“Yeah, well, that paper is worth thirty-six thousand dollars. And soon as he shows it to the bank, why they’ll count out the money ’n give to ’im,” Otis said. “’N this time when we stand ’im up, we’ll know that he actual has the money,” Otis insisted.
“Yeah, well, there’s another problem that maybe you ain’t thought nothin’ about,” Foley said.
“What’s that?”
“Maybe you ain’t noticed or maybe you done forgot, but we ain’t got no guns.”
“I got one,” Otis said. Reaching down into his saddlebag, he pulled out a Colt .44.
“That’s good,” Clemmons said. “But that’s only one gun ’n they’s three of us. What are we sposed to do whilst you’re holdin’ a gun on ’im?”
“If we’ve got one gun, we can get two more,” Otis said. “I been this way before, ’n I know where they’s a store that’s real close by. There ain’t nothin’ else around the store, ’n it sells guns.”
“We ain’t got the money to pay for no more guns,” Foley pointed out.
“Who said we were goin’ to pay for ’em?”
Welcome to
CHUGWATER, WYOMING TERRITORY
POPULATION 285
The jewel of Chugwater Valley
Duff rode by the sign, happy to be back home, or at least what had been his home since having left Scotland some years earlier. At first he had thought it might be difficult to adjust to America, but he had made many friends in Chugwater and he no longer felt like a displaced Scotsman. He considered himself a true resident of Chugwater Valley, secure on his ranch and comfortable with the little settlement that had become his new hometown.
There were two saloons in Chugwater. One was the Wild Hog, and while the owner of the Wild Hog was a law-abiding citizen, he had no pretensions about his place of business. It existed for the sole purpose of providing inexpensive drinks to a clientele who didn’t care if the wide plank floor was unpainted or stained with spilled liquor and expectorated tobacco juice. The biggest thing that set the Wild Hog apart from Fiddler’s Green, the other saloon in town, was its women. Whereas the girls who worked the bar at Fiddler’s Green provided pleasant conversation and flirtatious company only, the women who worked at the Wild Hog were soiled doves who, for a price, would extend their hospitality to the brothel that was maintained on the second floor of the saloon.
Just as Duff rode by the Wild Hog, he heard a woman scream, but the laughter that followed immediately afterward gave evidence that the scream had been in fun. An out-of-tune piano ground out loud and discordant chords that may have been part of a song, though it certainly wasn’t anything Duff had ever heard before.
The laughter and music fell behind him as he continued to ride down Bowie Avenue. Although he occasionally had a drink in the Wild Hog, it was just to maintain a cordial relationship with the owner. Duff’s personal choice of saloon was Fiddler’s Green. Everyone agreed that it was an establishment equal to anything you could find between St. Louis and San Francisco. It was owned by Biff Johnson, a retired army sergeant who, while he was with the Seventh Cavalry, had served with Custer, Reno, and Benteen.
Fiddler’s Green was practically a museum to the Seventh Cavalry. The walls were decorated with regimental flags and troop pennants, with arrows, lances, pistols, and carbines picked up from more than a dozen engagements. Biff even had one of Custer’s hats. It had been personally given to him by Libbie Custer when he escorted her back to Monroe, Michigan, after George A. Custer was killed.
Even the name Fiddler’s Green was indicative of Biff’s service in the cavalry. Cavalry legend had it that anyone who ever served as a cavalryman will, after they die, stop by a shady glen where there is good grass and a nearby stream of cool water for the horses. There, cavalrymen from all wars and generations will drink beer, chew tobacco, smoke their pipes, and visit. They will regale one another with tales of derring-do until that last syllable of recorded time, at which moment they will bid each other a last good-bye before departing for their final and eternal destination.
When Duff stepped into the Fiddler’s Green Saloon he was greeted warmly by at least a dozen customers, as well as receiving a personal greeting from the proprietor.
“Duff, my boy, Elmer and Wang were here earlier and they told me that you got your cows delivered with no problem,” Biff said.
“Nae problem at all.” Duff didn’t mention the incident that happened on the return trip. “And I’ll be for havin’ a wee drop of scotch if ye would be so kind.”
Biff, one of Duff’s first friends in Chugwater after leaving his native Scotland, took a bottle of Dewar’s Scotch from under the bar, one he kept personally for Duff. In addition, Biff was married to a Scotswoman, which helped cement the bond between them.
Duff lifted his glass and gave his toast. “Here’s to the heath, the hill and the heather, the bonnet, the plaid, the kilt and the feather!”
“And while goin’ up the hill of fortune, may we never meet a friend comin’ down,” Biff replied.
“Aye, m’ lad. Well spoken.” Duff took a sip of the drink and held it on his tongue for a moment to enjoy the flavor before swallowing. “I’ll be going now,” he said as he set the empty glass on the bar. “I’ve some business to conduct.”
The business Duff spoke of was the deposit of the thirty-six-thousand-dollar draft into the local bank. And since the draft was made out to Duff, Meagan Parker, and Elmer Gleason, he had to round the two of them up.
That wasn’t a difficult task, as Elmer was the foreman of Sky Meadow and was there when Duff rode up.
“See there, Wang, I told you Duff would come back,” Elmer said. “’N here, heathen that you are, you were so sure that he would run away with all the money.”
“I said no such thing,” Wang Chow said with no sense of umbrage in his denial of the specious charge. He knew that Elmer was teasing.
* * *
Upon arriving in Chugwater, Otis, Foley, and Clemmons had gone straight to the Wild Hog.
At the moment, Otis was holding a mug of beer in his hand as he stood at the front of the saloon, looking out over the swinging batwing doors. He saw Duff MacCallister and an older man come riding into town. “Foley, Clemmons,” he called to his partners.
When neither of the two answered him, he looked around to see that they were sharing a table and drinks with two of the Wild Hog women. Not only had they acquired two more pistols and some ammunition from the store called Grant City, they had also taken all the money—$112—from the cashbox, part of which paid for the drinks. When they left the store Emile Grant was lying dead on the floor behind them.
“Foley, Clemmons,” Otis called again, much more forcefully this time. “Get over here!”
* * *
Duff and Elmer stopped by Meagan’s Dress Emporium.
“Lass, can ye leave the store for a bit?” Duff asked. “We’ll be for needing your signature.” He showed the draft to Meagan.
“For this, I’ll be happy to close the store,” she said.
A moment later with a sign that read CLOSED on the door, she accompanied Duff and Elmer to the Bank of Chugwater to make the deposit. The proceeds of the bank draft were divided three ways in accordance with the percentage each of them were to receive. Elmer was junior partner in the ranch itself, while Meagan owned some of the cattle that had been sold. The entire operation was a cashless transaction, as the bank credited the three accounts with the proper amount.
“Elmer, go on back to the ranch without me,” Duff said. “I’ll come along a little later.”
“All right.” Elmer smiled at Duff and Meagan. “Now don’t y’all go gettin’ into no trouble now.”
“We’ll try not to,” Duff said, returning the smile.
“Oh, come now, Duff, that wouldn’t be any fun,” Meagan said with a little laugh.
* * *
Pistols in hand, Otis, Foley, and Clemmons were waiting across from the bank on Swan Avenue.
“Whenever we
stopped him the first time that piece of paper he had warn’t no good for us,” Otis said. “But now that he’s gone to the bank, why, he more ’n likely has all that money on ‘im.”
“We goin’ to just shoot ’im, right here in town?” Foley asked.
“No, but we’re goin’ to keep a eye on ’im,’n soon’s we see him by hisself, we’ll shoot ’im ’n take his money.”
“Here he comes out o’ the bank,” Clemmons said excitedly. “That old man and the woman are still with him.”
“Does that mean we’ll be killin’ all three of’em?” Foley asked.
“If we have to,” Otis said.
“Looks like him ’n the woman’s goin’ into the saloon,” Foley said.
“Good. I could use another drink,” Clemmons said. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Clemmons,” Otis scolded. “Soon’s we stepped in through the door, he’d recognize us. How far do you think we could get with him seein’ us?”
Biff Johnson prided himself on keeping an establishment well enough regarded that women could visit the place without fear of a stain on their reputation, so it was not unusual to see Meagan coming in with Duff.
“Well, did you get your business taken care of?” Biff asked.
“Aye.”
“When are we going to Scotland?” Meagan asked after one of the young women delivered the drinks to their table.
“Scotland is it? ’N would ye be for telling me why ye want me to go to Scotland? Is it tired of my company, you are?”
“No,” Meagan replied with a smile. “But you did say that you would like to take me on a trip once we got the cattle sold. Well, they are sold, the money is in the bank, and I’m ready for that trip you promised me.”
“Aye, lass, sure ’n ’twas a promise I gave for taking ye on a trip, but ’twas no mention made o’ goin’ to Scotland.”
“Wouldn’t you like to go back for a visit?”
Duff paused for a moment, then he nodded and gave her his answer. “Aye, ’twould be good to hear people talkin’ with the brogue o’ m’ own tongue.”
“Och, Duff, ’n would ye be for telling me now, is it not the Scottish tongue ye are hearing from this wee lass?” Meagan replied, teasing him with an almost perfect mimicry of his brogue.
“Would ye really like to visit Scotland?”
“Yes, I would love to see the land of your birth.”
“But I could nae leave Sky Meadow for that long.”
“Duff, don’t you think Elmer and Wang could run Sky Meadow while we’re gone?”
“Aye, perhaps they can,” he replied with a broad smile. “Returning to Scotland, is it? ’Tis something I will consider.”
* * *
“There they are,” Otis said, pointing out the fact that Duff and Meagan were leaving Fiddler’s Green. The outlaws watched as Duff walked Meagan back to her dress shop, told her good-bye, then started toward his horse which had been tied up in front of the shop.
“When are we going to do it?” Foley asked.
“We’ll follow him out of town. Only this time, we ain’t goin’ to stop ’im ’n talk to ’im, ’cause we’ve already seen how slick the son of a bitch can be. This time soon as he’s out of town good, we’ll just shoot ’im down, ’n take the money offen his body.”
* * *
As Duff began to untie his horse, Sky, he saw three men across the street standing in the gap between Vi’s Pies and Guthrie’s Building Supply. After a closer look, he recognized them as the men who had accosted him during his ride back from Cheyenne. He stopped untying his horse, wrapped the reins back around the hitching rail, and started across the street to investigate.
“Damn, Otis, the son of a bitch has seen us! He’s comin’ right toward us!” Foley shouted in alarm.
“Pull your guns, boys,” Otis ordered. “We ain’t got no choice now but to shoot ’im!”
* * *
Duff heard Otis give the order. He pulled his own gun and shouted, “Hold it right there!”
“The hell you say!” Otis yelled back at him as all three men raised their pistols.
For the next ten seconds the citizens of Chugwater were surprised and alarmed to hear the sound of battle being conducted right in the middle of town. Several shots were fired, many on top of each other. Then it fell silent, the only remaining mark of the gunfight being the acrid-smelling gun smoke that rolled down Swan Avenue.
Once it was quiet, customers and proprietors of the businesses emerged for a cautious and curious look at what had just happened. They saw Duff, a smoking pistol in his hand, examining the bodies of the three men who lay on the boardwalk, halfway out into the street.
Chapter Three
After raising his army and giving each of the men an advance against their salary based upon their assigned rank, Schofield was ready to conduct his first military operation. He chose the town of Hachita, which was the northernmost town in the Bootheel. And though it would have been a natural target because of its location, there was also a bonus in attacking the town, because it had a producing silver mine that would more than triple his available resources.
Schofield was mounted at the head of his troops, waiting just on the outside of Hachita. Earlier he had sent a couple of his men—Captain Greg Bond and First Sergeant Dan Cobb—in to reconnoiter the town. They hadn’t been in uniform, so as to not arouse any undue suspicion. Their ranks had been assigned to them by Schofield.
“What have you found?” he asked, as the men returned.
Bond had a big smile on his face. “Right now there are seventy-six men working the mine. I don’t know how many men are still in town, but there aren’t that many and most of them are store clerks and such. None of them are currently armed, and I doubt that half of them even have a gun.”
“The sheriff?”
“He’s an old man who probably hasn’t even drawn his pistol in the last year.”
“All right, get in uniform. General Peterson?”
“Yes, Prime Director?”
“Form the regiment into operational battalions.”
“Yes, sir.”
Half an hour later the mine supervisor and the operators of the stamping mill looked up in surprise as more than fifty mounted and uniformed men came galloping up to the mine.
The supervisor stepped out of the headquarters shack to greet them. “Who are you men? What kind of uniform is that you folks are wearing?”
Schofield nodded and several of his men began shooting. The supervisor, and every other mine worker who was on the surface at the moment, went down under a hail of gunfire.
Schofield’s next move was to have his men take several sticks of dynamite from the supply shack and put them in key positions around the mouth of the mine. The resultant explosion collapsed the mine, trapping every miner inside.
The people of the town heard the explosion, and though it was not unusual to hear dynamite blasts, the explosion was much louder than any time previous. Many feared the worst, and they were out in the street when Schofield and his army swept in.
There was absolutely no resistance to Schofield’s demand that the town surrender to him.
Shortly after the town came under his control, he visited the local newspaper, where he ordered one thousand copies of a document to be printed.
DECLARATION OF AUTONOMY
I, Ebenezer R. Schofield, by assumption of authority over all towns, villages, settlements, individual ranches, farms, estates, and homes, do by these presence make the following declaration:
That the portion of land in the current Territory of New Mexico known as the Bootheel, which is bordered on the north by the 32nd Parallel, and on the east, south, and west by the country of Mexico, is herein separated from the United States to be established as the new, and independent nation that is now and forever known as Tierra de Desierto.
The type government by which this new nation is to be administered will be an autarchy, with all authority resting in the Prime Di
rector, that position being occupied by the author of this document.
The decrees of this document, as well as lex non scripta with regard to the dominion of the Prime Director, are to take immediate effect.
Schofield had several of the documents posted around town. Then he wrote a letter to the Secretary of State of the United States and included a copy of the Declaration of Autonomy.
To the Honorable James G. Blaine
Secretary of State, United States of America
I have the honor, Sir, of informing you that with immediate effect, the nation of Tierra De Desierto has been formed by the declaration herein enclosed. It is my desire that the severing of all laws, regulations, and military responsibilities of the United States be accomplished peacefully, and that a fruitful alliance may be quickly established between our two nations.
Ebenezer R. Schofield
Prime Director,
Nation of Tierra De Desierto
At first he addressed the envelope specifically to Secretary Blaine, then he thought better of it, and readdressed the letter only to State Department, Government of the United States, Washington, DC.
He smiled at his ploy. The letter would go to the lowest level of the State Department, perhaps to be misfiled so that it might never reach Blaine, but, legally, the letter will have been sent.
Antelope Wells, New Mexico Territory
The town of Antelope Wells, the southernmost town in the territory, sat on the border with Mexico. It was also the biggest and most important town in the entire Bootheel region.
The mayor of the town, Charles McGregor, was reading one of the copies of the Declaration of Autonomy that Schofield had caused to be circulated. The town sheriff, Duncan Campbell, was also reading a copy.
“This can nae help but have an adverse effect upon us, Sergeant Major.”
“Aye,” Campbell replied. “’Tis for sure ’n certain that the bloke has in mind taking over every town ’n wee village, ’n he’ll nae stop before he has Antelope Wells.”
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