by Edward Gates
The railroads had bypassed Tascosa and it was slowly being squeezed into obscurity. However, it was still a town with viable businesses. It was still a local watering hole for the residents, ranch hands, travelers, and drifters.
The town was just beginning to get lively. Chaney stopped at Scotty Wilson’s restaurant and got a bite to eat. While there, he asked if anyone knew of a new cowboy who may have come into town the previous day. No one knew of any or if they did, they weren’t saying. He went to the Equity Saloon and then to the Jenkins & Dunn Saloon and asked the same questions and got the same response. Wherever he went and whoever he asked, nobody knew anything about Mac. The town, in general, seemed to be collectively protecting the anonymity of its inhabitants.
Unable to find the slightest trace of Mac, he decided to change his tactics. He thought if he could find Mac’s horse, he would at least know whether the foreman was in Tascosa or not. He walked up Main Street and looked around McCormick’s livery. Mac’s horse wasn’t there. He went over to Court Street where he looked into the County Livery. That’s where he saw the red roan. The cowboy stepped in to make sure it was definitely Mac’s horse. As he got close to the roan, a voice came out of the darkness.
“You lookin’ for something?”
Will Chaney was startled, but right away recognized the voice. “Mac!”
Mac Sherman stood up in the horse stall next to his roan. “What are you doing here, Chaney?”
“Abe sent me to fetch ya’.” Chaney paused. “I gotta tell ya’ though, he don’t look too good, kinda sickly.”
“Why? What happened to him?”
“He and that ranger got in a scrap. Abe had the better of him ’till the marshal broke it up and hauled Abe off to the jail.”
“Turlock. Damn him!” Mac said. He paused, then turned back to Chaney. “Never mind about the sickness. Abe will be fine. He’s out now?”
“Got out this morning. He sent everyone out to collect strays and then he climbed into his wagon.”
“It’s too late to head back now. We’ll get a start at first light. Where’s your horse?”
“Tied at the Russell Hotel.”
“Bring him here,” Mac ordered. “We’ll bunk in the barn here and head back first thing in the morning.”
Abe woke the next morning inside his wagon with his blanket wrapped around him. He felt a crushing pain in his head and his body was shaking uncontrollably. His clothes were damp from sweat. He could hear the commotion of a busy camp and smell the aroma of campfire biscuits outside his wagon. As he moved he heard the sound of glass clinking. An empty whisky bottle and a near-empty bottle of laudanum lay next to him on his blanket. That would explain the pain and the shakes, he thought. He ached all over. He quickly downed what was left of the laudanum. The previous sleepless night in that cold stone cell had left him sore and stiff. It took a lot of medicine and a lot of “liquid comfort” to get him to fall asleep.
He moved slowly to a sitting position and could already feel the tightness and irritation building in his chest. Any movement at all was a chore. It took every bit of his energy to pull himself up and climb out of his wagon. When Abe appeared, most of the camp stopped what it was doing and watched him as he moved along, bracing himself against the wagon.
“Coffee,” Abe said softly as he walked to the chuck wagon and sat down. The cook brought him a tin cup of hot coffee. “How you doin’, Abe?”
“I feel like hell.” Walker looked over at his men. “What the hell you lookin’ at? Get on with it!” The crew of cowboys returned to packing up and getting ready to move the herd.
“Crabtree got the boys started breaking down the camp. Can I get ya’ anything? You feel like eatin’? I got ham-’n-beans and biscuits.”
“Not now. Not hungry.” Abe savored that first sip of hot coffee. “Is Mac back here yet?”
“Nope.”
“Damn. I got to go into town. I wanted Mac with me,” Abe said almost to himself. He sat sipping his coffee and staring into the cup.
After a moment, the cook said, “Mac’s wanted, Abe. He can’t go to town with ya’.”
Abe looked at the cook and then remembered that he was right. He downed his coffee and stood up. “I need to get cleaned up. Bring me some hot water and get my suit.” Abe threw off his blanket and walked back to his wagon. “And more coffee!”
By the time Abe had washed, put on his suit, and took a few more slugs of his medicine, the pain had diminished and the shakes had subsided. He was starting to feel alive again. He walked around the campsite and inspected the packing. It was late morning and Abe was getting restless. He walked to where a group of cowboys were congregating around Crabtree Bonnam.
“Any word from Sherman?” Abe asked Bonnam.
“Not yet, Mr. Walker. Even if they left Tascosa at dawn, it will be a couple more hours before they get here.”
“I can’t wait that long,” Abe Walker said. “Get the crew mounted and get those cattle moved to White Horse Lake. We’ll have to hold them there in a tight herd until they get enough pens opened for them. By that time I should have them sold. Get our horses. You and I are going to town.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Walker.” Crabtree turned to the cowboys standing around and laid out instructions as Walker ordered. Before long, the crew was assembled and they began to move the herd to the lake below the stockyards. Crabtree saddled his horse and Abe’s palomino and walked them over to where Abe was standing.
Abe Walker climbed up into the saddle on his palomino and stowed his gun belt in his saddlebags. “Don’t want any more trouble.”
Crabtree Bonnam climbed up into his saddle and did the same with his gun belt.
With the chants and whistles of the cowboys driving the herd in the background, Abe and Crabtree began their ride into Amarillo.
Amarillo’s livestock brokerage office was at one end of a row of three small buildings near the stockyards. Doc Morgan had the office on the other end, and a telegraph and post office occupied the middle office. It was just after noon when Abe Walker and Crabtree Bonnam reached the livestock brokerage office of J.J. Billingsly, the local representative of the Jacob McCoy Trading Company out of Chicago. But he wasn’t in his office. In fact, no one was in his office. The door was locked.
“Today Sunday?” Abe asked.
“No, sir. I know it ain’t Sunday. Where you suppose he is?” Crabtree asked.
Abe looked around the stockyards and the Old Town area and off in the distance he saw the magnificent Amarillo Hotel. There were always a lot of businessmen in the lobby. “Let’s try the hotel.”
The two cattlemen rode through town and reined in at the Amarillo Hotel. They tied their horses to the hitch rail and went inside. As usual, the hotel was bustling with people. Abe searched the lobby and saw Billingsly seated on a maroon crushed velvet sofa chatting with two other gentlemen sitting in matching armchairs directly across from him. The two gentlemen were both smoking cigars. Billingsly held a lit cigar in one hand and sipped on a glass of whiskey. Abe walked up and stood between the trio and looked directly at J.J. Billingsly.
“I’m looking for you, Billingsly. We got business to discuss.”
“Hello, Walker,” the broker said. “I heard you were around. I was expecting you earlier.”
“I got a little tied up.”
“I heard that, too. Well, I’m in the middle of something right now with these gentlemen. I’ll be happy to meet with you in about an hour or so when I’m finished here,” Billingsly offered.
“We’ll meet now. Your business with them can wait.”
One of the men to Abe’s right stood up. “Now see here …” he began but Crabtree put his hand on the man’s shoulder and pushed him back down in his chair without saying a word. Billingsly glared at Walker. He crushed out his cigar and swallowed what was left in his whiskey glass. He let out a deep sigh and then smiled to his companions.
“Would you gentlemen mind excusing us for a bit while I meet with Mr. Walker?�
� Billingsly asked. “It’s obviously an urgent matter.” The two men mumbled their displeasure over the situation as they slowly left the area and headed for the hotel’s saloon. Abe sat down in one of the now vacant armchairs.
“I got over three thousand head of good Texas longhorn out by White Horse Lake. What are you paying?”
“First of all, Walker, there’s no such thing as a ‘good’ Texas longhorn. They’re scrawny and their beef is tough. The demand these days is for those beefier cows out of Montana and Wyoming.”
“I’ll ask you again. What are you paying?” Abe repeated.
“Three thousand head, huh? I’ll give you three dollars a head.” Billingsly sat back and puffed out his chest. He smiled and waited for Walker’s reaction to such a low offer.
“You bastard!” Abe bellowed as he stood up. “I can get six dollars in Wichita!”
“You can’t get six dollars anywhere. I know what every broker is paying from San Antonio to Dodge, and nobody’s giving six dollars for longhorns.”
“You really don’t want to cheat me, Billingsly,” Abe threatened. “I know they’re selling beef back east for thirty and forty dollars a head.”
“That’s right, they are.” Billingsly stood. “But we’re not back East and you can’t get them there. I can. It costs a lot of money to move three thousand head of beef.”
Abe was furious and wanted to thrash this low-life wheeler-dealer. But he knew he didn’t have much choice. He needed Billingsly and he needed to make a deal. He didn’t have the time or the strength to move his cows to Dodge City or Abilene or Wichita looking for a better deal; a deal that he may not get. Abe swallowed his ire and his pride and sat back down.
“I can’t take three,” Abe said. “That wouldn’t even cover my costs. But I’ll take five.” Billingsly lit a new cigar, took a long puff, and sat back down on the sofa. Abe knew he was over a barrel and he knew Billingsly knew it too. He was just wondering how far Billingsly would push him.
“Five is out of the question.” Billingsly leaned back and thought a moment. “I’ll tell you what, Abe. I’ll give you four. That’s the going rate for longhorns, now. You won’t find a better price anywhere else. Trust me.”
Abe thought about it. He could take four and make a profit, but he wanted more. He needed more. Abe smiled back at Billingsly and then whispered something into Crabtree’s ear. Crabtree nodded and then left, heading for the saloon. The smile on J.J.’s face faded as he watched Abe’s sidekick walk to the bar.
Finally, Abe spoke. “You know, four might be your going rate for average cattle, but I think my cattle are better than average. Now my man over there can go out right now and find a dozen or so people who would agree with me. If that happened, I might get the idea that you’re trying to cheat me. I don’t think I’d like that. And I guarantee you wouldn’t like that either.”
J.J. Billingsly sat motionless. He removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed a bit of sweat from his forehead. “What do you want, Walker?”
“I told you. I think my cows are worth five. And I can parade a group of educated gentlemen through here who would agree with me.”
“You can parade whoever you want through here. You can parade President Cleveland through here and your cattle still won’t be worth five. To me or to anybody,” Billingsly said.
Abe stood up, his fists clenched and his chest tightening. He was angry that Billingsly didn’t buy his bluff.
“But, I’ll tell you what I’ll do to save time and all this unnecessary bickering and threatening.” Billingsly stood to look Walker in the eye. He had Abe’s attention. “Let’s say I’d offer you four-ten, which is a better than fair offer. You would naturally balk at that, and would probably come back with an offer around four-fifty. I’d laugh and then we’d bicker and negotiate and threaten each other a little more and finally I’d offer you my top price of four an’ two bits per head, because I will not go any higher and you will take no less. What do you say?” Billingsly smiled while he thrust out his hand for Abe to shake to consummate the deal.
Abe did a quick tally in his head of what this fast-talking broker just offered. He knew Billingsly wasn’t easily intimidated and that the offer on the table for four dollars and twenty-five cents a head was a decent payday for him. After a moment, Abe shook the broker’s hand. The deal was done.
“That’s fine.” Billingsly called over to a short thin man with wire glasses wearing a dark suit and a bowler. He gave instructions to the small man who nodded and left the hotel. Crabtree, standing by the front door, watched the man leave and then looked at Billingsly and Abe.
“He’s going down to the yards to get your cattle into pens so we can get an accurate count. When we have a count, we’ll pay you. I assume you want cash so you can pay your boys?”
Walker nodded and then gave a nod to Crabtree who left the hotel to follow the small well-dressed man to the stockyards.
Walker left Billingsly, agreeing to meet him at his office later that afternoon. He went to the front desk of the hotel and reserved a room for himself. Once he got his key he left the hotel to go to the stockyards and watch the transfer.
By late afternoon, the tally was complete: 3208 head. The cattle were sorted, penned and being readied for the next train. Walker left the broker’s office with a satchel full of cash. He and Crabtree went to the hotel and up to Abe’s hotel room, number twenty-one. Crabtree carried Abe’s saddlebags to his room and set a small table in front of his chair. Abe set the satchel of money on the table and pulled his record book from the saddle bags so he could record the payments to his crew. Abe also pulled his gun from the saddlebags and placed it on the table next to the money.
“Take the crew and head back to camp. Finish packing up and get everyone to come here to this room for their pay. And tell them to keep their guns handy, but out of sight,” Abe said. “And if Mac is back, tell him to meet me here tonight, after dark. I’ve got a job for him.”
21
End of Drive
Charlie rose early in the morning, got dressed, and took his time getting Gus fed, watered and groomed. He went back in the cabin and ate a simple breakfast of canned peaches, some jerky, and coffee. While he ate, he looked around the cabin, double-checking what he set aside to take with him and what he would leave behind.
Charlie pulled Russell’s jeans, tee-shirt, and gym shoes from the drawer in the washstand and laid them out on the bed. He’d need these to go back home. Charlie took off his Texas Ranger badge and put it inside his trunk. Then he pinned on his new Deputy City Marshal badge. It didn’t look much different or weigh any different than his old badge, but somehow it felt different; almost felt like a demotion. He and Amos had been working together for a couple of years now. The badge shouldn’t make any difference, he thought. Looking at his reflection in the cracked mirror piece hanging above his washstand, he shook his head and shrugged off those feelings. It was time to go back to town. With Abe out of jail, he knew this would be the day Abe would move his cows. He needed to be there. Charlie picked up his jacket and the old hat that Russell wore and went out to saddle Gus.
Charlie rode straight to Tuck Cornelius’s Livery at the end of town and left Gus there for the day. He pulled his Winchester from the scabbard on Gus’s saddle and walked straight to the marshal’s office. Marshal Cook was sitting at his desk.
“I see Abe brought his cows to town,” Charlie said as he entered.
“Yeah, Johnson saw him a little while ago at the hotel with Billingsly. I figure everybody’s gonna get paid off today. That could mean trouble later on.”
“Usually does, Amos.” Charlie sat down across from the marshal.
“You’re wearing my badge, now. Why don’t you go down to the hotel and keep an eye on everybody for a while?”
Charlie smiled. “You givin’ me an order, Amos?”
“Just a suggestion, Charlie,” the marshal replied, returning the smile.
“Well, to be honest with ya’
I was heading down there myself. I need to check on Russell, anyway.”
Charlie left the marshal’s office and walked toward the hotel. As he got close, he saw the broker’s well-dressed assistant hurry from the hotel and head toward the stock yards in Old Town. A few minutes later he saw Crabtree exit and follow the little man. Charlie slowed his pace as he watched both men until they were out of sight. Then he continued on to the hotel.
When Charlie entered the lobby he caught a glimpse of Abe Walker signing the register and picking up his room key. Charlie stepped to a corner of the lobby behind some other patrons to avoid being seen. When Walker left the hotel, Charlie went to the desk and found out that Abe took room twenty-one. That room was at the far end of the hall, just down from Russell’s room. It was the last room next to the back stairway that led to the side alley. Charlie told the clerk that no one was to know that Russell was in the hotel.
Charlie quietly climbed the steps and went into Russell’s room without knocking. The sudden intrusion startled Russell. “Charlie!”
“Sorry for bustin’ in on ya’. Walker took a room down the hall and I didn’t want him or any of his crew to see me. We don’t want them to know you’re here.”
“Why not?”
“They think you’re dead. That’s why not. It’s better if they keep thinking that way.” Charlie pulled back the curtain and looked out onto the street for a moment. Then turned back to Russell. “How you feeling today?”
“It doesn’t hurt as bad as it did yesterday. Doc came in last night and said it was looking pretty good. He put some more of that stuff on it and a new pad and then bandaged it again.”
“Can you move around much?” Charlie asked.
“Some. But not all that well, yet. I imagine I probably could if I really had to, though.”