by Ed Roberts
No little consternation has been occasioned by recent events in the town of Paris, where the recruiting has been taking place of what is, to all intents and purposes, an army of some of the roughest types to be found in the state of Texas. Excellent remuneration is being offered to bushwhackers, road agents, those lately returned from fighting various obscure wars in Latin America and an assortment of mankillers. Those doing their best to gather together this armed body of men are believed to be agents of the WYOMING STOCK GROWERS ASSOCIATION, acting under instructions from its chief, MR TIMOTHY CARTER. We understand that he is working ‘hand in glove’ with a former resident of this state, MR DAVID BOOKER. Readers of this newspaper will doubtless recollect that the last time MR BOOKER was in Texas, he had to cut short his stay with the most startling abruptness. It was rumoured that he left a few steps ahead of a group of vigilant citizens, desirous of inviting MR BOOKER to a ‘necktie party’, following the shooting to death of a local resident who challenged MR BOOKER about his amazing luck at card play.
Your correspondent understands that the princely sum of $5 per diem is being promised to these ‘soldiers of fortune’ and that each has additionally been insured for $3,000. Should they be killed in action, this money will be paid to their families. It is understood that the ‘regulators’, as they are being described, or ‘vigilantes’, as others are calling them, are being furnished with a list of names of men in WYOMING who are popularly deemed to be rustlers. The aim is, allegedly, either to run these supposed miscreants out of the state or, failing that, to dispose of them humanely.
A curious circumstance, which we cannot forebear to mention, is that the acting governor of WYOMING, that well-known local character, DR AMOS BARBER, is generally admitted to be ‘in’ on the scheme, having provided a certain amount of money to enable the hiring of a special railroad train, which will transport the motley crew from Texas to Cheyenne; the state capital. DR BARBER, it need not be mentioned, is himself a member in good standing of the WYOMING STOCK GROWERS ASSOCIATION, the people organizing the expedition, raid, invasion or call it what you will.
Sheriff Parker received a copy of the Cheyenne Examiner two days after the piece was published, and it need hardly be said that reading it did little to allay his anxiety. It appeared all but a racing certainty that an army of rootless killers and ne’er-do-wells would soon be entering Wyoming, the only point of doubt being whether or not they would be coming to Mayfield and the surrounding district. Personally, he felt there was no doubt at all, because if Timothy Carter was at the back of it all, surely he would be wanting these fellows to come to his own neck of the woods and work their tricks there?
It was just as he finished reading the article from the Cheyenne Examiner that the street door to his office opened and in strolled Jerry Reece, the second of Sheriff Parker’s deputies. Jerry had a nose for trouble and had, in some mysterious fashion, divined that he was needed back in Mayfield. The sheriff was mightily pleased to see the young man. He said gruffly, ‘Thought you wasn’t due back for another sennight or more? Couldn’t keep away, hey?’
‘Word spreads. There’s a storm brewing, by all accounts. Figured that I’d be more use here than back home, soothing my mother in her grief.’
It was no secret that Jerry Reece had hated his father and had shed not a tear at his passing. He had really only gone back home for a while to comfort his mother, following her husband’s death. Tom Parker tried to say a few stumbling words about hoping that his deputy was bearing up under his own sorrow, but Jerry gave him such a quizzical and amused look that he soon stopped. He said, ‘I dare say you’ve heard all that’s needful. You may want to skim this piece.’ He pushed the newspaper across the desk, but Jerry waved it away, saying, ‘I already read that bit in the Examiner. Question is, what’s to do next?’
‘I thought that the four of us might ride out to Carter’s ranch and kind of tip him the wink and warn him off whatever it is he has in mind.’
‘Four? You’ve engaged another deputy? Or is your boy just going to tag along with us for fun?’
Mayfield was not a large town and it was all but impossible to keep anything secret there for long. It was not to be wondered at that Jerry had already heard about Jack helping round the place. The sheriff said, ‘You got any objection to riding alongside my boy?’
‘Not in the least. Surprised a little, I guess. I didn’t think that you and he was exactly hitting it off lately.’
‘Yes, things have changed somewhat. That doesn’t matter. You surely didn’t come haring back here to discuss my family affairs. You game for going off to see Carter this afternoon?’
‘Why not?’
Jack was over at the livery stable, checking that the horses had been seen by the farrier. It had not escaped notice that the youngster had now taken to carrying his rifle wherever he went in town. His friend Pete remarked upon this, when Jack showed up that morning to check on the horses. He said, ‘You going hunting or something?’
Jack reddened, unsure if he was being mocked. He said, ‘My pa wants me to keep this by my side.’
‘Why?’
Unwilling to talk about what he regarded as confidential business, the boy shrugged and said, ‘I don’t rightly know.’
Pete looked at his friend wistfully and said, ‘You’re changing, you know that? You never used to be so buttoned up and secretive. A fellow don’t know what to make of it. It ain’t just me as has noticed, neither. A heap o’ folks have said things.’
‘I’m not troubling anybody,’ said Jack defensively, ‘Just tending to my own business.’
There was a strained silence and after he had looked over the mounts, Jack saw no need to linger as he sometimes did and chat with Pete. He was sure that there would be more important things to do back at his father’s office.
Jerry Reece and Jack had always got on well together. The gap in age between them was not overly substantial, Jerry being but twenty-two years of age. He was never the less a little staggered to return to town and find that Jack was now next door to being a deputy himself. When the boy walked in, Jerry greeted him warmly, saying, ‘New member of the team, huh?’
‘I’m just lending a hand with some chores. My pa asked me to.’
Jerry saw the rifle and thought that things might be a mite more serious than he had thought. He said, ‘Somebody shoot at you, Jack?’
Jack looked over to his father, asking with his eyes how much he ought to reveal. Tom Parker said, ‘Tell him the whole story, son. We’ve no secrets here.’
After hearing chapter and verse about what had been happening while he was away, Jerry said, ‘Strikes me that the sooner we speak a few soft words to Carter, the better. Where’s Brandon?’
‘He’ll be back about midday,’ said his boss, ‘When he returns, I reckon we should eat and then ride straight over to the Carter ranch and lay down the law in no small measure. Otherwise, there’s going to be some blood-letting, of that I’m sure.’
Once Brandon Ross came back from his patrol, the four of them went down the road to an eating house and filled their bellies with a generous helping of pork and beans. Having done so, they went back to the office, where the two deputies collected a carbine apiece. Then they walked down Main Street towards the livery stable. People on the sidewalk stopped to stare, because the group presented a grim and forbidding spectacle, had they but known it. The sheriff was the only one of them armed only with a pistol. The sight of three men, all toting rifles under their arms was a striking one and the expression on their faces told everybody that this was no party of men going hunting. The three youngsters were amiable lads who always had a smile and a word for those they passed, in the usual way of things. Today though, they had set looks, which did not encourage anybody to call out a cheerful greeting or to wave or anything. It was as plain as a pikestaff that there was trouble in the wind.
Chapter 5
There was a sober air among the four of them as they rode out to Timothy Carter’s spread.
All felt that nervous tension that men experience when they believe they might shortly be involved in a violent confrontation. Jack was most sensitive to this atmosphere; he had butterflies in his stomach and a queasy sensation, which he recognized as the prelude to throwing up. He bit back on this feeling, for he knew that he would never again be able to look either of the two deputies in the face if he vomited in front of them at this stage of the proceedings. They would, for certain-sure, interpret this as a sign of fear. So when he felt his eyes watering and he burped slightly, bringing some bile up into his mouth, Jack focused on making his mind blank and his breathing regular. By and by, he stopped feeling sick and by the time they reached Carter’s place he was in full possession of himself again.
While they had been on the road, Brandon Ross, Jerry Reece and Jack had stuck their rifles in scabbards at the front of their saddles. Once they passed the sign which informed them that they were now entering the property of Timothy Carter however, Brandon and Jerry by unspoken agreement, withdrew their rifles and carried them in their right hands, while holding the reins with their left. What it was which had prompted them to make this move, they would have been quite unable to say, but the two men both had an extra sense where danger was concerned. Uneasily, like somebody trying to play a game of whose rules he was unaware, Jack Parker too pulled his rifle out of the leather scabbard and also held it in readiness.
Usually, the yard around Carter’s house was bustling with activity, but today it was deserted. Once they had halted, the sheriff and his three companions sat for a while, just watching and listening. There was no noise, either, and that was very odd. None of the usual, cheerful hubbub that you hear in a working farm or ranch. There was simply nobody around. Sheriff Parker said, ‘Something’s afoot, I’ll tell you that for nothing.’ He dismounted and gestured for the others to do likewise.
The four of them, three holding their rifles at the ready and looking round cautiously, waited for somebody to come and greet them. Some distance from the main house were the bunkhouses for the hands, but there was no sign of life around them either, from what they could see. Jack, who had keyed himself up for some kind of trouble or disturbance, found the continued silence eerie. He could feel his heart thudding within his chest and in his mouth was a faint, coppery tang, as though he had been sucking coins. He was not yet familiar with this sensation; it was the taste of raw fear.
After a few more seconds, as the tension rose inexorably and nobody spoke, they became aware of the sound of horses in the distance. It sounded like a fair number and from the steadily increasing sound, they were coming towards them. Sheriff Parker said, ‘Don’t none of you say or do anything. Let me do the talking. You hear me?’ The other three all nodded and grunted their assent. It began to dawn on them all that what they had expected to be a routine visit to deliver a quiet warning to the rancher might be turning into a horse of another colour. They were standing there in the open and if shooting began, they would be horribly exposed to danger.
Brandon Ross said, ‘Boss, don’t you think we ought to get under cover and make ready for any action?’
‘No,’ said Sheriff Parker, ‘Not if you mean ducking behind walls or hiding in barns, we’re not.’
Jack felt a tightness in his throat and hoped that he wouldn’t be called upon to speak for a while. He had a horrible feeling that if he tried to say anything right now, his voice would come out as either a strangled croak or an undignified squeaking. Why he had wanted to try and bluff his father into appointing him deputy, he had no idea right now, and wished that he was back at the livery stable playing pitch and toss with Pete Hedstrom. He sensed that the two deputies were also twitchy and perhaps feeling a little nervous. Only his father was as calm and collected as he always was, standing there as relaxed as though he were admiring some goods in the window of a store on Main Street.
The riders came into sight up the drive that led from the road to Carter’s ranch. There were five of them, and Jack had the distinct impression that they were not the usual hands one saw about town. These men had a more assured and confident air, and were dressed differently as well, a little too smartly to be wrestling with steers. One at least he knew by sight: Dave Booker, the Texan his father had spoken with on their last visit here was in the lead as the riders thundered into the yard and then reined in, close enough to the men on foot for it to seem as though they were crowding them, or at any rate attempting to do so.
Booker, who was apparently in charge, said, ‘What are you men doing here? You know this is private property?’
‘Don’t you fool around with me now, Booker,’ said Tom Parker, ‘I want to speak to your boss. Is he here?
‘I’m tending to his business, didn’t he tell you? Anything you got to say, you can deal with me.’
Sheriff Parker cast his eyes over the other riders, whose apparel was most decidedly not of the kind that was commonly seen on farm workers and ranch hands. He addressed one of the men, saying, ‘Where are you from, friend? You’re not from hereabouts, I’m guessing.’ Instead of answering, the fellow looked at Booker, who shook his head slightly, as though to indicate that he should say nothing. This irked the sheriff and prompted him to say softly, ‘You know, Booker, that obstructing a peace officer in the execution of his duties is likely to lead you into all sorts of difficulties. Were I you, I wouldn’t even think of trying it.’
‘Yes, but you see, you ain’t me. You want Mr Carter, he’s gone off for a day or two and I’m running the place now. You don’t have a warrant or nothing, you’d best be getting along. Take your snot-nosed kid with you. That the best you can do in the way o’ deputies round here?’
Never in all his life had Jack heard anybody speak in such a way to his father. He trembled, wondering what would next chance. He could not imagine that anybody would be able to treat Mayfield’s sheriff with such frank contempt, at least not without a reckoning coming to them.
If Sheriff Parker was in the slightest degree put out or offended by being spoken to like this, he gave no external sign. The expression on his face remained unaltered and his tone of voice, when he replied to Booker, was as calm and level as usual. He said, ‘I suppose that Carter’s gone off to Cheyenne, has he?’
Dave Booker looked momentarily surprised, before replying, ‘I didn’t say so.’
The sheriff suddenly grinned and said, ‘You just told me. Thanks for confirming what I suspicioned.’
Booker scowled and then thrust a hand inside his jacket. Jerry Reece at once brought up his rifle, worked a cartridge into the breech, and drew down on the Texan, thinking that the man was going for a hidden weapon. This action on Jerry’s part caused one of the men riding with Booker to jerk his pistol out, which in turn made Brendon Ross think that it would be the smart dodge to raise his own weapon and cock it. As for Jack, he hardly knew what to do with his own gun. His father said urgently, ‘No, no, that’s not what I want at all. All of you, put up your weapons. There’s no need for shooting.’
For a tense few seconds, his deputies kept their rifles trained on Booker and his men. Two of those men had pistols in their hands and nobody seemed quite sure about what was going to happen next. Then Dave Booker chuckled and withdrew his hand from within his jacket. In it was grasped a silver cigar case, from which he extracted one of the aniseed-flavoured cheroots that he was so fond of. He lit it and remarked to nobody in particular, ‘Well, that looked like it might have got a little lively!’
In obedience to their boss’s command, the two deputies lowered their rifles. Booker’s men then holstered their pistols. Sheriff Parker walked up to Booker’s horse and said very quietly, ‘Here’s a message for Mr Carter. You and these boys best take heed as well. I’ll have no more killings in this area. Nor will I have any gangs of bandits racing around the county. You carry on down this present road, Booker, and you and your boss are going to call the lightning down on your heads. Don’t do it. Just back off now, while there’s still time enough.’
; ‘You sound like a man who’s afeared,’ said Booker, ‘One who ain’t got the stomach for trouble.’
‘I give you the warning. You don’t heed it, that’s your affair.’ The sheriff turned to his deputies and son, saying, ‘Come on, you fellows. Our business here is done.’ They mounted up and rode off, while Dave Booker and his companions watched them impassively. Once they were clear of Carter’s place, Tom Parker moved alongside his son and said, ‘You all right, Jack?’
‘I guess so. I thought there was going to be fighting. Shooting and such.’
‘The idea scare you?’
For a moment, it was on the tip of Jack’s tongue to deny this suggestion and to claim that he’d been ready for anything back there, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell the lie. He said instead, ‘I was frightened, sir. I don’t mind owning to it.’
To his surprise, Jack’s father replied, ‘Good. That’s just how it should be.’
In response to his son’s interrogative glance, Sheriff Parker said, ‘I could never trust a man who says that he ain’t scared when a gunfight is looming. Either he’s a liar or he’s a madman. I wouldn’t care to have either by my side when the chips are down.’
‘I thought you might think I was soft.’
‘You, son? Not for a moment.’
‘What happens now?’
‘What did you fellows make of all that?’ asked the sheriff, raising his voice a little, so that they knew that he was not just engaged in some private conversation, ‘Anybody have any thoughts on what should be the next move?’
‘You think it’s certain now that this train-load of Texans is heading here?’ asked Brandon Ross, ‘You think that Carter’s gone to Cheyenne to meet them?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said the sheriff, ‘I’ve always been of that opinion. It’s the only thing that fits all that we know of this business. They’ll have a list of names, and once they come, they’ll ride round, killing and burning, until all those who’ve settled in here in recent years move off their land. Carter’ll tear up the fences and return all the fields to open range.’