"That's because she was putting her brand on mavericks she found on open range which, because of the Maverick Law, belong to the stock growers association," Adam said.
"Which is another matter," Priscilla snapped, feeling her temper rise at the scope of the law favoring the cattlemen. "With your stock growers association making the laws and also being the official law enforcement agency for the Wyoming cattle industry, they fixed it so mavericks can only be auctioned by representatives of the association, then added the provision that the only people who could bid on the mavericks were those receiving brands from the state, which is almost impossible for homesteaders like Ella Watson to get, which also puts the homesteader's unbranded calves at risk if they stray because the association then claims them and sells them as mavericks."
"Whether you like the law or not," Adam said, in a gruff voice, "it's the law."
"Well your so call law does not apply in Ella's case because she has papers for all of her cattle," Priscilla fired back. "She told Jeanette she bought the animals from a man driving them from Nebraska and has papers for every animal, but that the men who've been intimidating her refuse to look at the papers. They threaten her and ride off." Having said that, Priscilla clamped her jaws shut, determined to say nothing more until they arrived at Ella Watson's place.
As they drove up to the log cabin, a boy, about eleven or twelve, who appeared to be patching a hole in a fence, stopped what he was doing and started walking toward them.
Realizing who the boy must be, from what Jeanette had told her, Priscilla said to Adam, "That must be Ella's adopted son, Gene. Jeanette said she got him from a drifter who was a heavy drinker who said he had other children and couldn't take care of him, so Ella took the boy in. He's been helping with the ranch."
When the boy stepped up to the buggy, with a worried look on his face, Priscilla said, "We're friends of Jeanette Jamison and we're looking for Miss Watson. Is she here?"
"No," the boy said. "Me Ma's gone to fetch a heifer that got out through the fence when the fence was cut."
Adam climbed down from the buggy and faced the boy. "Who cut the fence?" he asked, his tone probing.
The boy shrugged. "I 'spose it were one of Mr. Bothwell's men. Them's the ones sittin' over yonder on them horses." The boy pointed to a rise, where two men sat watching them. "They come and do nuthin' but jes sit 'n watch. But when our backs are turned, things happen."
"What kind of things?" Adam asked.
"Cuttin fences. Stealin' our calves. Puttin' bones on our doorstep," the boy said, pointing.
Priscilla climbed out of the buggy and walked over to where a human skull and a couple of femurs lay in the dirt. As she stood staring at them, the boy said, "Me ma kicked them aside after she found them on our doorstep."
"How do you know those are Mr. Bothwell's men over there?" Adam asked, pointing at the men on the horses.
The boy looked in the distance. "They came here with Mr. Bothwell when he tried to get me ma to sell our place, but she wouldn't do it. Mr. Bothwell was real mad. Said he'd be back."
"I'll find out what they're up to," Adam said. He started walking toward the men, but before he could get close enough to see who they were, the men turned their horses and rode off. When Adam started back, Priscilla caught a look on his face that she'd never seen before, and she wondered if he was beginning to have his first qualms about his associates.
"Is there anyone else around here who we can talk to," Priscilla said to the boy. "We're trying to find out what's going on."
"Just me and Ralph Cole are here right now," the boy said. "Ralph's Mr. Averell's nephew and he sometimes works for me ma. Mr. Averell sent him over here to help around the place and do the brandin'." The boy put his fingers to his lips and blew hard, sending a shrill whistle echoing. A moment later, a tall, gangly man, around twenty or twenty-one, stepped out of a shed, holding a shotgun, and started toward them.
After Priscilla introduced herself and Adam, she said to the young man, "We're trying to find out what's going on out here. We've heard that Miss Watson has been threatened by some men, and we'd like to hear exactly what happened."
Hands gripping the shotgun, Ralph said, "Albert Bothwell's what happened. He lives about a mile from here and before Miss Watson and my uncle moved onto this land, he considered it his, used it and other large pieces of open range as his pastureland. Bothwell runs cattle through the entire Sweetwater Valley, spreading out twenty miles. He doesn't own any of the land but he acts like he does. He's approached Miss Watson several times, trying to buy her property, and each time she's refused. My uncle gave Bothwell a right of way through his land so Bothwell could irrigate his pastureland, but my uncle also threatened to cut off Bothwell's water if Bothwell didn't stop harassing them. Shortly after that, The Cheyenne Daily Leader started writing false stories about Miss Watson, claiming she's Cattle Kate, a woman in Bossomer by the name of Kate Maxwell who's known for rustling cattle, and who does favors for the Army stationed there. The newspaper purposely mixed up the two women so people wouldn't know which was which. There's no question. Bothwell's determined get my uncle and Miss Watson's land, no matter what it takes."
Adam, who'd been listening intently, said to the young man, "Miss Watson claims she's been threatened. Have you been present at any of those times?"
"No," Ralph admitted, "but Miss Watson has no reason to lie. There's more to it though. My uncle's a surveyor, and he learned that some of the members of the stock grower's association have been illegally filing claims by putting movable cabins on land and stating the land's been improved. After filing a claim, they jack up the cabins, put them on logs, and roll them to another property, doing it over and over. My uncle started writing letters to The Casper Weekly Mail and that's when Mr. Bothwell's men started threatening him and Miss Watson. The skull and cross bones are the latest," Ralph said, pointing.
Adam looked down at the bones, then in the direction where the men had been sitting on horses, and said to Ralph, "I know A.J. Bothwell. I'll see what I can find out."
Ralph looked at Adam, eyes narrowed, and said, "How do you know Bothwell?"
"Through the stockmen's association," Adam replied.
"Then I suggest you leave here before Miss Watson returns," Ralph said in a caustic voice, raising the shotgun to waist height.
"Please lower your gun, Mr. Cole," Priscilla said. "Lord Whittington and I are not here to make trouble, only to learn the truth about what's happening. Lord Whittington could have ridden in with Bothwell's men as well if he was looking for trouble.
Ralph Cole lowered his gun, and said, "Well, I told it the way it is. But you won't get the truth out of Bothwell or any of the other members of the association. They're sticking by the rumors because that's the only way they'll have the people behind them when they make their final move to get rid of my uncle and Miss Watson."
"What final move?" Adam asked.
"Hanging them for cattle rustling," Ralph replied. "Bothwell threatened to do it if my uncle and Miss Watson don't sell."
Adam eyed the man with uncertainty. "There are laws here and they can't just ride in and hang a man without going through proper procedures. If Miss Watson has papers for her cattle, she can show them in court and that will end it. Even if she doesn't, no one's going to hang a woman. As for your uncle, I suggest he assure Bothwell that he won't cut off his irrigation."
"I tell you what," Ralph said to Adam. "You go back to your friends in the association and tell them that no one's leaving their land out here, and if we need to, we'll get a federal marshal out here to make sure Bothwell and the rest of you understand."
Adam shoved his hat on his head, and said, "I think you got your point across." He climbed into the buggy and waited for Priscilla to join him.
Priscilla said to Ralph, "Do you object to my printing what you've told me today?"
"No," Ralph said, "as long as you get it straight."
"I will," Priscilla assured him. "And tell Mis
s Watson that she can come to The Town Tattler and tell her side of the story. I'm willing to listen." She climbed into the buggy and took her place beside Adam. She saw the dark look on his face and knew that trouble was brewing.
Eyes straight ahead, he said, "Don't print the story."
"Why? Because people might learn the truth about your so called friends, or because it might cause a problem for you and your campaign?" Priscilla said, her voice laced with vexation.
"I don't give a bloody damn about the campaign," Adam said, "but you're getting into something you know nothing about."
"If you're talking about Ella Watson and Jim Averell, you were standing right next to me a few minutes ago. Do you have any reason to believe that either the boy or Jim Averell's nephew were lying?"
"It doesn't matter if they were or not. The issue has to do with cattle rustling and mavericks disappearing from herds. Miss Watson might feel justified in taking unbranded animals because she was not able to secure her own brand, and Bothwell might feel justified in taking action against her to stop what she's doing."
Priscilla glared at Adam. "And Bothwell and the others might also be making false homestead claims with moveable cabins, and false accusations about cattle rustling when they know Miss Watson has papers for her cattle, and threaten her with hanging to run her out. But you don't care about any of that because you don't want to know the truth. Well, I refuse to be intimidated by Bothwell or any of the other members or your prestigious stockmen's association, and I plan to write up exactly what I just learned from Ralph Cole and the boy. It will come out in the next issue of The Town Tattler." Priscilla folded her arms and said nothing more.
***
Four hours later, Adam stepped into The Town Tattler building to find Priscilla hunched over the comp table while inserting ems upside down into the composing stick, letter-by-letter, line-by-line. "What do you want?" she asked, while transferring the ems in the composting stick to the galley.
"To talk to you," Adam replied, certain she wouldn't listen, wondering what to do next. She was playing a dangerous game, toying with men who he was all but certain had been behind at least some of the incidents that the homesteaders related.
"Talk about what?" Priscilla asked, while dropping an em into the composing stick to start another row of type.
"What you're about to do."
Spotting a sheet of paper with what appeared to be hastily written hand copy, which sat on the comp table beside her, Adam picked it up and began to silently read: It has come to us from a reliable source that a woman named Ella Watson, who has a claim on the Sweetwater River, has become a victim of cattlemen who wish her to pull up stakes and leave the valley. According to our source, Miss Watson was approached by Albert Bothwell, owner of the 76 Ranch, to sell her place to him. It seems Miss Watson's claim is in the middle of the cattle baron's best grazing pasture. When Miss Watson refused, the Cheyenne Daily Leader, which is owned and operated by the WSGA, began running false stories, claiming that Miss Watson is a cattle rustler and a prostitute...
The story went on to tell about Jim Averell writing letters to the Casper Weekly Mail warning that Albert Bothwell and his partners were involved in a land scam, and that some members of the WCGA were filing illegal land claims with moveable cabins, and perhaps someone should look into the legality of these land claims, the editorial ending with the incident of the skull and cross bones appearing on the doorstep.
"You can't do this," Adam said.
"Well the fact is, I am doing it," Priscilla countered. "When I first arrived here I never intended for The Town Tattler to take sides in the issue between the cattlemen and homesteaders, but I'm in the thick of it now. If there's still doubt as to which side The Town Tattler is on, this editorial on Ella Watson and Jim Averell will make things crystal clear. But in the editorial, I'm also inviting members of stock growers association to look into the matter themselves and post a response. Just because there are some bad eggs in the basket doesn't mean they're all bad," she added. She transferred another line of type from the composting stick to the galley.
Adam walked up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders and said, "If you don't stop this for yourself, then do it for me."
Priscilla turned on the tall stool to face him, and said, "Why, because it puts you in a sticky position with your voters and your friends at the Cheyenne Club?"
Adam tightened his hands on her shoulders. "No, because I care about what happens to you," he said, looking down at her, seeing the dogged intent in her eyes, knowing he was making no headway. "I've known A.J. Bothwell for years, and he's not a man to trifle with."
"That's exactly why I'm writing the editorial," Priscilla said, with resolve. "It's time people stop being intimidated by the man and take action against him and the others. You're running for mayor. Why don't you tell them to stop bullying people. They're running thousands of head of cattle on thousands of acres of land. The homesteaders are only trying to farm one-hundred-and-sixty acres each. They need to be left in peace."
Realizing he was fighting a losing battle, Adam decided on another approach. Pulling her to him, he kissed her soundly, and at first she all but swooned in his arms while kissing him back. Then abruptly, she pressed her palms against his chest and said, "You can no longer manipulate me with kisses, Adam. The lines between right and wrong when it comes to our physical relation may be blurry at times, but the lines between right and wrong when it comes to what the cattlemen are doing to the homesteaders are distinct. Now if you'll excuse me, I want to finish typesetting so I'll be ready to start printing as soon as my order of Readyprint arrives, which will be on the stage due here from Denver tomorrow."
"Then there's nothing more I can say or do to stop you from cutting your own throat?" Adam asked.
Priscilla shook her head. "Nothing at all," she replied, then turned her back to him and started placing another row of ems in the composing stick.
Adam mumbled a string of expletives under his breath, then stalked out of the building, frustrated and worried that Priscilla was so damn stubborn, but filled with admiration for a woman who stood on her principles and refused to back down, even in the face of adversity. If there was anything to what Ralph Cole said about A.J Bothwell and the others involved in a land claim scheme with moveable cabins, or in fabricating stories about Ella Watson to demonize her in the eyes of the townsfolk, he intended to look into that now.
Heading down the boardwalk in long, determined strides, he went to join what remained of the stockmen's meeting, which was underway at the Cheyenne Club. After the meeting had adjoined, and while the men were sitting around the conference table puffing on cigars and discussing what to do about the homesteaders continuing to come in droves, Adam looked around at the men, and said, "What's the story on Ella Watson?"
A.J. Bothwell was quick to reply, "Cattle Kate? She's nothing but a cattle-rustling whore living up the Sweetwater. She's been branding my mavericks and I aim to stop her."
"What makes you think she's a whore?" Adam asked.
Bothwell mouthed his cigar, while replying, "Averell's her pimp. He runs a roadhouse and she services all the cowboys in the area, swaps her favours for cattle. It's common knowledge the woman's a prostitute."
"I was out at her place earlier today and talked to her son and Averell's nephew and they claim she's being confused with Kate Maxwell, a woman living in Bossomer, who's a known prostitute around the army base there."
Bothwell glared at Adam, eyes hard as stone, and said, "They're lying. Read the papers, Whittington. It's all there. We'll be riding out there tomorrow to give her something to think about, along with an alternative. Either sell out or get out. She's robbing us blind, building up her herd from our stock, and Averell's running a brothel and she's his whore. So you're either with us, or against us, and we're giving you the chance to ride out there with us and show us which side you're on. So what's it going to be?"
Adam slowly scanned the faces of the men around the
table, then settled his gaze on A.J. Bothwell, and said, "I'm not riding anywhere with a gang of vigilantes."
He turned and started for the door.
Bothwell called after him. "Your problem is you've got a red-headed spinster in your bed who's also bedding down with the homesteaders, figuratively speaking, and we've got our sights on the woman. She's been nothing but trouble since she first arrived in Cheyenne and we'll shut her down if we have to, one way of another."
"Anyone of you goes near her and you'll be hearing from me directly," Adam said. He walked out of the room. He had no idea what the men had planned for Ella Watson, but he'd shoot at close range anyone who threatened Priscilla. But Bothwell had sent a clear message, and the fact was, if Priscilla printed the editorial, she'd be just as much a target as Ella Watson. Holding that thought, he knew he'd have to stop Priscilla, no matter what it took. And he thought he knew exactly the way to do it.
Climbing into the buggy, he gave the command and headed for the ranch to get his horse. If he hurried, he could bed down on the road from Denver for the night and intercept the northbound stage before it reached Cheyenne tomorrow.
***
Priscilla stomped into The Town Tattler building, slammed the door with force, and let out a very unladylike expletive. Hearing the commotion, Abigail dashed in from the backroom about the same time Libby came bounding down the stairs. "What's wrong?" asked Libby.
Priscilla crossed her arms and paced the floor. "The Readyprint wasn't on the stage," she said, agitated. "The driver claimed that when he stopped to change horses, someone must have taken the shipment off the stage. He didn't know it was missing until this morning, when he started unloading."
"Why would someone take a shipment of Readyprint?" Abigail asked.
"To stop me from printing the editorial about Ella Watson," Priscilla said, feeling her fury rise as she considered how completely trusting she'd been in urging Jeanette Jamison to divulge her information.
"But, who would want to do that?" Libby asked. "None of us here have said anything to anyone about the editorial, not even to our beaus."
Miss Phipps and the Cattle Baron Page 18