way you handled Jake Barton. He is—was—segundo on Jim Perry’s ranch, bullied everybody, picked a fight with anybody he could, and nobody could lick him. Believe me, you made lots of friends when you whipped him and ran him out of town.”
“I thought maybe I was a little hard on him, breaking his hand and knee like that.”
Kelly shook her head. “Uh uh. He’s had that coming a long time, believe me.”
“I probably didn’t exactly make friends with Jim Perry, either.”
“Well, maybe not, but he has plenty of hired killers. And he may want to hire you, too.”
I started to say something, but then I saw the restaurant door open and Gail Sanders come in. She spied me immediately and came over. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, in a voice that didn’t sound like she was, “but may I sit down?”
I glanced at Kelly, who shrugged. So I made a motion for Gail to sit. Notice: I didn’t stand for her, either.
She wasn’t exactly ugly herself. Strawberry blonde, lush and wavy down past her shoulders, blue eyes, firm mouth and chin, skin that had been out in the sun, but that only enhanced her natural color and made her more beautiful. She was about the same height and build as Kelly. I could tell immediately that there was no love lost between the two.
“I guess this little tart has told you who I am,” Gail said. The “tart” being Kelly, of course.
I saw Kelly’s eyes blaze, but I smiled and winked at her. “Yes. You’re Gail Sanders, Roman chariot driver extraordinaire.”
She grunted at that. “Sorry about that. I get in a hurry sometimes.” Then, “I’ll come right to the point. I want to hire you. $100 a month.”
My eyebrows shot up. “For what?”
She gave me a “get serious” look. “I suppose you know how to use that gun as well as you do your fists.”
“Well, I do know which end of it the bullet comes out of.”
She nodded. “It won’t take long for what happened today to get around. I have some people squatting on my land across the river”—here she threw a glance at Kelly, though the Atkins weren’t on Gail’s side—“and they need some… encouragement…to leave. I’d rather it be done peacefully, but some of them need persuading.”
I was working on my cherry pie now. My milk glass was empty and I caught the waitresses eye and held it up for a refill. “I don’t know,” I said. “I think I’ll go talk to Jim Perry and see if he’ll offer me $150 a month.”
Gail didn’t seem to like that and Kelly’s eyes narrowed at me as well. She wasn’t quite sure whether I was serious or not. I actually hadn’t told her anything about myself, except my name, so as far as she knew, I was a gunslinger for hire.
“I don’t think he’ll pay that much.”
I shrugged. “I guess it depends on how highly he values my services. From what I hear, he’s got an opening now.” I took a swallow of milk to help the dry cherry pie go down.
“For a segundo, yes, but I doubt he pays that much for that position. Well, I’d like for you to come out to my ranch this afternoon, if you would. I want to show you around, see if I can talk you into helping me.”
I looked at her and wiped my lips with my napkin. “Where’s your ranch?”
She gave me directions. I nodded. “I’ll be out there later.”
She gave Kelly a smug look, and said, “Ok. I’ll be waiting,” and she got up and left.
Kelly had a disgusted expression on her face, and started to get up as well. “I wish I had shot you now,” she mumbled.
“Kelly, sit down,” I said. “I have absolutely no intention of helping either Gail Sanders or Jim Perry.”
She slowly slid back into her chair. “Then why did you tell her you’d go out to Clearwater this afternoon?” Clearwater, I assumed, was the name of the Sanders ranch.
“Well, maybe because you didn’t invite me out to your place.”
She gave me an annoyed look. “You’ll go to work for her if she pays you enough, won’t you.”
I sighed and finished my milk. “Kelly, I’m just drifting at the moment, and I have no desire to get into the middle of a range war. I…” I stopped. Somebody came into the restaurant and he looked important. Everybody was bowing down to him like he was king. I made a motion with my head. “Jim Perry, I presume.”
Kelly glanced quickly, then said, “Yeah.”
And, not too surprisingly, he came over to our table. He saw Kelly and grunted. “She doesn’t have enough money to hire you.” He sat down without asking.
He was a big man, probably mid-50s. Iron gray hair, thick, wavy. Sharp eyes that matched the color of his hair. Weather-beaten face that might once have been handsome, but now was showing the lines of age. He wasn’t quite able to control the paunch in his stomach, either, but he was obviously one tough hombre—and he was just as obviously used to getting his way.
I said, “Gail Sanders just offered me $100 a month. What will you pay?”
“150.”
I shot a glance at Kelly and tried to hide a smile. “Not bad.” Then I said to Kelly, “And how much will you pay?”
“I can’t afford to pay you anything.”
I looked at Perry. “Is she and her old man bothering you that much?”
“If I let her and the other squatters stay, they’ll take all my land within a year.”
“Why don’t you just buy what you have now so they can’t do it?”
“I got here first. It’s mine by right of prior possession.”
I paused for a few moments. “I had a man tell me that one time, Mr. Perry. He wanted every inch of a valley, and he didn’t need half of it. He just wanted it because he was greedy. I filed, bought, and paid for 160 acres in an out of the way corner of it, wasn’t bothering him in the least. Had a few cows, some horses, was doing ok. My wife was expecting our first child. I was gone to town one day and when I got back to the ranch, I had been burned out, and all my livestock killed. My wife was in the house when they burned it down. Her ashes indicated she had been raped and there was a bullet hole in her forehead.”
I saw Kelly wince. Perry just stared at me.
I didn’t say anything else, my mind was drifting back to Julie. My home…Julie… never see my home again…
Kelly was saying something. I looked at her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked what you did?”
“I’m sitting at this table right now.”
Perry sneered. “So you ran instead of fought. Not sure I’d want to hire you after all.”
I looked at him. “The fellow who did that to me, Mr. Perry, didn’t live much longer. Neither did five of his thugs who had a part in it. Unfortunately, he owned the law in that area.” I stopped for a moment “I buried my wife on my land. I’m not sure I could ever go back.”
“I’m so sorry,” Kelly said.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about your wife, too,” Perry said. “That was uncalled for.”
“What are you going to do if Kelly and her father refuse to leave their land? And the other settlers?”
“I’ve been trying to buy them out, but they won’t sell. They are on my land. What would you do?”
“I’d run them off, if I had a clear title to that land. You obviously realize you don’t have a legal leg to stand on or you wouldn’t be trying to buy them off. Why don’t you take that money and file legally on the land you’ve been using and that way you won’t have any more settler problems?”
“Why should I buy land that I’ve been using for 20 years, made improvements on, have worked and slaved over all this time? Now these tinhorns come around and want to take advantage of all the work I’ve put in. I’m not about to let them do it.”
“So if they don’t leave, you’re prepared to do what Wilson Brant did to my wife.”
“Well, not that, but I’ll do what’s necessary.”
Kelly said, “It will be necessary, Mr. Perry, because my dad and I aren’t leaving the land we bought. You’ll be guilty of murder, not that I figure that will bother you much.”
“You’re going to be leaving it, missy, because the bank is fixing to foreclose on you. I’ll get that land back easy enough. Your dad is really the only one I’m worried about. As soon as you and he leave, the rest of those squatters will pack up and head out, too.”
Kelly said to me, “We all bought our land legally.”
I motioned with my head to Perry. “He owns the law around here, doesn’t he.”
She just nodded. “The deputy is pretty honest, but he’s in love with Gail Sanders. The sheriff was elected with Perry money.”
“That’s not true,” Perry said sharply.
Kelly looked at him and didn’t back down. “Yes, it is. And everybody knows it. At least you could be honest about that if nothing else.”
He sneered again. “Well, you’ll get to know him better in a few days when he comes and drives you off my land.” He said to me, “What are you going to do? I’ll still give you a job.”
“Mr. Perry, I like this area. It’s very pretty. And under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t mind staying here. If you’ll leave these people alone, I’d come to work for you, just punch cows. $30 a month, beans and board. But I’m not going to work for a man who’s going to do to people what somebody did to me.”
“I don’t need any more cowhands,” he said.
“You need a segundo, in case you hadn’t heard.”
“Yeah, I heard. That’s why I’m here. Nobody’s ever done that to Jake before.”
“He won’t be doing it to anybody else, either.”
Perry’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your name, mister?”
“Robert Constance.”
“Never heard of you.”
“Never heard of you, either, till this morning. I’ll make my offer again. I’ll come to work for you, on the condition you leave the Atkins and other people alone.”
He shook his head. “Not as long as they are on my land.”
I stood up. “We’re going in circles. There’s a lot of people who are going to be hurt, Perry, and you are the only one who can stop it. But I guess I’ve run into your type before.” I dropped some money on the table. “You folks have fun killing each other.” I walked out of the restaurant.
And I had every intention of riding out of that valley. The whole thing reminded me of what had happened to me, depressed me to no end, and was making me ill. All I wanted was to top the next rise and, hopefully, find some decent people for a change.
That wasn’t going to happen, though.
Chapter Four—The Good Samaritan
The general store was next door. I was going to get some supplies and then head out of town. I wasn’t going to go to Gail Sanders’ place. I had no desire to see her, her ranch, or anything else in this valley. I went into the store and walked up to the counter.
“Help you, feller?” the clerk asked.
I gave him a piece of paper. “Yeah, fill this order, if you can.”
He read the paper. “No problem. Be just a few minutes.”
I nodded and started aimlessly walking around the store, inspecting stuff. I heard a voice behind me. “I’ve…got to buy a new gun. Would you help me pick it out?”
I looked. It was Kelly. I nodded. “What do you want?”
“A rifle, I think. The shotgun was good, but only for shooting birds. We can get better meat with a rifle.”
“You’re right, and I’ll bet there is plenty of game in these hills.” We walked over to where the guns were on display. I pointed. “That Winchester ’73 is what you want. Holds 15 shots, accurate, good range. I’ve got one myself and it’s never let me down.”
She looked around for the proprietor. He was still filling my order. “Dave, can I look at this Winchester when you get a minute?”
“Sure thing, Miss Atkins. Be right with you.”
Then she asked me softly, “You aren’t going to help us?”
I exhaled audibly. “It doesn’t sound like you and your pa are going to be here much longer anyway.”
I saw tears come to her eyes. “It was a perfect for us. A quarter section, a little mountain meadow. You didn’t see that. We’ve got some beef. We won’t get rich, but that doesn’t matter. It’s just perfect for us.” She dropped her head. “It will be all over in a couple of weeks because we don’t have $500 to pay off what we owe. Dad and I both have begged Kragan for some time, but Jim Perry owns him, too. There’s just nothing we can do.”
I didn’t know what to say, but Dave, the owner, came over right then. “Here’s your order, mister,” he said, and handed me a bag. I paid him, and then he took down the Winchester and handed it to Kelly. “Great gun, Miss Atkins. I’ve got a lot of shells for it, too.”
Kelly fiddled with the rifle for awhile. She handled it with ease, indicating a familiarity with firearms, something I already knew. “How good are you with a rifle?” I asked her.
“I’ll need some practice,” she said. She read the price tag. $25. She grimaced, then looked at me. “I really can’t take this, you know.”
“You’ve got to have it,” I said to her, “because you’ve got some killing to do.”
She gave me a puzzled look. I smiled, reached behind her, and gave her a sharp swat on the behind.
“Oh!” she said, surprised, bouncing a bit when my hand struck her. She gave me a dirty look but her eyes were laughing. “Yeah. I guess I do need this.” She looked at Dave. “How much are the shells?”
“Box o’ 50 for 50 cents.”
“Do you have 20 boxes?”
Dave made a face. “What are you planning on doing, startin’ a war?”
“I need to learn how to use this thing.”
He nodded. “’K.” He started pulling out the boxes and sticking them in a canvas sack. “$35,” he said.
Kelly gave him the money and said to me, “Thank you.”
“The least I could do for blowing your shotgun to bits.”
We walked out of the store and stood on the sidewalk. “Are you still going over to Gail Sanders’ today?”
“I don’t know.” She didn’t need to know my plans.
“You can…come up to our place if you want. I’d like for my pa to meet you.”
Some fellow came by just then and slapped me on the shoulder. “Mister, you did two things this mornin’ that this whole town has been wantin’ to do for a long time. I’d like to shake your hand.” He stuck his paw out. I smiled wryly and shook it.
“Sometimes all you can do with a snake is stomp it,” I replied. “And I should have slapped the woman. She needed it.”
“We’d be burnin’ you a medal right now if you had,” and he walked away.
I looked back at Kelly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Kelly. This place reminds me too much of what I went through.”
“We need your help, Robert.”
“I’m not a gun for hire, Kelly.”
She dropped her head again. “I’m sorry. I’m just desperate.” And with tears in her eyes, she turned and ran away.
I stood there with my hands on my hips, watching her run off, feeling like a first class jerk, for some reason. I sighed and shook my head. Another man, an older fellow who hadn’t shaved in a week and had maybe three yellow teeth left in his head, spoke to me. “Fred Atkins an’ that girl are right good folks. All them settlers up in them hills is. The kind o’ folks we need here, not the Jim Perrys and Gail Sanders. If’n we could divide up that valley, there’d be enough land for 100 families and this town’d boom.” He shook his head. “But Perry and Sanders won’t let go. Wish you’d go drill both of ‘em.”
“I don’t fancy a rope, fella.”
“We’d elect you mayor for life, mister.” And he limped off.
I watched him a moment, then walked away. I had one more thing I wanted to do before I left town. I saw the bank across the street and headed that way.
I went inside and went up to the teller. “I’d like to see Mr. Kragan, please.”
“May I tell him who is calling on him, sir?”
“My name is Robert Constance. He doesn’t know me.”
“Just a moment.” He was gone for about a minute, then came back and said, “Mr. Kragan will see you now.”
I walked into Kragan’s office and immediately disliked the fellow. Fat, greasy, wisps of gray hair that he combed back over a balding red skull, bushy gray eyebrows. And did I say fat? His jowls had jowls. He was also smoking the most obnoxious smelling cigar that had ever assaulted my nose.
He didn’t even bother to stand up, but he did hold out his hand. “Mr. Constant,” he said.
I shook his hand, and immediately wanted to wipe mine on my pants. “Constance,” I said and sat down. I went right to business. “I understand that Fred Atkins owes you $500 for the rest of his land.”
His narrow beady eyes got narrower. “I think that’s privileged information, Mr. Constance.”
“His daughter told me, so she must not think it is.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wad of money. I still had a little over $800 left. I counted out $500 and put it on his desk. “That will pay off what they owe. I want the notarized title to their land, please.”
Kragan didn’t pick up the money. He didn’t want it. “Who are you, mister? Did Fred Atkins authorize you to do this?”
“I’m the Good Samaritan, Mr. Kragan, and it doesn’t matter if Atkins did or not. I can do what I want to with my money and I want to pay off the Atkins’ note. And you have no legal means to stop me. Don’t you want the money?”
“Well, yes, but this is pretty peculiar. Why are you doing this?”
“My reasons are my own, and have nothing to do with this transaction. I want the loan note and the notarized title.”
Kragan clearly was not pleased, but he had no recourse. “Just a moment,” he said.
He waddled out and waddled back in a few minutes later. He took the $500, counted it twice, then handed me the loan note. I immediately took it, lit a match, and set fire to it. It burned down to nothing. I looked at Kragan and smiled. “That’s that. Now the title.”
“I’ll need to get it notarized.”
“I’ll wait.”
“I can’t do it until tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll wait right here until tomorrow. So why don’t you just go do it right now, unless you want me sleeping in your office tonight.”
Kragan was actually a notary—that didn’t surprise me—so, mumbling, he stamped the title, signed it, and then gave me a receipt for $500. I read it, then said, “Please make a note on the receipt what it is for.”
Kragan was disgusted, scratched something on the receipt and gave it back to me. I read it, was satisfied, picked up the title, and said, “Nice doing business with you, Mr. Kragan.”
“Mister, whoever you are, you might be better off getting out of town.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Why, Mr. Kragan. I might could construe that as a threat. You should be happy that a man and his daughter now own outright their land and home. Kelly tells me she loves it there.”
“Jim Perry might not be so happy.”
I smiled at him. “But you can handle Mr. Perry, can’t you, Mr. Kragan.”
It was pretty clear that he didn’t think he could.
“Good day, sir,” is all he said. I left the bank and went to the post office. “Do you have an envelope?” I asked the clerk.
He gave me one. I wrote “Fred and Kelly Atkins” on it, stuck the title inside, sealed it, and said, “Could you special deliver this to Fred Atkins?”
He nodded. “Got a boy I can send. Cost a dime, though.”
I gave him one. “And here’s a nickel for the boy.”
“Sure thing,” he said. “I’ll get him on it right away.”
“Thanks.”
I left the post office. Stopped and thought for a minute. Took a couple more thanks for running Jake Barton out of town and putting Gail Sanders in her place, then decided there wasn’t anything else I could do, so I went and got Ol’ Paint, mounted, and headed out of town.
Do I want to go see Gail Sanders? I think I’d rather see Kelly Atkins.
I sighed. No, I’d rather see Robin Morrow…
Let’s go back a few weeks, and end a thread or two. Colonel Benjamin Ratliff returned to Fort Tyler after the battle outside Whitewater, weary, and with an even wearier contingent of troops. The dead and wounded counted more than 400; the number on the Indian side was at least twice as great. Who had won the battle? It was hard to really say. It just…ended when the Indians went home. They had obtained what they desired—the cessation of mining activity. So I guess they won, Colonel Ratliff thought. But my troops fought bravely. Indeed they had, and he had much reason to be proud of them.
Most of the U.S. soldiers had camped outside Ft. Tyler before the battle and they would do so again, until ready to return to their own regiments. Colonel Ratliff’s men, those who remained healthy—a figure barely over 100—resumed their normal posts and duties. And had a big surprise waiting for them upon their homecoming.
“Where did all these women—,” Ratliff started to say, then remembered the 24 who had been kidnapped by the Nipita.
A Sergeant Hildebrand saluted. “They arrived very early yesterday morning, sir. It seems that some man went to the Indian camp and was able to obtain their release.”
Ratliff nodded. He had little doubt who that “some man” was. He spoke to one of the women, Rita Carver as it happened. “Robert Constance, I presume.”
She nodded. “There was no trouble. I think the Nipita were ready to release us anyway. Mr. Constance asked them for 24 horses, and they gave them to us.”
Ratliff responded, “Well, we’re all glad you’re safe. Please give my men a day or two to rest and we will escort you home.”
“Thank you, Colonel, but please don’t delay too long. As you can imagine, we are all very anxious to return to our homes.”
“Father!” Benjamin Ratliff looked and his lovely daughter Julie came running towards him. She grasped him tightly and he held her the same way. “Oh, Father! I was so worried. I prayed so hard that you would return. Are you all right?”
“Yes, child, I’m fine. I’m glad you are safe.” He held her away from him and looked down at her, smiling. “As beautiful as ever.”
She blushed. “Thank you, Father.”
“Did your Mr. Constance stop and see you when he brought these 24 lovelies to the fort?”
Julie dropped her head. “No. No, he didn’t, but…that was just as well. He was headed north and I…couldn’t go with him. And he couldn’t stay.”
“Why not?” Ratliff had a secret hope that maybe Julie would marry Constance and remain in the area.
Julie looked up at her father. “Don’t you know who he was…is…Father?”
Ratliff was perplexed. “Well, Robert Constance. One of the best scouts I’ve ever seen and a good man to boot.”
Julie smiled and shook her head. “Robert, yes. Constance, no.”
“Then who?”
“Robert Conners.”
The colonel’s expression went from perplexity to amazement. “Conners? The outlaw? But he’s dead.”
“Very much alive, Father.” Very much, Julie thought.
“But…how? What…?” Ratliff didn’t really know what to ask.
Julie told him what she knew. Conners never had explained why he was still alive when everyone thought he was dead. But then, he didn’t know himself. He knew nothing of the man who had posed as Rob Conners, robbed a stage, shot a woman, and was subsequently killed by a sheriff’s posse.
Julie’s father listened to the tale with interest and a bit of sadness. He shook his head. “I really liked that fellow and he was an ace of a scout. You don’t know where he went? I think, given his assistance to us in this matter, I could get him a governor’s pardon.”
“He just said…’north.’”
“Miss Carver,” Ratliff called for Rita who had walked away. She came over. “Did Mr. Conn…Constance tell you where he was going?”
She shook her head. “North was all he said.”
“Thank you.” Then he looked at his daughter. “He will be in my report. And I will explain the circumstances and ask for a full pardon for him. He’s not an outlaw and should be allowed to go back to his home. And by thunder, he’ll do it, if I can ever find him.”
Julie smiled. “Good luck finding him, Father.”
Ratliff grunted. “Yes. I think that’s going to be the catch….”
“Help you, feller?” the clerk asked.
I gave him a piece of paper. “Yeah, fill this order, if you can.”
He read the paper. “No problem. Be just a few minutes.”
I nodded and started aimlessly walking around the store, inspecting stuff. I heard a voice behind me. “I’ve…got to buy a new gun. Would you help me pick it out?”
I looked. It was Kelly. I nodded. “What do you want?”
“A rifle, I think. The shotgun was good, but only for shooting birds. We can get better meat with a rifle.”
“You’re right, and I’ll bet there is plenty of game in these hills.” We walked over to where the guns were on display. I pointed. “That Winchester ’73 is what you want. Holds 15 shots, accurate, good range. I’ve got one myself and it’s never let me down.”
She looked around for the proprietor. He was still filling my order. “Dave, can I look at this Winchester when you get a minute?”
“Sure thing, Miss Atkins. Be right with you.”
Then she asked me softly, “You aren’t going to help us?”
I exhaled audibly. “It doesn’t sound like you and your pa are going to be here much longer anyway.”
I saw tears come to her eyes. “It was a perfect for us. A quarter section, a little mountain meadow. You didn’t see that. We’ve got some beef. We won’t get rich, but that doesn’t matter. It’s just perfect for us.” She dropped her head. “It will be all over in a couple of weeks because we don’t have $500 to pay off what we owe. Dad and I both have begged Kragan for some time, but Jim Perry owns him, too. There’s just nothing we can do.”
I didn’t know what to say, but Dave, the owner, came over right then. “Here’s your order, mister,” he said, and handed me a bag. I paid him, and then he took down the Winchester and handed it to Kelly. “Great gun, Miss Atkins. I’ve got a lot of shells for it, too.”
Kelly fiddled with the rifle for awhile. She handled it with ease, indicating a familiarity with firearms, something I already knew. “How good are you with a rifle?” I asked her.
“I’ll need some practice,” she said. She read the price tag. $25. She grimaced, then looked at me. “I really can’t take this, you know.”
“You’ve got to have it,” I said to her, “because you’ve got some killing to do.”
She gave me a puzzled look. I smiled, reached behind her, and gave her a sharp swat on the behind.
“Oh!” she said, surprised, bouncing a bit when my hand struck her. She gave me a dirty look but her eyes were laughing. “Yeah. I guess I do need this.” She looked at Dave. “How much are the shells?”
“Box o’ 50 for 50 cents.”
“Do you have 20 boxes?”
Dave made a face. “What are you planning on doing, startin’ a war?”
“I need to learn how to use this thing.”
He nodded. “’K.” He started pulling out the boxes and sticking them in a canvas sack. “$35,” he said.
Kelly gave him the money and said to me, “Thank you.”
“The least I could do for blowing your shotgun to bits.”
We walked out of the store and stood on the sidewalk. “Are you still going over to Gail Sanders’ today?”
“I don’t know.” She didn’t need to know my plans.
“You can…come up to our place if you want. I’d like for my pa to meet you.”
Some fellow came by just then and slapped me on the shoulder. “Mister, you did two things this mornin’ that this whole town has been wantin’ to do for a long time. I’d like to shake your hand.” He stuck his paw out. I smiled wryly and shook it.
“Sometimes all you can do with a snake is stomp it,” I replied. “And I should have slapped the woman. She needed it.”
“We’d be burnin’ you a medal right now if you had,” and he walked away.
I looked back at Kelly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Kelly. This place reminds me too much of what I went through.”
“We need your help, Robert.”
“I’m not a gun for hire, Kelly.”
She dropped her head again. “I’m sorry. I’m just desperate.” And with tears in her eyes, she turned and ran away.
I stood there with my hands on my hips, watching her run off, feeling like a first class jerk, for some reason. I sighed and shook my head. Another man, an older fellow who hadn’t shaved in a week and had maybe three yellow teeth left in his head, spoke to me. “Fred Atkins an’ that girl are right good folks. All them settlers up in them hills is. The kind o’ folks we need here, not the Jim Perrys and Gail Sanders. If’n we could divide up that valley, there’d be enough land for 100 families and this town’d boom.” He shook his head. “But Perry and Sanders won’t let go. Wish you’d go drill both of ‘em.”
“I don’t fancy a rope, fella.”
“We’d elect you mayor for life, mister.” And he limped off.
I watched him a moment, then walked away. I had one more thing I wanted to do before I left town. I saw the bank across the street and headed that way.
I went inside and went up to the teller. “I’d like to see Mr. Kragan, please.”
“May I tell him who is calling on him, sir?”
“My name is Robert Constance. He doesn’t know me.”
“Just a moment.” He was gone for about a minute, then came back and said, “Mr. Kragan will see you now.”
I walked into Kragan’s office and immediately disliked the fellow. Fat, greasy, wisps of gray hair that he combed back over a balding red skull, bushy gray eyebrows. And did I say fat? His jowls had jowls. He was also smoking the most obnoxious smelling cigar that had ever assaulted my nose.
He didn’t even bother to stand up, but he did hold out his hand. “Mr. Constant,” he said.
I shook his hand, and immediately wanted to wipe mine on my pants. “Constance,” I said and sat down. I went right to business. “I understand that Fred Atkins owes you $500 for the rest of his land.”
His narrow beady eyes got narrower. “I think that’s privileged information, Mr. Constance.”
“His daughter told me, so she must not think it is.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wad of money. I still had a little over $800 left. I counted out $500 and put it on his desk. “That will pay off what they owe. I want the notarized title to their land, please.”
Kragan didn’t pick up the money. He didn’t want it. “Who are you, mister? Did Fred Atkins authorize you to do this?”
“I’m the Good Samaritan, Mr. Kragan, and it doesn’t matter if Atkins did or not. I can do what I want to with my money and I want to pay off the Atkins’ note. And you have no legal means to stop me. Don’t you want the money?”
“Well, yes, but this is pretty peculiar. Why are you doing this?”
“My reasons are my own, and have nothing to do with this transaction. I want the loan note and the notarized title.”
Kragan clearly was not pleased, but he had no recourse. “Just a moment,” he said.
He waddled out and waddled back in a few minutes later. He took the $500, counted it twice, then handed me the loan note. I immediately took it, lit a match, and set fire to it. It burned down to nothing. I looked at Kragan and smiled. “That’s that. Now the title.”
“I’ll need to get it notarized.”
“I’ll wait.”
“I can’t do it until tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll wait right here until tomorrow. So why don’t you just go do it right now, unless you want me sleeping in your office tonight.”
Kragan was actually a notary—that didn’t surprise me—so, mumbling, he stamped the title, signed it, and then gave me a receipt for $500. I read it, then said, “Please make a note on the receipt what it is for.”
Kragan was disgusted, scratched something on the receipt and gave it back to me. I read it, was satisfied, picked up the title, and said, “Nice doing business with you, Mr. Kragan.”
“Mister, whoever you are, you might be better off getting out of town.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Why, Mr. Kragan. I might could construe that as a threat. You should be happy that a man and his daughter now own outright their land and home. Kelly tells me she loves it there.”
“Jim Perry might not be so happy.”
I smiled at him. “But you can handle Mr. Perry, can’t you, Mr. Kragan.”
It was pretty clear that he didn’t think he could.
“Good day, sir,” is all he said. I left the bank and went to the post office. “Do you have an envelope?” I asked the clerk.
He gave me one. I wrote “Fred and Kelly Atkins” on it, stuck the title inside, sealed it, and said, “Could you special deliver this to Fred Atkins?”
He nodded. “Got a boy I can send. Cost a dime, though.”
I gave him one. “And here’s a nickel for the boy.”
“Sure thing,” he said. “I’ll get him on it right away.”
“Thanks.”
I left the post office. Stopped and thought for a minute. Took a couple more thanks for running Jake Barton out of town and putting Gail Sanders in her place, then decided there wasn’t anything else I could do, so I went and got Ol’ Paint, mounted, and headed out of town.
Do I want to go see Gail Sanders? I think I’d rather see Kelly Atkins.
I sighed. No, I’d rather see Robin Morrow…
Let’s go back a few weeks, and end a thread or two. Colonel Benjamin Ratliff returned to Fort Tyler after the battle outside Whitewater, weary, and with an even wearier contingent of troops. The dead and wounded counted more than 400; the number on the Indian side was at least twice as great. Who had won the battle? It was hard to really say. It just…ended when the Indians went home. They had obtained what they desired—the cessation of mining activity. So I guess they won, Colonel Ratliff thought. But my troops fought bravely. Indeed they had, and he had much reason to be proud of them.
Most of the U.S. soldiers had camped outside Ft. Tyler before the battle and they would do so again, until ready to return to their own regiments. Colonel Ratliff’s men, those who remained healthy—a figure barely over 100—resumed their normal posts and duties. And had a big surprise waiting for them upon their homecoming.
“Where did all these women—,” Ratliff started to say, then remembered the 24 who had been kidnapped by the Nipita.
A Sergeant Hildebrand saluted. “They arrived very early yesterday morning, sir. It seems that some man went to the Indian camp and was able to obtain their release.”
Ratliff nodded. He had little doubt who that “some man” was. He spoke to one of the women, Rita Carver as it happened. “Robert Constance, I presume.”
She nodded. “There was no trouble. I think the Nipita were ready to release us anyway. Mr. Constance asked them for 24 horses, and they gave them to us.”
Ratliff responded, “Well, we’re all glad you’re safe. Please give my men a day or two to rest and we will escort you home.”
“Thank you, Colonel, but please don’t delay too long. As you can imagine, we are all very anxious to return to our homes.”
“Father!” Benjamin Ratliff looked and his lovely daughter Julie came running towards him. She grasped him tightly and he held her the same way. “Oh, Father! I was so worried. I prayed so hard that you would return. Are you all right?”
“Yes, child, I’m fine. I’m glad you are safe.” He held her away from him and looked down at her, smiling. “As beautiful as ever.”
She blushed. “Thank you, Father.”
“Did your Mr. Constance stop and see you when he brought these 24 lovelies to the fort?”
Julie dropped her head. “No. No, he didn’t, but…that was just as well. He was headed north and I…couldn’t go with him. And he couldn’t stay.”
“Why not?” Ratliff had a secret hope that maybe Julie would marry Constance and remain in the area.
Julie looked up at her father. “Don’t you know who he was…is…Father?”
Ratliff was perplexed. “Well, Robert Constance. One of the best scouts I’ve ever seen and a good man to boot.”
Julie smiled and shook her head. “Robert, yes. Constance, no.”
“Then who?”
“Robert Conners.”
The colonel’s expression went from perplexity to amazement. “Conners? The outlaw? But he’s dead.”
“Very much alive, Father.” Very much, Julie thought.
“But…how? What…?” Ratliff didn’t really know what to ask.
Julie told him what she knew. Conners never had explained why he was still alive when everyone thought he was dead. But then, he didn’t know himself. He knew nothing of the man who had posed as Rob Conners, robbed a stage, shot a woman, and was subsequently killed by a sheriff’s posse.
Julie’s father listened to the tale with interest and a bit of sadness. He shook his head. “I really liked that fellow and he was an ace of a scout. You don’t know where he went? I think, given his assistance to us in this matter, I could get him a governor’s pardon.”
“He just said…’north.’”
“Miss Carver,” Ratliff called for Rita who had walked away. She came over. “Did Mr. Conn…Constance tell you where he was going?”
She shook her head. “North was all he said.”
“Thank you.” Then he looked at his daughter. “He will be in my report. And I will explain the circumstances and ask for a full pardon for him. He’s not an outlaw and should be allowed to go back to his home. And by thunder, he’ll do it, if I can ever find him.”
Julie smiled. “Good luck finding him, Father.”
Ratliff grunted. “Yes. I think that’s going to be the catch….”
Chapter Five—Homer Kragan’s Redemption
I arrived at Gail Sanders’ ranch house a little before 5 PM. I wasn’t quite sure why I decided to go. I just…wasn’t sure. But I went. I had no idea what to expect. When I rode up, I saw a fellow with a big, black, bushy mustache standing near the porch, like he was on guard or something.
“Constance,” I said. “I’m here to see Miss Sanders.”
He jerked a thumb. “In the house.”
I opened the front door and went inside. It was a nice home, but simple. Built more for a man, which meant Gail’s father had obviously designed it. There was a small entranceway that opened into a big living area. Plush leather seating—dark brown sofa, love seat, and two chairs, with a bear rug in front of a well-used fireplace. Various western paintings on the wall, a couple of coffee tables and end tables judiciously situated, and two doors leading deeper into the house. A hallway led off to the left. I couldn’t see where, it was at the back of the room.
I heard some noise in the room off to the right, like pans rattling. “Knock, knock,” I said, loud enough, hopefully, for somebody to hear.
In a moment, Gail came from that room, wearing an apron over a housedress, brushing a stray strand of hair off her forehead. “Oh. Robert. I didn’t hear you come in. I was just fixing something to eat. It will be ready in a few minutes. Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?”
“Uh, well, yes, that would be nice,” I said, a little nonplussed at her attitude. From the way she was acting, we were long time friends and you’d never know she almost ran over me this morning and I just about bit her head off for it.
But I sat down on the couch and a few moments later she came in with a tray of coffee, milk, and sugar. I preferred milk and sugar when I could get it, so I poured generous amounts of both into my coffee cup.
“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” she asked me, sitting down on the edge of the love seat for a moment.
I shook my head. “Nope. Right where you said it was.”
“Frankly, I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Frankly, I wasn’t, either.”
“Well, I’m glad you did.”
“Thank you for inviting me.” Yack, banter, tiptoe.
“I’ve got some supper on,” she said. “I hope you’re hungry.”
I scratched my head. “Well, to be honest, I had a pretty big lunch.” I smiled at her. “But I’ll find some room.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “You don’t have to eat anything if you don’t want to.”
“Well, I want to eat sometime, so now is as good a time as any.”
The meal was excellent. It was simple, but to me, that’s the best kind. Steak, fried potatoes, corn, green beans, homemade bread, cold milk—“I knew you liked milk”—and cherry pie—“I knew you liked cherry pie, too.” She was a wonderful cook and I told her so.
“Thank you,” and she seemed genuinely pleased.
I was having trouble digesting all of this—and I didn’t mean the food. Of course, I had gotten some no doubt biased information from Kelly about Gail Sanders, but Gail’s nearly running me over had played a part in influencing my judgment as well. She seemed different this evening.
When we finished, she said, “Let me clear away the table and put the dishes in the tub. You go back to the living room and drink your coffee.”
“Here, let me help you,” I said. I always helped Julie, not only because I wanted to, but because I just wanted to be with her as much as possible. We always had such a good time together.
“No, you shoo, I don’t need your help. You’re a man, you’ll probably drop and break something.” She smiled at me.
I made a face and shrugged and went into the living room. I sat on the couch again, drumming my fingers, waiting, wondering. In a couple of minutes, she came in. “Hang on,” she said, “I’d like to get out of this dress.”
I nodded.
She was gone 15 minutes. Julie never took that long to change a dress, but everybody is different, I suppose. When she came back in, I realized why it had taken her so long.
She was wearing a lovely royal blue dress, long-sleeved, with frills at the wrists and neck. The dress went down to her ankles, and she had a matching pair of shoes. The dress wasn’t form-fitted, but a belt around her waist helped accentuate the nice features of her slender frame. She had also worked on her hair some, and I could smell some perfume from where I was sitting. She was certainly a lovely woman, but my guard went immediately up. Why the big show?
“Would you like some more coffee or pie?” she asked me.
“Not at the moment, thank you. I must say, you look lovely.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
She sat down on the other end of the couch. I asked her how she came about having such a beautiful and large ranch.
“From my father. I’m an only child, and he, mom, and I moved out here when I was about three or four. He and mom worked hard, built up the ranch, made it into the nicest one this side of the river. He taught me well and I don’t want to give any of it up.”
“When did he die?”
“About a year ago. Mom had passed on about six months before.” She paused. “I’m having the same problem Jim Perry is having on the other side of the Clearwater.” That was the name of the river, as well as her ranch. “Small time farmers and ranchers moving in, taking slices of my land. Robert, if I let them keep doing it, I won’t have anything left.”
“Why don’t you file on what you have?”
“I can, but it would cost a lot of money I don’t have right now.”
“Gail, you’re going to lose it eventually if you don’t file and pay for it. Kragan will loan you the money, you know that. You just aren’t going to be able to keep these people out forever. There are too many of them, and the law is on their side, and they are going to keep coming. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
Her lips tightened. “I can protect what my dad worked for. And I’m going to, one way or another. Will you help me?” She moved closer to me. “I mean, what would it cost me? Name your price.”
I looked at her. I wasn’t sure if she was proposing to me or propositioning me. I didn’t like either option. “Let me tell you a little bit about myself, Gail.” I told her the story about Julie, our ranch, Wilson Brant, the whole nine yards. And then I said, “Can you understand how I might not be terribly sympathetic to you and Jim Perry? I don’t want you to lose what your father worked for, and I realize that you wouldn’t want to, either. That’s perfectly understandable. But this isn’t the old days, Gail. You just can’t do it that way any more.”
“So you won’t help me?”
I moved over and sat close to her. We looked at each other in the eyes. I leaned over and kissed her and held it for several seconds. She sighed softly then slowly opened her eyes. “We could do it, Robert. You and I, we could do it. We could build the largest ranch in the whole territory.”
I pulled away from her. “Who would own it, Gail?”
She looked at me and blinked. “Well, it’s mine. You understand that, don’t you?”
I sat back, an annoyed expression on my face. “Do I get to be a hired hand, or do I get to be Mr. Gail Sanders?”
I stood up. She just watched me. “Gail, please do the right thing.”
“I’m going to protect my land, Robert.”
“You can do both, you know.”
“If I show the slightest bit of weakness, Jim Perry will run roughshod over me. He’ll take it all.”
“Gail, he can’t take what’s yours if it’s yours legally.” I looked at her. “I’ll help you fight Perry. But I won't help you take land that no longer legally belongs to you.”
She looked down at her hands. “I want it all, Robert. I want what my father built.” She fixed her eyes on me pleadingly. “Can’t you understand that? I can’t just let other people come in and take it.”
Like I let Martin Brant have my land…well, did I have any choice? But I was getting more than a little annoyed. “Ok. You hire me. I go in, run off all the riffraff that’s settled on your land—or land you think is yours just because your family has been squatting on it for years. So I run them off. Then what? They aren’t going to stop coming, Gail, they just aren’t, and you can’t run them off indefinitely.”
She had a very stubborn expression on her face.
I shook my head. “I give up.” I looked at her, my face hard. “You wanted me to help you keep your land. I’m trying. It’s the only way you’ll be able to keep what you’ve got for the rest of your life.” My tone got very hard. “Eventually somebody is going to come in and file on all your land and you are going to have a whale of a fight keeping any of it.”
“Are you going to tell Jim Perry the same thing?”
I looked away for a moment. “No. I’d have to shoot Jim Perry.” I looked back at her. “But I don’t want to shoot you.”
“Oh, well, thank you. That’s so nice of you.” The sarcasm was as evident in her tone as it was in her words.
I picked up my hat. “You’re on your own, Gail. Thanks for supper.” I turned to leave.
But I heard her say, in a soft voice, “You’re different, Robert, and we could have it all. Together. We could have it all.”
I didn’t turn around. “I don’t want it that way, Gail. I’m just not made like that.” And I walked out of the house.
I rode back to River Bend, thoughtful. There has to be a way…
The next morning proved interesting in River Bend; in fact, the whole day was.
Jim Perry was about to blow a gasket. “He did what?”
He was in the office of the banker Homer Kragan, who was sweating, and not necessarily because he was fat or hot. “I’m sorry, Mr. Perry. But there was nothing I could do. Constance came in, paid the rest of Atkins’ note, and that was that. He took the title, a receipt—it was all perfectly legal and I had no legal way to stop him.”
Perry was pacing back and forth. He stopped and glared at Kragan. “Surely there was something you could have done…oh, never mind. It’s done.” He resumed pacing. “Who is that guy? He rides in here and in less than 24 hours, he’s disrupted everything.” That was a bit of an exaggeration, but I had spoiled Perry’s plan somewhat. In less than two weeks, Kragan would have been able to foreclose on Fred Atkins’ land and had them evicted from the property. Perry would have bought up the outstanding notes and owned the land—land he thought was his in the first place. Since Atkins was the de facto leader of the squatters—the only one who would really fight—Perry would be able to easily intimidate the rest of them to leave. A couple of burned houses, a few dead cattle—it wouldn’t take much. But Atkins might be able to put enough backbone in the rest to fight. Jim Perry wasn’t above fighting, of course, but it could be costly. The sheriff would be no problem, but the deputy, Clint Bailor, could raise a stink. And if that gunslinger Constance stays around…
“There’s only one thing to do,” he told Kragan. “I’m going to have to hit Atkins with everything I’ve got. In the morning. Burn him out. Destroy everything he’s got. He won’t have the money to rebuild and restock. He’ll have to leave. And then, I’ll do the same, if necessary, to another squatter or two and the rest will get the hint and leave, too.”
“That’s playing kinda rough, Mr. Perry.”
“They are on my land, I have the right to do what’s necessary to protect my property if they are trespassing. I’ve given them warnings, and I’ve given them plenty of time to leave. They won’t do it, so now they pay the price.”
Kragan wouldn’t—couldn’t because he didn’t have the strength of character—argue with Jim Perry. He knew those settlers had a legal right to the land they were on, but he wasn’t about to tell the rancher that. So all he said was, “I guess that’s all that’s left.”
Perry wasn’t listening. He was thinking out loud. “I’ll have to get my boys together today, send ‘em in the crack of dawn tomorrow. I especially want that drifter, Constance. He’s been pushing his weight around ever since he got here and he’s about to ruin the whole thing.” He looked at Kragan. “Once the land is mine again, I may need to restock some of it, so you’ll need to give me a low-interest loan. I’ll pay you back some day.” He wouldn’t and Kragan knew it, but the banker said nothing. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Perry told him, and left the room.
Homer Kragan watched the big rancher leave, a mixed feeling of anger and relief coming over him. Kragan wasn’t really a bad banker; he was just intimidated by Jim Perry and Gail Sanders, like everybody else in town was. He hated himself that he couldn’t stand up to either one, especially Perry. He sat there thinking. Well, maybe there’s a way…
He rose from his chair and left the bank as quickly as his short, fat legs would allow. He looked both ways when he got outside, and didn’t see Jim Perry. He went across the street to the hotel, hoping he wouldn’t be too late.
He walked up to the clerk and said, “Is Mr. Constance still here?”
“In the restaurant.”
Kragan nodded and went into the hotel’s dining room. He saw me sitting alone, eating breakfast. He came over to me. I looked up at him, scrutinizing him up and down. Man, he’s ugly…
“May I talk to you for a few minutes, Mr. Constance?” Kragan asked, more than a little intimidated by a man he thought was a gunslinger.
I responded, “Sure, sit down.”
“Thank you,” and Kragan sat opposite me and heaved a huge sigh. “Coffee,” he said when the waitress came up. He turned his attention to me. “I’m glad you’re still in town. I was hoping to catch you.”
I shrugged. “Everybody has to be somewhere. What can I do for you?”
“Did you get the title of Mr. Atkins’ land to him yesterday?”
“I had the postmaster deliver it. I’m assuming he got it.”
Kragan nodded. “Mr. Constance, I think you should know—or perhaps better, Mr. Atkins should know—that Jim Perry is getting his men together and they are going to attack the FR Ranch tomorrow.” “FR” was the name Atkins had given to his ranch. “At sunup. I…imagine that Mr. Atkins would probably appreciate having that information. Once he destroys Atkins, Perry believes that all opposition to him from the other ranchers will die and they will simply leave the valley.”
My eyes narrowed. “Yes, that is information that Fred Atkins would probably like to have.”
“Will you see to it that he gets it?”
I nodded. “Actually, I was planning on heading out there right after breakfast.”
“I think we would all appreciate it if you would stay and help…bring some peace and stability to our valley.”
I sat back, a little bamboozled. “Why are you telling me this, Mr. Kragan? No offense, but the scuttlebutt I heard is that you are pretty much in the pocket of Jim Perry.”
Kragan accepted his coffee, and took a sip. Without looking at me, he said, “That is why I am telling you, Mr. Constance. Jim Perry has dominated this valley for long enough. If there was some way we could break up his land—and that of Gail Sanders—hundreds of settlers could move into this valley. This town would boom. But Perry and the Sanders have had a stranglehold here and, quite frankly, have everyone, including me, thoroughly cowed and intimidated. I hate to admit that, of course, but it’s the truth. Perhaps you…can find some way to stop him. Them.”
“I don’t know how, Mr. Kragan, and it’s not my fight, but I will certainly warn Fred Atkins and the valley ranchers. Stopping Jim Perry and Gail Sanders is not going to be easy.”
“Well, if you can simply thwart the raid tomorrow, that will help. But do be warned as well—Perry wants you out of the way, too. After what you did yesterday—not just the Atkins’ payment, but the way you handled Jake Barton and Gail Sanders—I think he definitely perceives you as a threat.” He paused. “And a lot of people in this town perceive you as a hope.”
I grunted. “If you people want a savior, turn to Jesus.”
Kragan said delicately, “While our Lord may have certain qualities and abilities that we all need, I’m not sure He will be immediately available to assist us in this cause.”
I grunted again. “Meaning He doesn’t carry a six-gun on his hip.”
Kragan smiled and spread his hands expansively.
“Is there anything else, Mr. Kragan?”
“No, I suppose not.” He hesitated, “Mr. Constance, we didn’t get off on a very good footing yesterday and I will accept the blame for that. But I hope you will accept the information I have provided in good faith. I don’t want to see anyone hurt and it would be nice if, in some way, Jim Perry could be taken down a notch.”
And Kragan’s bank would make a killing if the Clearwater Valley became loaded with settlers. But I didn’t begrudge a man a profit—as long as it was honest. “I’ll warn Fred Atkins,” I said to him, standing up. “Beyond that, I make no promises.”
He stood up as well. “I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”
I nodded. “It’s very good of you to warn the ranchers, Mr. Kragan. I hope it all works out for the best.”
“Thank you.”
Then I looked at him closely. “But I’ll tell you something else. If you’re lying to me about the raid tomorrow, I’ll come back here and kill you. Do you understand?”
He swallowed. “I’m telling you the truth. I promise.”
I nodded. I believed him. “Ok. This is between you and me, got it?”
He tried to smile. “Mum’s the word.”
I didn’t wait for him to waddle along beside me. I left the restaurant, went up to my room and got my gear, and headed to the stable to get Ol’ Paint. I had read Homer Kragan wrong and I was glad I had. But the main thing on my mind was Jim Perry. And Fred and Kelly Atkins. And all the valley ranchers. The latter were good people who stood to lose everything because of a greedy, power hungry mobster.
Been there, done that…I’m not going to run this time…And I gave myself a wry grin. And it’s not even my fight…
“Constance,” I said. “I’m here to see Miss Sanders.”
He jerked a thumb. “In the house.”
I opened the front door and went inside. It was a nice home, but simple. Built more for a man, which meant Gail’s father had obviously designed it. There was a small entranceway that opened into a big living area. Plush leather seating—dark brown sofa, love seat, and two chairs, with a bear rug in front of a well-used fireplace. Various western paintings on the wall, a couple of coffee tables and end tables judiciously situated, and two doors leading deeper into the house. A hallway led off to the left. I couldn’t see where, it was at the back of the room.
I heard some noise in the room off to the right, like pans rattling. “Knock, knock,” I said, loud enough, hopefully, for somebody to hear.
In a moment, Gail came from that room, wearing an apron over a housedress, brushing a stray strand of hair off her forehead. “Oh. Robert. I didn’t hear you come in. I was just fixing something to eat. It will be ready in a few minutes. Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?”
“Uh, well, yes, that would be nice,” I said, a little nonplussed at her attitude. From the way she was acting, we were long time friends and you’d never know she almost ran over me this morning and I just about bit her head off for it.
But I sat down on the couch and a few moments later she came in with a tray of coffee, milk, and sugar. I preferred milk and sugar when I could get it, so I poured generous amounts of both into my coffee cup.
“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” she asked me, sitting down on the edge of the love seat for a moment.
I shook my head. “Nope. Right where you said it was.”
“Frankly, I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Frankly, I wasn’t, either.”
“Well, I’m glad you did.”
“Thank you for inviting me.” Yack, banter, tiptoe.
“I’ve got some supper on,” she said. “I hope you’re hungry.”
I scratched my head. “Well, to be honest, I had a pretty big lunch.” I smiled at her. “But I’ll find some room.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “You don’t have to eat anything if you don’t want to.”
“Well, I want to eat sometime, so now is as good a time as any.”
The meal was excellent. It was simple, but to me, that’s the best kind. Steak, fried potatoes, corn, green beans, homemade bread, cold milk—“I knew you liked milk”—and cherry pie—“I knew you liked cherry pie, too.” She was a wonderful cook and I told her so.
“Thank you,” and she seemed genuinely pleased.
I was having trouble digesting all of this—and I didn’t mean the food. Of course, I had gotten some no doubt biased information from Kelly about Gail Sanders, but Gail’s nearly running me over had played a part in influencing my judgment as well. She seemed different this evening.
When we finished, she said, “Let me clear away the table and put the dishes in the tub. You go back to the living room and drink your coffee.”
“Here, let me help you,” I said. I always helped Julie, not only because I wanted to, but because I just wanted to be with her as much as possible. We always had such a good time together.
“No, you shoo, I don’t need your help. You’re a man, you’ll probably drop and break something.” She smiled at me.
I made a face and shrugged and went into the living room. I sat on the couch again, drumming my fingers, waiting, wondering. In a couple of minutes, she came in. “Hang on,” she said, “I’d like to get out of this dress.”
I nodded.
She was gone 15 minutes. Julie never took that long to change a dress, but everybody is different, I suppose. When she came back in, I realized why it had taken her so long.
She was wearing a lovely royal blue dress, long-sleeved, with frills at the wrists and neck. The dress went down to her ankles, and she had a matching pair of shoes. The dress wasn’t form-fitted, but a belt around her waist helped accentuate the nice features of her slender frame. She had also worked on her hair some, and I could smell some perfume from where I was sitting. She was certainly a lovely woman, but my guard went immediately up. Why the big show?
“Would you like some more coffee or pie?” she asked me.
“Not at the moment, thank you. I must say, you look lovely.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
She sat down on the other end of the couch. I asked her how she came about having such a beautiful and large ranch.
“From my father. I’m an only child, and he, mom, and I moved out here when I was about three or four. He and mom worked hard, built up the ranch, made it into the nicest one this side of the river. He taught me well and I don’t want to give any of it up.”
“When did he die?”
“About a year ago. Mom had passed on about six months before.” She paused. “I’m having the same problem Jim Perry is having on the other side of the Clearwater.” That was the name of the river, as well as her ranch. “Small time farmers and ranchers moving in, taking slices of my land. Robert, if I let them keep doing it, I won’t have anything left.”
“Why don’t you file on what you have?”
“I can, but it would cost a lot of money I don’t have right now.”
“Gail, you’re going to lose it eventually if you don’t file and pay for it. Kragan will loan you the money, you know that. You just aren’t going to be able to keep these people out forever. There are too many of them, and the law is on their side, and they are going to keep coming. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
Her lips tightened. “I can protect what my dad worked for. And I’m going to, one way or another. Will you help me?” She moved closer to me. “I mean, what would it cost me? Name your price.”
I looked at her. I wasn’t sure if she was proposing to me or propositioning me. I didn’t like either option. “Let me tell you a little bit about myself, Gail.” I told her the story about Julie, our ranch, Wilson Brant, the whole nine yards. And then I said, “Can you understand how I might not be terribly sympathetic to you and Jim Perry? I don’t want you to lose what your father worked for, and I realize that you wouldn’t want to, either. That’s perfectly understandable. But this isn’t the old days, Gail. You just can’t do it that way any more.”
“So you won’t help me?”
I moved over and sat close to her. We looked at each other in the eyes. I leaned over and kissed her and held it for several seconds. She sighed softly then slowly opened her eyes. “We could do it, Robert. You and I, we could do it. We could build the largest ranch in the whole territory.”
I pulled away from her. “Who would own it, Gail?”
She looked at me and blinked. “Well, it’s mine. You understand that, don’t you?”
I sat back, an annoyed expression on my face. “Do I get to be a hired hand, or do I get to be Mr. Gail Sanders?”
I stood up. She just watched me. “Gail, please do the right thing.”
“I’m going to protect my land, Robert.”
“You can do both, you know.”
“If I show the slightest bit of weakness, Jim Perry will run roughshod over me. He’ll take it all.”
“Gail, he can’t take what’s yours if it’s yours legally.” I looked at her. “I’ll help you fight Perry. But I won't help you take land that no longer legally belongs to you.”
She looked down at her hands. “I want it all, Robert. I want what my father built.” She fixed her eyes on me pleadingly. “Can’t you understand that? I can’t just let other people come in and take it.”
Like I let Martin Brant have my land…well, did I have any choice? But I was getting more than a little annoyed. “Ok. You hire me. I go in, run off all the riffraff that’s settled on your land—or land you think is yours just because your family has been squatting on it for years. So I run them off. Then what? They aren’t going to stop coming, Gail, they just aren’t, and you can’t run them off indefinitely.”
She had a very stubborn expression on her face.
I shook my head. “I give up.” I looked at her, my face hard. “You wanted me to help you keep your land. I’m trying. It’s the only way you’ll be able to keep what you’ve got for the rest of your life.” My tone got very hard. “Eventually somebody is going to come in and file on all your land and you are going to have a whale of a fight keeping any of it.”
“Are you going to tell Jim Perry the same thing?”
I looked away for a moment. “No. I’d have to shoot Jim Perry.” I looked back at her. “But I don’t want to shoot you.”
“Oh, well, thank you. That’s so nice of you.” The sarcasm was as evident in her tone as it was in her words.
I picked up my hat. “You’re on your own, Gail. Thanks for supper.” I turned to leave.
But I heard her say, in a soft voice, “You’re different, Robert, and we could have it all. Together. We could have it all.”
I didn’t turn around. “I don’t want it that way, Gail. I’m just not made like that.” And I walked out of the house.
I rode back to River Bend, thoughtful. There has to be a way…
The next morning proved interesting in River Bend; in fact, the whole day was.
Jim Perry was about to blow a gasket. “He did what?”
He was in the office of the banker Homer Kragan, who was sweating, and not necessarily because he was fat or hot. “I’m sorry, Mr. Perry. But there was nothing I could do. Constance came in, paid the rest of Atkins’ note, and that was that. He took the title, a receipt—it was all perfectly legal and I had no legal way to stop him.”
Perry was pacing back and forth. He stopped and glared at Kragan. “Surely there was something you could have done…oh, never mind. It’s done.” He resumed pacing. “Who is that guy? He rides in here and in less than 24 hours, he’s disrupted everything.” That was a bit of an exaggeration, but I had spoiled Perry’s plan somewhat. In less than two weeks, Kragan would have been able to foreclose on Fred Atkins’ land and had them evicted from the property. Perry would have bought up the outstanding notes and owned the land—land he thought was his in the first place. Since Atkins was the de facto leader of the squatters—the only one who would really fight—Perry would be able to easily intimidate the rest of them to leave. A couple of burned houses, a few dead cattle—it wouldn’t take much. But Atkins might be able to put enough backbone in the rest to fight. Jim Perry wasn’t above fighting, of course, but it could be costly. The sheriff would be no problem, but the deputy, Clint Bailor, could raise a stink. And if that gunslinger Constance stays around…
“There’s only one thing to do,” he told Kragan. “I’m going to have to hit Atkins with everything I’ve got. In the morning. Burn him out. Destroy everything he’s got. He won’t have the money to rebuild and restock. He’ll have to leave. And then, I’ll do the same, if necessary, to another squatter or two and the rest will get the hint and leave, too.”
“That’s playing kinda rough, Mr. Perry.”
“They are on my land, I have the right to do what’s necessary to protect my property if they are trespassing. I’ve given them warnings, and I’ve given them plenty of time to leave. They won’t do it, so now they pay the price.”
Kragan wouldn’t—couldn’t because he didn’t have the strength of character—argue with Jim Perry. He knew those settlers had a legal right to the land they were on, but he wasn’t about to tell the rancher that. So all he said was, “I guess that’s all that’s left.”
Perry wasn’t listening. He was thinking out loud. “I’ll have to get my boys together today, send ‘em in the crack of dawn tomorrow. I especially want that drifter, Constance. He’s been pushing his weight around ever since he got here and he’s about to ruin the whole thing.” He looked at Kragan. “Once the land is mine again, I may need to restock some of it, so you’ll need to give me a low-interest loan. I’ll pay you back some day.” He wouldn’t and Kragan knew it, but the banker said nothing. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Perry told him, and left the room.
Homer Kragan watched the big rancher leave, a mixed feeling of anger and relief coming over him. Kragan wasn’t really a bad banker; he was just intimidated by Jim Perry and Gail Sanders, like everybody else in town was. He hated himself that he couldn’t stand up to either one, especially Perry. He sat there thinking. Well, maybe there’s a way…
He rose from his chair and left the bank as quickly as his short, fat legs would allow. He looked both ways when he got outside, and didn’t see Jim Perry. He went across the street to the hotel, hoping he wouldn’t be too late.
He walked up to the clerk and said, “Is Mr. Constance still here?”
“In the restaurant.”
Kragan nodded and went into the hotel’s dining room. He saw me sitting alone, eating breakfast. He came over to me. I looked up at him, scrutinizing him up and down. Man, he’s ugly…
“May I talk to you for a few minutes, Mr. Constance?” Kragan asked, more than a little intimidated by a man he thought was a gunslinger.
I responded, “Sure, sit down.”
“Thank you,” and Kragan sat opposite me and heaved a huge sigh. “Coffee,” he said when the waitress came up. He turned his attention to me. “I’m glad you’re still in town. I was hoping to catch you.”
I shrugged. “Everybody has to be somewhere. What can I do for you?”
“Did you get the title of Mr. Atkins’ land to him yesterday?”
“I had the postmaster deliver it. I’m assuming he got it.”
Kragan nodded. “Mr. Constance, I think you should know—or perhaps better, Mr. Atkins should know—that Jim Perry is getting his men together and they are going to attack the FR Ranch tomorrow.” “FR” was the name Atkins had given to his ranch. “At sunup. I…imagine that Mr. Atkins would probably appreciate having that information. Once he destroys Atkins, Perry believes that all opposition to him from the other ranchers will die and they will simply leave the valley.”
My eyes narrowed. “Yes, that is information that Fred Atkins would probably like to have.”
“Will you see to it that he gets it?”
I nodded. “Actually, I was planning on heading out there right after breakfast.”
“I think we would all appreciate it if you would stay and help…bring some peace and stability to our valley.”
I sat back, a little bamboozled. “Why are you telling me this, Mr. Kragan? No offense, but the scuttlebutt I heard is that you are pretty much in the pocket of Jim Perry.”
Kragan accepted his coffee, and took a sip. Without looking at me, he said, “That is why I am telling you, Mr. Constance. Jim Perry has dominated this valley for long enough. If there was some way we could break up his land—and that of Gail Sanders—hundreds of settlers could move into this valley. This town would boom. But Perry and the Sanders have had a stranglehold here and, quite frankly, have everyone, including me, thoroughly cowed and intimidated. I hate to admit that, of course, but it’s the truth. Perhaps you…can find some way to stop him. Them.”
“I don’t know how, Mr. Kragan, and it’s not my fight, but I will certainly warn Fred Atkins and the valley ranchers. Stopping Jim Perry and Gail Sanders is not going to be easy.”
“Well, if you can simply thwart the raid tomorrow, that will help. But do be warned as well—Perry wants you out of the way, too. After what you did yesterday—not just the Atkins’ payment, but the way you handled Jake Barton and Gail Sanders—I think he definitely perceives you as a threat.” He paused. “And a lot of people in this town perceive you as a hope.”
I grunted. “If you people want a savior, turn to Jesus.”
Kragan said delicately, “While our Lord may have certain qualities and abilities that we all need, I’m not sure He will be immediately available to assist us in this cause.”
I grunted again. “Meaning He doesn’t carry a six-gun on his hip.”
Kragan smiled and spread his hands expansively.
“Is there anything else, Mr. Kragan?”
“No, I suppose not.” He hesitated, “Mr. Constance, we didn’t get off on a very good footing yesterday and I will accept the blame for that. But I hope you will accept the information I have provided in good faith. I don’t want to see anyone hurt and it would be nice if, in some way, Jim Perry could be taken down a notch.”
And Kragan’s bank would make a killing if the Clearwater Valley became loaded with settlers. But I didn’t begrudge a man a profit—as long as it was honest. “I’ll warn Fred Atkins,” I said to him, standing up. “Beyond that, I make no promises.”
He stood up as well. “I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”
I nodded. “It’s very good of you to warn the ranchers, Mr. Kragan. I hope it all works out for the best.”
“Thank you.”
Then I looked at him closely. “But I’ll tell you something else. If you’re lying to me about the raid tomorrow, I’ll come back here and kill you. Do you understand?”
He swallowed. “I’m telling you the truth. I promise.”
I nodded. I believed him. “Ok. This is between you and me, got it?”
He tried to smile. “Mum’s the word.”
I didn’t wait for him to waddle along beside me. I left the restaurant, went up to my room and got my gear, and headed to the stable to get Ol’ Paint. I had read Homer Kragan wrong and I was glad I had. But the main thing on my mind was Jim Perry. And Fred and Kelly Atkins. And all the valley ranchers. The latter were good people who stood to lose everything because of a greedy, power hungry mobster.
Been there, done that…I’m not going to run this time…And I gave myself a wry grin. And it’s not even my fight…
Chapter Six—Kelly Plays Her Part--Maybe Too Well
It didn’t take a genius to figure out my next move--hightail it out to the Atkins place and let them know of Perry’s plans. I had thought about going and talking to the town deputy, Clint Bailor, because Kelly had said he was pretty honest, but I decided against it. The fewer people that knew what Perry had brewing, the better. If his intentions were broadcast widely enough, he’d have to put them on hold. But that was all he would do—put them on hold. It would be best to bring this whole matter to a head as soon as possible and resolve it one way or another.
I didn’t know where the Atkins’ house was, but they only had a quarter section of land so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. I simply returned to where I had seen Kelly the day before and worked in the direction from whence she had come. There was a path and I found the house fairly easily. It was a small, simple wooden structure, but it looked sturdily built. Kelly was out front feeding chickens and I could see a man—Fred Atkins, I presumed—at the corral in back repairing a saddle.
Kelly gave me a cautious smile. “Hi. I didn’t really think you’d come after you didn’t show up yesterday afternoon.”
I sat on my horse, waiting for an invitation to dismount. “Well, I had a prior offer and thought I’d take it.”
“Ah,” she said. “You went to see Gail Sanders. What did she want?”
“She wanted me to marry her, but I passed.”
Kelly wasn’t sure if I was joking or not. “Knowing Gail Sanders, it really wouldn’t surprise me. Get down, you can meet my father.”
Fred Atkins was walking over, scrutinizing me suspiciously. He was a short, but stocky man, reddish hair and beard, blue eyes. His daughter must have gotten all her features from her mother.
Kelly spoke first. “This is Robert Constance, pa. I told you about him.”
“Gunslinger, huh,” Atkins said.
I had dismounted and walked over to them. “No, I’m not. I was a rancher, but ran into the same problem you’re fixing to run into. A band of thugs came and burnt me out. Killed my wife in the process.”
“Yeah, Kelly told me about that. Figured you had gone to makin’ your living with your shooter.” He held out his hand finally and I shook it.
“Robert, somebody paid off our note to the bank yesterday,” Kelly said, studying me with a very suspicious expression on her face. “We own our land free and clear now.”
I nodded. “Well, then, that explains what’s going to happen. I wasn’t kidding about the problem you’re about to run into. Jim Perry is sending his men over here in the morning to wipe you out. He thinks if he can stomp on you, Mr. Atkins, that the rest of the settlers will leave on their own. And since he won’t be able to get your land through foreclosure now, he has to run you off and scare the others into leaving, too.”
Kelly groaned. Fred Atkins just stared at me. “Are you sure of that?”
“The man who told me is under a death sentence if he lied.”
He rubbed his jaw. I glanced at Kelly. She looked worried and was gnawing on her lower lip. “Do you have any suggestions, Mr. Constance?”
I said to Kelly. “Have you got a fast horse?”
“A pretty good one, yes.”
“Can you get to all the other settlers today and warn them?”
“Yes.”
“Have them get here tonight and we’ll make plans.”
“Ok.” She started to run off, then looked back. “Oh, and thanks again for the rifle.”
“Take it with you.”
“I intend to.”
She headed for the corral. My eyes met Atkins. He was some worried, too. “Can we stop them, Constance?”
“We can try, Mr. Atkins, we can try.”
The men from the other ranches began showing up in mid-afternoon. Shorty Dolan, Arthur Smuckers, Louis Arbuckle, Terrell Thompson, Claude Raymond…I didn’t remember all the names, but I met them when Atkins introduced them. Dolan—whose name fit his stature, he couldn’t have been more than 5’1” tall—in effect asked me the same thing Atkins had.
“Who told you this, Constance?”
“Homer Kragan.”
I had several men stare at me, incredulous. “And you believed him? Aw, man, Perry will probably wipe the rest of us out while we’re here.”
“That’s possible, I suppose,” I replied. “But let me ask you this: if you put a gun to Homer Kragan’s head and told him ‘If you’re lying to me, you’re going to get a bullet in the brain,’ what do you think Kragan’s reaction would be?”
Dolan looked at me critically. “Yeah. Kragan would sell his own mother to save his own hide.”
“That’s the way I read him, too, so I believed him. I think he’s tired of being Perry’s lackey and he sees an opportunity to get out from under his thumb.”
Atkins told the men that he owned his land now, that the note had been paid.
“Well, that’s great, Fred,” Claude Raymond said. “Where did you find the money to do that?”
Atkins shook his head. “I didn’t. Got an envelope from the post office yestiddy with my deed in it. Paid up in full. Kragan signed it, notarized it, all legal.”
“Who did that?”
Atkins shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. I ‘spect Kragan mighta done it, ‘specially if what Constance here is sayin’ is true. Banker’s hopin’ we can put a stop to Perry.”
“Yeah. Most of us have notes on our land, too. If we skedaddle or Kragan forecloses, he won’t get none o’ that money and Perry will get the land. Perry sure ain’t gonna pay him nuthin’.”
Fred Atkins replied, “That about sums it up.” He looked at me. “You got a plan, Constance?”
“How many more are coming?”
“Well, there’s Hoot Grimes, and Jimmy Morgan…couple others, prolly, if Kelly can find them.”
“Let’s wait till they get here, then I’ll tell you what I’ve got in mind.” I grinned. “You may not like it too much, Fred, but I think it will work…”
By 10 PM everybody had come whom we thought would come—ten in all, including me, not including Kelly. But she listened in on the plan. In fact, she was going to have a role to play, if everybody went along with my idea.
“We ain’t fighters, Mr. Constance,” Jimmy Morgan said. He was a sandy-headed fellow who couldn’t have been more than 25. “I got a wife and a baby. I cain’t afford to get killed.” A few others nodded.
“You’re going to fight for your dream, gentlemen. But I understand if you aren’t prepared to do this. If you want to go home, then do so. No one will hold it against you. Frankly, it shouldn’t be too dangerous if we pull it off the way I have it in mind, but there will be lead flying and some of you could get hurt. There are no guarantees. But please, if you want to go, do so now so I’ll know how many men we have to work with.”
Nobody moved. Everybody glanced at Jimmy. He was in angst, but he said, “Well, I reckon Sarah would never forgive me if I was to go home an’ look like a coward. You’re right, Mr. Constance, we got to fight for what’s ours and what we believe in.”
“All right. Let me tell you what I have in mind. They’ll be coming up the path to the house. We’ll need to keep them bunched together. If they spread out, it will be much more difficult.…” I looked at Kelly and smiled, and as I explained what I had in mind, her eyes got big, then she smiled in return….
“No, I don’t like it,” Fred Atkins said in a huff.
“Well, I do,” his daughter responded. “So that’s the way it’s going to be.”
The rest of the men grinned. “And we all thought Fred ran this here ranch,” Claude Raymond said, and everybody laughed.
“Do the best you can, men. We might be able to get out with no shots being fired, but I’m not sure. When I open up, you do, too, and don’t be nice. Believe me, they won’t be…”
Same night. Jim Perry talking to his men. About 15 rough cases. “Burn ‘em out. Everything they’ve got. Don’t hurt the cattle and horses, I want them. Kill Atkins and the girl if you have to, but avoid that, if possible. But that drifter, Constance. I want him and I want him bad. Bring him back, alive if possible, dead if not. But don’t come back without him or I’ll nail every one of your hides to the wall…”
Dawn the next morning of what was going to be a beautiful day. Birds were already chirping in the trees, there was a soft dew on the ground, and the air was as fresh and as clean as mountain air can be. The sun shoved its rays over the hills and shone brightly on the quiet, still home of Fred and Kelly Atkins.
Except Kelly was out front, feeding her chickens. Dressed to kill. Maybe literally.
She heard them coming. A troop of horses rumbling up the trail. Fifteen men. Around a curve, then up a sloping hill. “All right, boys, let’s do it,” Kelly heard one of them say.
But she moved towards them and they all stopped, looking at her. Staring at her. Ogling her.
Kelly was dressed in a very, very short pair of cut off jeans, the bottoms sliced off even with her crotch. The shirt she was wearing was unbuttoned low enough to, um, attract any normal male’s attention, and she had tied the two halves of bottom of the blouse together just under her breasts, showing everything below down to her waist. A regular hillbilly slut if there ever was one.
“Howdy, boys,” she said. She gave them a pixy smile. “Did you come to see me?”
The 15 horsemen rode a little closer, all of them eyeballing her. The man in front, Whitey Malone, pushed his hat back on his head, smiling. “Well, Miss Kelly, you shore do look fine this morning, mighty fine. But I’m sorry, we’ve got our orders from Mr. Perry. We’re gonna have to burn down yore place here. Mr. Perry, he wants his land back, you see, and you and your pa are just gonna have to move on.”
“Burn us out?” Kelly wailed. “That’s not very nice.” Then she gave them another suggestive smile. “You don’t really want to do that, do you. I’ve got a better idea, fellas. My pa has gone to Culver City and probably won’t be back until tomorrow. I don’t really have a lot to do today…” Still smiling, she started to untie the bottom portion of her blouse.
Fifteen pairs of eyes were transfixed on that blouse. And none of them saw me come around the corner of the house with a rifle in my hands.
“All right, fellows. Fun’s over. Don’t do anything stupid and nobody will get hurt. Just drop your guns and ride on out of here.”
Fifteen pairs of eyes—stunned eyes—turned towards me. Not surprisingly, several of the men who owned the eyes went for their guns.
The place exploded. I fired three rounds from my Winchester before any of Perry’s men got a shot off, but by then I was rolling away. Atkins and ranchers appeared and started firing as soon as they heard my first shot. Two of them had been in the barn, two came from inside the house, two from the side of the house where I appeared, two from the other side of the house, and three from hiding places across the road. Perry’s men were caught in a crossfire and they were falling fast.
“That’s enough! Don’t shoot any more! We surrender!” The firing ceased. Seven of the Perry men lay on the ground, dead or wounded, another two had been clipped. Two of the ranchers, Thompson and Dolan had minor wounds, but nothing serious.
I stood up, and chambered another bullet. “Now you ya-hoos drop your guns and get these men off the ground and ride out of this valley. I suspect that you don’t want to see Jim Perry and tell him you were outfoxed and whipped by a bunch of greenhorn ranchers. And a woman. If I ever see any of you again, I’ll fill you so full of lead your next of kin will be able to start their own mine. Got it?” I motioned to the men on the ground.
The remaining Perry men dropped their guns. Several of them dismounted and started loading the dead and wounded onto their horses. “Kelly, get their guns.”
Kelly had re-tied her blouse and walked over to pick up the guns. She tossed each one back towards the house. She gave the men a glance. “Sorry, guys, better luck next time. Only ‘next time’ better be somewhere else because if I ever see you on our land again, I’ll put so much lead in you that you’ll be able to start two mines.”
“Cain’t we at least have our guns?” Whitey asked.
I said to Jimmy Morgan, “Jimmy, get over here and unload these guns. Claude, help him, will you?” Then to Perry’s men. “Empty your gunbelts of bullets. You can have your guns, but no ammo.”
They grumbled but with about 10 rifles pointed at them, they didn’t have much choice. “Mr. Perry’s not going to like this,” Whitey Malone countered.
“Then I suggest you get as far away from him as possible.” I think they thought that was a good idea.
Fred Atkins said, “Do you want me to check their saddlebags for ammo, Constance? I never trust a rattlesnake.”
“Yeah. Get it all. Maybe they got some Winchester ‘73s that Kelly can have for her new rifle.”
In a couple of minutes, Jimmy and Claude finished unloading the guns and all the gunbelts were empty, too. Fred had found a few boxes of bullets, but not many. Kelly, Jimmy, and Claude gave the men their guns back. “Now. What are you men going to do?” I asked the men.
“Ride out of the valley,” one of them said.
“Be glad you’re still alive.”
“Yeah.” They turned and rode off, heading away from River Bend. They were hired gunmen. They knew when to cut their losses and get out. There’d be another job down the road somewhere.
I breathed out and uncocked the Winchester. Kelly squealed and ran over to me and hugged me, swinging us around and around. I almost fell over. “We did it! We did it! We did it! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.” And she planted a big kiss right on my lips.
I smiled at her. “Remind me to help save your land more often.” And she crinkled her nose at me.
Her father said, “Kelly, git in the house and git some clothes on. Enough is enough.” Kelly pouted but went inside.
I grinned at Fred. “You’ve got to admit, she played her part real well.”
He looked disgusted. “A little too well, if you ask me.” And the rest of us laughed.
“Mr. Constance,” Jimmy Morgan said, “We sure do appreciate what you done for us here. We’d be a fer piece on the way to losin’ our ranches if you hadn’t helped us.” A murmur of agreement from the rest of the men.
“Well, it’s not over yet, but I’m glad we stopped this attack.”
“What do we do next?”
Then I sighed. “I’ve got one more thing to do, guys.”
“What’s that?”
“Stomp one more snake…”
I rode into River Bend about an hour later. People were up and about and I even had a few of them wave at me. I rode to the bank; it wasn’t open yet, so I thought I’d just go across the street and have a bite to eat while I waited for Kragan. But as I started for the restaurant, I saw Jim Perry come out of it. And he saw me. And he knew the jig was up.
I stopped about one-third of the way across the street. Perry came towards me and halted about 40 feet from me. People had given us a wide berth, but they were watching. Perry looked like he was about to say something, but that was simply an attempt to distract me. There was nothing to say, he and I both knew it, and I had no intention of letting him divert my attention from the issue at hand.
He went for his gun. He actually got a shot away. It ended up about two feet in front of him. And then he fell, face-first, on top of it.
I holstered my gun and went on to the restaurant. I was hungry.
The sheriff, a Perry man named Barnes McGill, came to the diner while I was eating. He sat down across from me, leaned back, pushed his hat up, and scrutinized me real closely.
“You left Jim Perry’s body out there on the street,” he said to me.
“I’m not the garbage collector in town.”
He grunted. “Mister, do you realize that, in less than 48 hours, you have completely destroyed the Perry empire and turned River Bend upside down? Jimmy Morgan just showed up telling everybody what happened out at the Atkins place this morning. You’re a regular keg of dynamite, ain’t you, feller.”
I sopped up some egg yolk with my toast. “Sheriff, I didn’t pick a fight with anybody. But if somebody takes a slug at me or draws on me, I’ve got a right to defend myself. And to help my friends. You’d do the same, wouldn’t you?”
He just stared at me for awhile. “Are you planning on leaving town?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t thought farther ahead than this piece of toast.” That wasn’t totally true, but it was none of his business. “You worried about your job now that Perry isn’t around to bankroll your elections any more?”
He didn’t like that. “Why don’t you just ride, mister? Or I might find a reason to run you in. Like you’re stirring up the dust on the street and littering.” He stood up. “Put some miles between you and River Bend, you hear? I’ll be watching to make sure you leave.”
I finished my breakfast, took a last sip of orange juice, and pushed my plate away. “Sheriff, I’ll leave when I’m good and ready to. It might be the better part of wisdom if you left town. I’ve got a feeling I’ve got more friends in River Bend than you do, especially since the only one you did have is now dead. Stay off my back, you don’t scare me a bit.”
His face turned red with anger, but he just turned and stormed out of the diner. One old-timer was sitting at the bar. He had heard my conversation with McGill. “You gonna stick around a little longer, ain’t ye, mister? We got a few more skunks that need to be rooted out.”
I gave him a wry grin. “If one of ‘em lifts his tail at me, I’ll shoot it off.”
“You do that. You done good so far.”
I walked to the bank. It was open now. I went in, asked to see Kragan, and was immediately shown into his office. He looked ten years younger than he had yesterday, but he still had that obnoxious cigar in his mouth.
He actually stood up this time and shook my hand. “I heard what happened out at the Atkins place and saw what you did to Jim Perry. This whole side of the river is in total chaos now, you know that?”
“Perry didn’t have a will?”
“Nope, no family.”
“Good heavens. Did he think he was God or something?”
“Yep. Didn’t matter, though. He didn’t own the land so he couldn’t very well will it to anybody.”
“So the land belongs to you now, I suppose.”
He shrugged. “Well, no, not really. It belongs to anybody who buys it.”
I stood up. “You going to be here all day? I’ve got a buyer for you. I think.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yes, I’ll be here. Who’s the buyer?”
“I’ll let you know soon.” With that, I walked out of the office.
I didn’t know where the Atkins’ house was, but they only had a quarter section of land so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. I simply returned to where I had seen Kelly the day before and worked in the direction from whence she had come. There was a path and I found the house fairly easily. It was a small, simple wooden structure, but it looked sturdily built. Kelly was out front feeding chickens and I could see a man—Fred Atkins, I presumed—at the corral in back repairing a saddle.
Kelly gave me a cautious smile. “Hi. I didn’t really think you’d come after you didn’t show up yesterday afternoon.”
I sat on my horse, waiting for an invitation to dismount. “Well, I had a prior offer and thought I’d take it.”
“Ah,” she said. “You went to see Gail Sanders. What did she want?”
“She wanted me to marry her, but I passed.”
Kelly wasn’t sure if I was joking or not. “Knowing Gail Sanders, it really wouldn’t surprise me. Get down, you can meet my father.”
Fred Atkins was walking over, scrutinizing me suspiciously. He was a short, but stocky man, reddish hair and beard, blue eyes. His daughter must have gotten all her features from her mother.
Kelly spoke first. “This is Robert Constance, pa. I told you about him.”
“Gunslinger, huh,” Atkins said.
I had dismounted and walked over to them. “No, I’m not. I was a rancher, but ran into the same problem you’re fixing to run into. A band of thugs came and burnt me out. Killed my wife in the process.”
“Yeah, Kelly told me about that. Figured you had gone to makin’ your living with your shooter.” He held out his hand finally and I shook it.
“Robert, somebody paid off our note to the bank yesterday,” Kelly said, studying me with a very suspicious expression on her face. “We own our land free and clear now.”
I nodded. “Well, then, that explains what’s going to happen. I wasn’t kidding about the problem you’re about to run into. Jim Perry is sending his men over here in the morning to wipe you out. He thinks if he can stomp on you, Mr. Atkins, that the rest of the settlers will leave on their own. And since he won’t be able to get your land through foreclosure now, he has to run you off and scare the others into leaving, too.”
Kelly groaned. Fred Atkins just stared at me. “Are you sure of that?”
“The man who told me is under a death sentence if he lied.”
He rubbed his jaw. I glanced at Kelly. She looked worried and was gnawing on her lower lip. “Do you have any suggestions, Mr. Constance?”
I said to Kelly. “Have you got a fast horse?”
“A pretty good one, yes.”
“Can you get to all the other settlers today and warn them?”
“Yes.”
“Have them get here tonight and we’ll make plans.”
“Ok.” She started to run off, then looked back. “Oh, and thanks again for the rifle.”
“Take it with you.”
“I intend to.”
She headed for the corral. My eyes met Atkins. He was some worried, too. “Can we stop them, Constance?”
“We can try, Mr. Atkins, we can try.”
The men from the other ranches began showing up in mid-afternoon. Shorty Dolan, Arthur Smuckers, Louis Arbuckle, Terrell Thompson, Claude Raymond…I didn’t remember all the names, but I met them when Atkins introduced them. Dolan—whose name fit his stature, he couldn’t have been more than 5’1” tall—in effect asked me the same thing Atkins had.
“Who told you this, Constance?”
“Homer Kragan.”
I had several men stare at me, incredulous. “And you believed him? Aw, man, Perry will probably wipe the rest of us out while we’re here.”
“That’s possible, I suppose,” I replied. “But let me ask you this: if you put a gun to Homer Kragan’s head and told him ‘If you’re lying to me, you’re going to get a bullet in the brain,’ what do you think Kragan’s reaction would be?”
Dolan looked at me critically. “Yeah. Kragan would sell his own mother to save his own hide.”
“That’s the way I read him, too, so I believed him. I think he’s tired of being Perry’s lackey and he sees an opportunity to get out from under his thumb.”
Atkins told the men that he owned his land now, that the note had been paid.
“Well, that’s great, Fred,” Claude Raymond said. “Where did you find the money to do that?”
Atkins shook his head. “I didn’t. Got an envelope from the post office yestiddy with my deed in it. Paid up in full. Kragan signed it, notarized it, all legal.”
“Who did that?”
Atkins shrugged. “Haven’t the foggiest. I ‘spect Kragan mighta done it, ‘specially if what Constance here is sayin’ is true. Banker’s hopin’ we can put a stop to Perry.”
“Yeah. Most of us have notes on our land, too. If we skedaddle or Kragan forecloses, he won’t get none o’ that money and Perry will get the land. Perry sure ain’t gonna pay him nuthin’.”
Fred Atkins replied, “That about sums it up.” He looked at me. “You got a plan, Constance?”
“How many more are coming?”
“Well, there’s Hoot Grimes, and Jimmy Morgan…couple others, prolly, if Kelly can find them.”
“Let’s wait till they get here, then I’ll tell you what I’ve got in mind.” I grinned. “You may not like it too much, Fred, but I think it will work…”
By 10 PM everybody had come whom we thought would come—ten in all, including me, not including Kelly. But she listened in on the plan. In fact, she was going to have a role to play, if everybody went along with my idea.
“We ain’t fighters, Mr. Constance,” Jimmy Morgan said. He was a sandy-headed fellow who couldn’t have been more than 25. “I got a wife and a baby. I cain’t afford to get killed.” A few others nodded.
“You’re going to fight for your dream, gentlemen. But I understand if you aren’t prepared to do this. If you want to go home, then do so. No one will hold it against you. Frankly, it shouldn’t be too dangerous if we pull it off the way I have it in mind, but there will be lead flying and some of you could get hurt. There are no guarantees. But please, if you want to go, do so now so I’ll know how many men we have to work with.”
Nobody moved. Everybody glanced at Jimmy. He was in angst, but he said, “Well, I reckon Sarah would never forgive me if I was to go home an’ look like a coward. You’re right, Mr. Constance, we got to fight for what’s ours and what we believe in.”
“All right. Let me tell you what I have in mind. They’ll be coming up the path to the house. We’ll need to keep them bunched together. If they spread out, it will be much more difficult.…” I looked at Kelly and smiled, and as I explained what I had in mind, her eyes got big, then she smiled in return….
“No, I don’t like it,” Fred Atkins said in a huff.
“Well, I do,” his daughter responded. “So that’s the way it’s going to be.”
The rest of the men grinned. “And we all thought Fred ran this here ranch,” Claude Raymond said, and everybody laughed.
“Do the best you can, men. We might be able to get out with no shots being fired, but I’m not sure. When I open up, you do, too, and don’t be nice. Believe me, they won’t be…”
Same night. Jim Perry talking to his men. About 15 rough cases. “Burn ‘em out. Everything they’ve got. Don’t hurt the cattle and horses, I want them. Kill Atkins and the girl if you have to, but avoid that, if possible. But that drifter, Constance. I want him and I want him bad. Bring him back, alive if possible, dead if not. But don’t come back without him or I’ll nail every one of your hides to the wall…”
Dawn the next morning of what was going to be a beautiful day. Birds were already chirping in the trees, there was a soft dew on the ground, and the air was as fresh and as clean as mountain air can be. The sun shoved its rays over the hills and shone brightly on the quiet, still home of Fred and Kelly Atkins.
Except Kelly was out front, feeding her chickens. Dressed to kill. Maybe literally.
She heard them coming. A troop of horses rumbling up the trail. Fifteen men. Around a curve, then up a sloping hill. “All right, boys, let’s do it,” Kelly heard one of them say.
But she moved towards them and they all stopped, looking at her. Staring at her. Ogling her.
Kelly was dressed in a very, very short pair of cut off jeans, the bottoms sliced off even with her crotch. The shirt she was wearing was unbuttoned low enough to, um, attract any normal male’s attention, and she had tied the two halves of bottom of the blouse together just under her breasts, showing everything below down to her waist. A regular hillbilly slut if there ever was one.
“Howdy, boys,” she said. She gave them a pixy smile. “Did you come to see me?”
The 15 horsemen rode a little closer, all of them eyeballing her. The man in front, Whitey Malone, pushed his hat back on his head, smiling. “Well, Miss Kelly, you shore do look fine this morning, mighty fine. But I’m sorry, we’ve got our orders from Mr. Perry. We’re gonna have to burn down yore place here. Mr. Perry, he wants his land back, you see, and you and your pa are just gonna have to move on.”
“Burn us out?” Kelly wailed. “That’s not very nice.” Then she gave them another suggestive smile. “You don’t really want to do that, do you. I’ve got a better idea, fellas. My pa has gone to Culver City and probably won’t be back until tomorrow. I don’t really have a lot to do today…” Still smiling, she started to untie the bottom portion of her blouse.
Fifteen pairs of eyes were transfixed on that blouse. And none of them saw me come around the corner of the house with a rifle in my hands.
“All right, fellows. Fun’s over. Don’t do anything stupid and nobody will get hurt. Just drop your guns and ride on out of here.”
Fifteen pairs of eyes—stunned eyes—turned towards me. Not surprisingly, several of the men who owned the eyes went for their guns.
The place exploded. I fired three rounds from my Winchester before any of Perry’s men got a shot off, but by then I was rolling away. Atkins and ranchers appeared and started firing as soon as they heard my first shot. Two of them had been in the barn, two came from inside the house, two from the side of the house where I appeared, two from the other side of the house, and three from hiding places across the road. Perry’s men were caught in a crossfire and they were falling fast.
“That’s enough! Don’t shoot any more! We surrender!” The firing ceased. Seven of the Perry men lay on the ground, dead or wounded, another two had been clipped. Two of the ranchers, Thompson and Dolan had minor wounds, but nothing serious.
I stood up, and chambered another bullet. “Now you ya-hoos drop your guns and get these men off the ground and ride out of this valley. I suspect that you don’t want to see Jim Perry and tell him you were outfoxed and whipped by a bunch of greenhorn ranchers. And a woman. If I ever see any of you again, I’ll fill you so full of lead your next of kin will be able to start their own mine. Got it?” I motioned to the men on the ground.
The remaining Perry men dropped their guns. Several of them dismounted and started loading the dead and wounded onto their horses. “Kelly, get their guns.”
Kelly had re-tied her blouse and walked over to pick up the guns. She tossed each one back towards the house. She gave the men a glance. “Sorry, guys, better luck next time. Only ‘next time’ better be somewhere else because if I ever see you on our land again, I’ll put so much lead in you that you’ll be able to start two mines.”
“Cain’t we at least have our guns?” Whitey asked.
I said to Jimmy Morgan, “Jimmy, get over here and unload these guns. Claude, help him, will you?” Then to Perry’s men. “Empty your gunbelts of bullets. You can have your guns, but no ammo.”
They grumbled but with about 10 rifles pointed at them, they didn’t have much choice. “Mr. Perry’s not going to like this,” Whitey Malone countered.
“Then I suggest you get as far away from him as possible.” I think they thought that was a good idea.
Fred Atkins said, “Do you want me to check their saddlebags for ammo, Constance? I never trust a rattlesnake.”
“Yeah. Get it all. Maybe they got some Winchester ‘73s that Kelly can have for her new rifle.”
In a couple of minutes, Jimmy and Claude finished unloading the guns and all the gunbelts were empty, too. Fred had found a few boxes of bullets, but not many. Kelly, Jimmy, and Claude gave the men their guns back. “Now. What are you men going to do?” I asked the men.
“Ride out of the valley,” one of them said.
“Be glad you’re still alive.”
“Yeah.” They turned and rode off, heading away from River Bend. They were hired gunmen. They knew when to cut their losses and get out. There’d be another job down the road somewhere.
I breathed out and uncocked the Winchester. Kelly squealed and ran over to me and hugged me, swinging us around and around. I almost fell over. “We did it! We did it! We did it! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.” And she planted a big kiss right on my lips.
I smiled at her. “Remind me to help save your land more often.” And she crinkled her nose at me.
Her father said, “Kelly, git in the house and git some clothes on. Enough is enough.” Kelly pouted but went inside.
I grinned at Fred. “You’ve got to admit, she played her part real well.”
He looked disgusted. “A little too well, if you ask me.” And the rest of us laughed.
“Mr. Constance,” Jimmy Morgan said, “We sure do appreciate what you done for us here. We’d be a fer piece on the way to losin’ our ranches if you hadn’t helped us.” A murmur of agreement from the rest of the men.
“Well, it’s not over yet, but I’m glad we stopped this attack.”
“What do we do next?”
Then I sighed. “I’ve got one more thing to do, guys.”
“What’s that?”
“Stomp one more snake…”
I rode into River Bend about an hour later. People were up and about and I even had a few of them wave at me. I rode to the bank; it wasn’t open yet, so I thought I’d just go across the street and have a bite to eat while I waited for Kragan. But as I started for the restaurant, I saw Jim Perry come out of it. And he saw me. And he knew the jig was up.
I stopped about one-third of the way across the street. Perry came towards me and halted about 40 feet from me. People had given us a wide berth, but they were watching. Perry looked like he was about to say something, but that was simply an attempt to distract me. There was nothing to say, he and I both knew it, and I had no intention of letting him divert my attention from the issue at hand.
He went for his gun. He actually got a shot away. It ended up about two feet in front of him. And then he fell, face-first, on top of it.
I holstered my gun and went on to the restaurant. I was hungry.
The sheriff, a Perry man named Barnes McGill, came to the diner while I was eating. He sat down across from me, leaned back, pushed his hat up, and scrutinized me real closely.
“You left Jim Perry’s body out there on the street,” he said to me.
“I’m not the garbage collector in town.”
He grunted. “Mister, do you realize that, in less than 48 hours, you have completely destroyed the Perry empire and turned River Bend upside down? Jimmy Morgan just showed up telling everybody what happened out at the Atkins place this morning. You’re a regular keg of dynamite, ain’t you, feller.”
I sopped up some egg yolk with my toast. “Sheriff, I didn’t pick a fight with anybody. But if somebody takes a slug at me or draws on me, I’ve got a right to defend myself. And to help my friends. You’d do the same, wouldn’t you?”
He just stared at me for awhile. “Are you planning on leaving town?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t thought farther ahead than this piece of toast.” That wasn’t totally true, but it was none of his business. “You worried about your job now that Perry isn’t around to bankroll your elections any more?”
He didn’t like that. “Why don’t you just ride, mister? Or I might find a reason to run you in. Like you’re stirring up the dust on the street and littering.” He stood up. “Put some miles between you and River Bend, you hear? I’ll be watching to make sure you leave.”
I finished my breakfast, took a last sip of orange juice, and pushed my plate away. “Sheriff, I’ll leave when I’m good and ready to. It might be the better part of wisdom if you left town. I’ve got a feeling I’ve got more friends in River Bend than you do, especially since the only one you did have is now dead. Stay off my back, you don’t scare me a bit.”
His face turned red with anger, but he just turned and stormed out of the diner. One old-timer was sitting at the bar. He had heard my conversation with McGill. “You gonna stick around a little longer, ain’t ye, mister? We got a few more skunks that need to be rooted out.”
I gave him a wry grin. “If one of ‘em lifts his tail at me, I’ll shoot it off.”
“You do that. You done good so far.”
I walked to the bank. It was open now. I went in, asked to see Kragan, and was immediately shown into his office. He looked ten years younger than he had yesterday, but he still had that obnoxious cigar in his mouth.
He actually stood up this time and shook my hand. “I heard what happened out at the Atkins place and saw what you did to Jim Perry. This whole side of the river is in total chaos now, you know that?”
“Perry didn’t have a will?”
“Nope, no family.”
“Good heavens. Did he think he was God or something?”
“Yep. Didn’t matter, though. He didn’t own the land so he couldn’t very well will it to anybody.”
“So the land belongs to you now, I suppose.”
He shrugged. “Well, no, not really. It belongs to anybody who buys it.”
I stood up. “You going to be here all day? I’ve got a buyer for you. I think.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yes, I’ll be here. Who’s the buyer?”
“I’ll let you know soon.” With that, I walked out of the office.
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