by S. L. Stoner
“You thought they’d blame the cattle ranchers—the sheepshooters?” Sage asked.
“Sure. Who else would they blame? The sheepshooters have been taking out flocks. Heck, they left a shepherd tied up with a sack over his head. Told him to leave Crook County or else next time they’d kill him. Another one disappeared until you found his body the other day. Burning the Kepler’s sheep barn fit right in with what the sheepshooters were doing.”
Sage was nodding encouragingly. “And the fire at the Fromm’s homestead?” he prodded.
“Because the missus also put in a claim, the Fromms have a large piece, double the size of most homesteads. And, it has year around water. If we ran them off, we could step in and maybe buy it. Or, at least graze it as open range for a while.”
“Didn’t you realize that your actions were going to goad the sheepmen into attacking the cattlemen? That you were going to trigger a range war?”
Van Ostrand shrugged. “That’s their lookout. I had my family to consider.”
Sage glanced toward Siringo, who’d been leaning against the wall, chewing on a piece of straw. “Do you think his confession will be enough to make the sheepmen abandon their retaliation plans?”
Siringo straightened, tossed away the straw and grinned. “It’ll help. Also, I got another coded telegram early this morning. It’s for sure the federal government is going to intervene. The Secretary of the Interior’s local man is supposed to meet with both sides to find a solution. That news ought to cool them all down.”
“The governor succeeded?” Sage glanced toward Twill, who was looking mystified, so Sage explained, “Governor Chamberlain has been trying to get the President and the Secretary of the Interior to take responsibility for the mess they’ve created and to fix it. He finally did it.” Turning back to Siringo, Sage asked, “So, what’s the federal government planning to do?”
“Wahl,” began Siringo, “they are going to meet with both sides. The plan is to talk about opening up the mountain forest reserves for grazing and deciding the fairest way to divvy it up between cattle and sheep. If they’re successful, everybody should be happy.” He turned toward Twill, “Do you think you can calm the shepherds down now that we know who killed Timothy O’Dea and Paddy Campbell?”
Twill smiled.“Oh yea. Me mates weren’t looking forward to going into battle. For one thing, those cowpokes are some pretty hard fellows. Truth be told, us shepherds would much rather ‘fight with gentle words’.”
Van Ostrand’s moan reminded them that he still sat on the hay bale. He spoke from behind hands over his face, “It was all for nothing? We were going to get access anyway?”
Siringo and Sage exchanged a look. Neither wanted Van Ostrand to know that it was his bad acts that had given Chamberlain the leverage he needed with the folks in Washington D. C.
“Yup, that’s right, Van Ostrand. You burned down a barn, murdered two men and a champion sheepdog for no-good reason,” Siringo told him. “You dwell on that in the few days you have left to live.”
THIRTY TWO
“Look partner, I know you want to head back to Portland, but we need your help to do this one thing,” Siringo said as Heney nodded agreement. The three of them were in Heney’s hotel room. Siringo and Heney were trying to convince Sage to go with Sheriff Smith to arrest Tom Meglit for the murder of Paddy Campbell.
“But, I already did what needed doing. The range war isn’t going to happen. Charlie, why can’t you arrest him?” Sage protested.
“Because, I still have work to do here in Central Oregon. I take part in the arrest, everyone will know I’m a Dickinsen man. I promised the governor I’d keep an eye on the situation until the feds have their meeting and things settle down.”
“Well, if the U.S. Attorney can’t make Sheriff Smith conduct a proper arrest, how can I?”
“You are exactly right,” said Heney who crossed over to a desk. His room was more spacious than Sage’s. He picked up a pen and began writing something on a sheet of paper. Once finished, he set down the pen, and waved the paper through the air to dry the ink. “That’s why you are now an officially-appointed investigator for the U.S. District Attorney’s office,” he said as he rose to hand Sage the paper.
Sage stared at the paper before reluctantly taking hold of it. “So, I am supposed to waltz into his office, announce, ‘Ha-ha, fooled you. I am really a federal investigator and I know who killed Paddy Campbell’?”
After giving his wide, slow smile, Siringo answered, “Yup, that’s exactly what you will do, though I’d leave out the ‘ha-ha.’ Smith probably won’t condone Meglit’s actions. The sheriff might shoot a few sheep, but I doubt he’s a murderer by nature.”
“And exactly how is it I know Meglit is the murderer? I’ve been in town less than two weeks.”
“That’s what makes this perfect,” Heney interjected. “I’ll tell him that I came to town because a witness I interviewed in Portland said Meglit was the murderer and told where to find Campbell’s body. I sent you out in advance to verify the truth of that claim. You couldn’t do it right away because of the smallpox quarantine. I followed along to officially obtain Smith’s cooperation. That way, nothing is said about the range war and Mr. Siringo can keep playing the cowboy.”
“Hey! There’s no playing. I am a cowboy,” Siringo protested, though he clearly hadn’t taken offense.
“Well, how about talking to Smith and getting his agreement to bring Meglit back to town?” Sage asked, still trying to find a way to stay in town, meet one last time with Lucinda to say goodbye and leave the next day.
“Nah, that won’t work. We don’t have a guarantee that Smith wouldn’t figure out a way to let Meglit escape. We need a witness,” Siringo said.
“Well then, Mr. Heney, why don’t you go with Smith?” Before the words were completely out of Sage’s mouth, the prosecutor was shaking his head.“I, ah, have a certain physical condition that prevents me from sitting very long on a horse,” he said.
So, in the end, it was Heney and Sage who stepped into the Prineville sheriff’s office. When Sheriff Smith learned John Miner was a federal investigator, his face flushed with anger. “You should have come straight to me and identified yourself instead of slinking around town fooling everyone,” he sputtered.
Heney showed his skill as a conciliator, “Now, Sheriff Smith. I wasn’t confident the witness was reliable. You had enough to do, with this range war brewing and the smallpox epidemic. It didn’t seem proper to waste your time if my witness turned out to be a liar.”
That explanation somewhat mollified Smith, but it was clear his anger still simmered because on their long ride out to the cowboy camp, he said little to Sage and when he did, his words were curt and consisted solely of instructions.
Late in the day, they reached the tree trunk sporting Siringo’s blazed “S.” Both men dismounted, Sage tying Rocky’s reins to a shrub and giving the old horse a pat. Smith was to allow Sage half an hour to work his way up the slope and over the shoulder of the small hill. Once there, he was to position himself close behind the cowboy camp. Then, Smith would ride into camp and attempt to arrest Meglit. If all went well, they wouldn’t need Sage. If it didn’t, Sage would be positioned to cut off Meglit’s escape, should the young killer take to his heels. Siringo would be there too since he’d left town a good hour before the sheriff and Sage. If Siringo had to, he’d intervene as well, but only as a last resort.
Sage climbed through the widely-spaced trees, his boots crunching the dried pine needles and slipping on loose rocks. Overhead, gray clouds had sealed up the sky, a stiff breeze lifted dust and a distant rumble signaled an approaching thunderstorm. Topping the ridge, Sage hid behind a tree while he studied the camp below.
There was a flurry of activity in advance of the storm. A huge cook fire leapt wildly before the stiffening breeze. The cook was hurriedly shoving cast-iron dutch ovens onto the coals, stirring the contents of a deep kettle and adjusting smoke-blackened coffee pots inside t
he fire pit. It would be a quick beans and biscuits dinner. Meanwhile, the cowboys were rigging lean-tos using dropped branches and canvas tarpaulins. One man was shouting instructions, while the wind did its best to thwart their efforts.
Good. Their rush to eat and get under shelter would make it easier for him to approach unseen. Slowly, Sage began working his way downhill, moving from tree to tree, his eyes never leaving the men below. Just as he got within a hundred feet of the camp, he saw the men pause and look toward the west. Sure enough, Sheriff Smith trotted into camp with Rocky trailing dutifully behind.
Sage searched for Siringo. The cowboy was working at the far edge of the camp, by the road heading east, calmly tying branches onto a lean-to. He was well-positioned to block an escape in that direction. The man who’d been directing the lean-to erection, most likely the foreman, turned to look at the sheriff and then strode to meet him. The two men talked briefly, the foreman resting his hands on his hips and nodding his head. He looked back over his shoulder, straight at a young man who’d been working on the lean-to nearest Sage. The fellow stiffened, slowly dropped the branch he’d been holding and began to back away up the hill toward Sage.
Sheriff Smith must have seen the young fellow’s furtive movement too, because he dropped Rocky’s reins and spurred his horse forward. The young fellow took off running uphill, abandoning escape by horse since the animals were corralled nearer the sheriff than to him. As Meglit ran, he grabbed for a pistol in the holster that bounced against his leg.
For the first time, Sage wished he was carrying a gun. But he wasn’t. Fortunately, Meglit’s escape route would take him past the tree where Sage hid. Meglit paused, turned, raised his gun and fired off a shot toward the sheriff. Sage tensed, widened his stance and strained his ears. He’d have to launch his attack at the precise moment Meglit ran past his tree.
Overhead, thunder cracked while jagged lightning ripped through massive grey clouds. The ground shook. In the calm that followed, Sage heard the rasp of the fleeing man’s breath and the scrabble of his boots over rocky ground.
When Sage jumped from behind the tree, Meglit was looking back over his shoulder. When he turned forward to see Sage in his path, Meglit’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.
Even so, his reactions were fast because his gun swung up. Sage quickly seized the man’s wrist while kicking his gut with his left heel. The gun flew through the air. Before Meglit could scramble after it, Sage was moving forward, his arms and feet whirling through the air as he hit the man, again and again, suddenly possessed by an unexpected rage. His only thought was of a gentle old shepherd, his dog and his sheep done to death by this murderous thug.
At the last moment, seeing Meglit’s eyes roll back in his head, Sage pulled his final kick, one that might have killed the man. Meglit fell to the ground and rolled a few feet downhill. Sage slowly lowered his leg, which been frozen in the air at waist height and took a deep breath. Only then did he look down at the camp. A line of cowboys stood there, silent, eyes wide as if they could not believe what they just witnessed.
The sheriff nudged his horse up the hill. Reaching them he dismounted, kneeling to slap a pair of handcuffs on the unconscious Meglit before glancing up at Sage. “Well, that was some fancy footwork. We’ve never seen the like around these parts,” he commented. Smith stood and offered his hand, “I expect Paddy Campbell got a chuckle out of watching Meglit’s comeuppance from wherever that old shepherd might be looking down on the proceedings. Thank you, Mr. Miner.”
Sage shook hands without smiling. Beyond the sheriff ’s shoulder he saw Charlie slip into the background and noticed Rocky nibbling on grass. Overhead, the thunder rumbled, lightning flashed and the downpour began. He helped the sheriff load Meglit’s still unconscious body onto the horse’s back. As they trudged down the hill, Sage realized he felt both guilt and satisfaction.
THIRTY THREE
Even from the Poindexter’s lobby, Sage could hear the sounds of celebration. He stood in the archway and saw a dining room transformed. Light-hearted diners trading words and laughter with those at neighboring tables. Sage sat at an empty table and opened his copy of the Crook County Journal.
A one-inch headline stretched across the top of the front page like a shout, “Roosevelt To Open Reserves!” Sage scanned the brief story.
Late last night, Governor Chamberlain sent a lengthy telegram informing this newspaper that relief is in sight for the ranchers of Central Oregon. The Department of Interior will be meeting with local ranchers. The purpose of the meeting will be to develop a method for opening up the forest reserves to livestock grazing. Both sheep and cattle ranchers will be invited to participate. It is hoped that this change in direction will calm the angry waters that have been swirling across the high desert in recent months. It is believed that the President ordered the opening of reserves after some very able lobbying by local citizens during his recent visit to Portland. The time and dates of the meetings are unknown at this time but we’ve been told they will be held in the near future. Check the Journal’s pages for notices
Good. Heney had said he’d make sure that the sheep and cattle men were promptly informed of the federal government’s reconsideration of its grazing ban. That should stop the range war in its tracks.
Sage allowed himself a sardonic smile. Let them think it was their local delegation to Roosevelt that turned the tide. That misdirection served his and Siringo’s purposes just fine. But, how stunned they would be to learn that it was really the town dentist running amok and Governor Chamberlain’s persistence that caused the change in Washington, D.C.
He sighed with satisfaction and flipped the paper over to find a small article below the fold. The first carried the title, “Fromm Freed, Van Ostrand Arrested.”
Homesteader Otto Fromm, arrested just days ago for the ambush murder of Asa Rayburn, left the Crook County jail a free man early this morning. Prineville dentist and local sheep rancher, Richard Van Ostrand, is said to have confessed to murdering Rayburn. He also confessed to killing the shepherd, Timothy O’Dea nearly two weeks prior. Van Ostrand’s business partner in the ranching business, Congressman Newt Thomas, is said to be helping with the inquiries. Fromm had no statement other than to say he is deeply grateful to those who were responsible for finding the real culprit. No further information is available at this time.
Sage closed his eyes and allowed himself to relive those moments earlier in the morning. He and Siringo had been standing beneath the leaves of a great tree, some ways from the courthouse steps when Otto Fromm, his wife and two children burst out of the door. They were hugging and chattering while the Journal’s reporter tried to obtain a quote. As one, Otto and Lisbeth had spied Sage and Siringo. They honored their promise to remain quiet about who was responsible for Otto’s vindication but couldn’t resist sending slight thank you nods toward the two men.
“Wahl,” drawled the Dickinsen detective, once the homesteader family was out of sight, “I expect that will be one happy little household tonight.” Genuine satisfaction warmed the cowboy’s words.
Sage felt a butterfly sensation take hold in his gut. He had to know, though the knowing might be a stab to his heart. “Speaking of households, Charlie, did you ask the lady for her hand in marriage yet?”
Siringo grinned.“I surely did. She said ‘yes.’ So, I’ll be hanging up my detective spurs and looking to make this country my home.”
Despite days of Sage preparing himself for the worst, Siringo’s answer was still a blow. Taking a deep breath he continued to push forward, thinking there was no point in stopping until he collected all of the painful information.“She’s willing to give up the parlor house business?” he asked.
“Yup, says she’s tired of it. The epidemic was hard on her. She said that it made her think about what was really important. I’m mighty pleased to say, I qualify as important.”
And Siringo was pleased, obviously elated that Lucinda had agreed to marry him and start a new life
. She’d probably be a great ranch woman, Sage thought. Though, she might find that giving up the sociability and excitement of city life a bit difficult at first.
“So when are the nuptials going to take place?” he asked. “Wahl, first she needs to get the business in shape and sell it. I expect it will be a few months. Will you come back and be my best man?” Siringo asked.
That request made Sage hesitate. It was one thing to pretend happiness when told of the impending marriage. Quite another to stand by and watch it happen. Still, he said, “Why, I’d be honored, though the bride might want me to give her away.” Siringo’s brow wrinkled. “Well, I think that Hart fellow might have already agreed to perform that honor. At least, that’s what she told me.”
Another unexpected stab of pain. He’d known Lucinda longer than Hart. Sure, she and Hart had shared an intense few months caring for the smallpox victims. But still, she’d chose a near stranger over him? He heaved a sigh, and said, “Well, I better be getting back to the hotel. I’m meeting Herman for breakfast. You want to join us?” he asked.
He was relieved when Siringo responded, “Nah, there’s a ranch for sale down near Post. I want to go take a look at it. If it looks good, it just might be our new home.”
Sage watched Siringo mount his horse and depart. He felt a sense of loss as the tall, lanky cowboy reined his horse around the corner and out of sight. He hoped their paths would cross again.
A spurt of laughter snapped him back into the Poindexter’s dining room. He looked again at the newspaper and noticed another small article in the lower corner. This one was titled, “Meglit Arrested” and proved even more succinct.
Two days ago, an itinerant prospector brought shepherd Patrick Campbell’s body into town. He’d been shot and secretly buried out near Scissors Creek in the Ochocos. Yesterday, Sheriff Smith arrested a cowboy named Thomas Meglit for Campbell’s murder. Meglit was captured in the Ochocos after attempting to escape. Sources say Meglit killed out of hatred for sheep and those who care for them. The victim, Campbell, was considered a kind and decent man. Meglit, however, has a bad reputation around town.