The other Indians had gathered the remaining dead. Now they waited for Eyes of Hawk.
“I will go,” Eyes of Hawk said. “But first you must say your name.”
“I’m Joshua Logan. Understand this. I didn’t ask for this fight. You brought it to me. I’ll neither hunt nor attack your people. But if you try to harm me or my friends, though you may take my life, I will take yours.”
Eyes of Hawk watched Josh intently, then he turned and strode to the waiting Comanches. He swung up onto his horse and grasped his long, plains lance from the brave leading his horse. Slowly he walked his horse up to Josh.
Josh stood his ground. He didn’t think the Indian would try anything now, but he best be ready.
Eyes of Hawk drew up his horse in front of Logan. He looked down at him with an indiscernible stare. “I will leave for now. Today, with your golden rifle, you have fought well. I see that you are a warrior. We are also great warriors, and this is our land. We will meet again, Joshua Logan. Then the winds of fate will determine which of us will survive.”
The Indian wheeled his horse around. He and the remaining braves rode north with their dead and wounded in tow.
Josh watched them until they were out of sight. He glanced toward the sun. The fight had been short, but the palaver had taken some time. It was past noon and he wanted to reach the fort by noon tomorrow.
He figured on having a big steak at Diehl’s boarding house after he’d looked around town. Maybe he could find out how the townspeople felt about Ruffcarn and his crowd.
Josh also wanted to know about the army colonel. It sounded like he was favoring Ruffcarn. Josh could think of no reason why the colonel would choose to favor anyone, especially Ruffcarn. He was a United States Army colonel favoring a Southern rancher over a man who had believed in the Union and had a son fighting for it. I definitely want an answer. It also seemed like Ruffcarn and Pierce, the owner of the King 7 Saloon, were almighty friendly, according to Mr. Nance. There were some mighty interesting puzzles to unravel around these parts.
Josh walked back to the ravine. It was eerily quiet now; a mockingbird copied a cardinal’s song in a nearby mesquite tree, while a covey of half-grown bobwhite quail fluttered under a mound of prickly pear, taking a dust bath. The light summer breeze softly rustled the leaves of the trees. It was hard to imagine the dying that happened just a short while earlier. That was the way of all battles; the land quickly returned to normal.
He replaced the fired cylinders in his revolvers, dropped the two boxes of .44s into the saddlebags, and tossed the bags over his shoulder as he walked slowly back to the horse.
The roan was ready to leave the ravine when Josh led him out. The horse was edgy from the shooting and the smell of blood, some of which was his from the gash on his hip. Josh was equally anxious to leave the hilltop.
“Relax, boy,” he said, as he slipped his boot into the stirrup. He swung up into the saddle, leaned over, and patted the roan on the neck. The horse swung his head up and down. Josh wondered just how much these horses could understand. He had always had the ability to calm nerves in stressful situations, not only of animals but also people.
Since he had left home for the war, it seemed he’d constantly been involved in death. It was never something he searched after, but it always seemed to find him. Some men, back east, put their feet under the same table every evening; the table laden with fare prepared by a loving wife. Those men never knew the danger and violence of the war or the westward trek.
Which life was better? Maybe neither. Each man traveled his own road. He had his own battles to fight. The man back east may not be involved in a life or death struggle, but he was nonetheless struggling for survival; survival in a forest of deceit, sometimes more deadly than a Comanche’s war lance.
No thanks, Josh thought. I’ll stick to the dangers and problems I know best.
He turned the horse back up the ridge line. This day had started well, but had gone downhill fast. Josh knew there could be more trouble waiting for him in town. A full scale land grab was developing, with Ruffcarn at the helm. Logan wanted to get into town, get a feel for what was going on, and get out; with no trouble. It looked like there would be plenty of trouble to go around without him starting something in town.
Chapter 6
The following day, Josh pulled up outside Camp Wilson late in the afternoon. The town, if you could call it that, was typical of many that quickly sprang up around forts and died just as quickly when the forts were abandoned.
It set about fifty yards north of the fort. There were only four buildings on main street, with a few shanties west of town. Diehl’s store and rooming house faced the King 7 Saloon across the street. Bakton’s blacksmith and stable was next to the King 7 and looked across the street into the Shamrock Saloon. The dirt street was empty, except for several horses tied up at the King 7 and Shamrock Saloon. The army crowd was just beginning to drift into town from the fort.
Josh adjusted the Colt .44 and loosened the Winchester in its scabbard. He always adhered to Pa’s admonition not to look for, but to be ready for trouble. He nudged the roan with his spurs. The tired horse didn’t need much urging. It had been here before and knew that rest, water, and feed waited for it at the stables. He walked the horse up to the blacksmith shop and dismounted.
A mountain of a man came walking out. Logan was big, but this man towered over him.
“Howdy, Mister; name’s Leonard Bakton, but most folks just call me Tiny,” the big man said. “You looking for a place to put up your horse?”
“Yep, he’s had a rough couple of days. I’d appreciate you giving him a good rubdown and a few oats. He’s also got a shallow cut on his right flank. I’d be much obliged if you’d take a look at it.”
Tiny walked around the horse, rubbing his big hand along the horse’s back as he checked the cut.
“You know Bill Nance?” Tiny asked nonchalantly as he checked the cut, his hand casually running over the brand.
Josh grinned at Tiny. “Reckon I do. I’m Josh Logan—friend of his son, Rory. I spent the night at Bill’s place last night. Been riding quite a ways. He was good enough to loan me a horse whilst mine caught a breather.”
“I figured as much,” Tiny said. “Josh Logan, huh? Ain’t you the feller who put a hitch in Bull Westin’s get-along?”
“We had a little disagreement.”
“Not the way Scott Penny tells it. Why, he said you durned near knocked Bull’s head off. I sure would liked to have seen that.
“But you best be careful around town. I expect you’re planning on spending the night. Couldn’t do better than Mrs. Diehl’s cooking either. Why, her biscuits float right off the table. If’n she’s feeling in a particular fine spirit, she might even whip up some bear sign. Cowboys ride for miles just to put their feet under Mrs. Diehl’s table and get a taste of that bear sign.
“But anyway, Ruffcarn usually comes into town on Wednesdays. Tomorrow, being Wednesday, I expect he’ll be here. Bull usually rides with him. From what Scott Penny says, Bull has a real mad on. Understand he’s been talking around that if he ever sees you again, he’ll break you in two. Though, from what I see, he’d best come set for a full day’s work.”
“Talk’s cheap,” Josh said. He pulled the Winchester from its scabbard and untied his saddlebags. “But thanks for the warning. I do plan to spend the night. Take good care of the horse. Whatever the cost, he earned it. I’ll be over at the store and boarding house. I look forward to tasting some of Mrs. Diehl’s cooking.”
“None better in the state, except maybe Teresa’s out at Nance’s place.”
Josh had to agree with Tiny. Good food was truly appreciated when a man spent most of his time eating his own cooking. Dust puffed from under his boots as he walked toward Diehls’ Emporium and Boarding House. The main street, if it could be called a street, would be a quagmire with any rain at all. The buildings had a boardwalk running in front of them. They would at least prevent a man from
sinking to his boot tops into the mud. He opened the door to Diehl’s store and walked in.
Jeremiah Diehl was behind the counter, putting canned goods on the shelves. His back was to the door. He was a physically small man, slightly stooped from age. His starched long sleeves were held tight with garters around his upper arms. His clothes were sparkling clean and his thick white hair was neatly combed straight back.
“Be with you in a moment,” he called in a deep voice, surprising for a man his size. Turning slightly, so he could see Josh, he spoke around his pipe, “New in town, huh?”
“I’m Josh Logan. Bill Nance told me you were a man to be trusted. I need a room and maybe some answers, if you could help?”
With the mention of Bill Nance, Diehl turned around. His neatly trimmed handlebar mustache had gone to gray, as had his small goatee. The big Colt .44 in his belt looked out of place. He noticed Josh’s glance at the Colt.
“Never know when you might need to kill a snake. Name’s Jeremiah Diehl. A recommend from Bill Nance carries a lotta weight with me, young fella. So besides the room, what else can I do for you?”
“Well, sir, I brought bad news to the Nance family. Rory and I rode together in the war. He was killed as the war was winding down. But I would surely like to keep that quiet. I told Bill and Mary Louise last night.”
“Whew, I hate to hear that. That was one fine boy. Bill Nance set great store by him. I reckon Mary took it mighty bad. She and Rory were real close. Many’s the time when he looked after his sister whilst Bill and I were off rangerin’.”
“She sure did. But Mr. Nance said she’d get over it. She struck me as a strong woman. Mr. Diehl, that’s not why I’m here. Mr. Nance hired me as his foreman. According to him, Jake Ruffcarn has his head set to take over Bill Nance’s ranch; legal or not. I need to know all you can tell me about the man.”
“An interesting feller. From what Bill Nance tells me, Ruffcarn showed up here about a year ago. Drove in a big herd of cattle and laid claim to the land just north of the Rocking N. I reckon he figgers to own all the country surrounding him before long, including the Rocking N.
“Ruffcarn’s a loud man. Strikes me as a bully who’s used to gettin’ his way. He won’t take no for an answer. That’s why he’s so upset about Bill. I understand he’s made several offers for the Rocking N and been told no pretty clearly. He don’t cotton to no. Course was I him, I’d be real careful about pushin’ Bill Nance too far. That man is a real catamount when he gets mad.”
“Anything else you can tell me about Ruffcarn?” Josh asked.
“Yep. Since he showed up, cattle started disappearing. Now I’m not saying it’s him. Could be rustlers moved in or even some of his men. But it does look suspicious. Ruffcarn’s also got several toughs working for him. You want to keep an eye out for them. Course I hear you already met one of them.” A smile played across Jeremiah Diehl’s face as he took out a match to relight his pipe.
“What can you tell me about Scott Penny?” Josh asked, trying to side step mention of the Bull Westin incident.
“Penny strikes me as a good man. He quit, or was fired, from the Circle W, depending on who you talk to. You know how cowhands are. They love to talk. Seems while you were riding out of camp, Westin decided to put a hole in your back with that big .52 caliber Sharps he shoots. Penny stopped him; put his Colt to Bull’s neck, from what I hear. They rode back to the ranch and Penny quit. He’s stayin’ here right now. Says he’s headed for the Colorado gold country. But I think he wants to see what happens between Bill Nance and Ruffcarn.”
“I reckon I owe him. You know where he is now?” Josh asked.
Jeremiah Diehl snapped the match across the butt of his .44 and held the flame above his pipe bowl. After taking several draws to get it lit, he took a satisfying pull and said, “Pretty sure he wandered over to the Shamrock Saloon. He’s won a little and lost a little. I reckon he’s aimin’ to win some back, not much else to do around here if you’re not working.”
“Thanks,” Josh said. “Mind if I leave my rifle and gear with you for now? I’ll be back for a room later.”
“Don’t mind at all. I’ve been hankerin’ to see one of those newfangled rifles for a long time. Now’s my chance.” Diehl took the rifle and gear. “I might mention, you smell strong of gunpowder. Do a little shooting on your way in?”
“Yeah, I had some Comanche trouble a ways south of here. You might pass the word to the post if you get a chance. I’ll be talking to the Colonel later.”
Josh walked out the front door of Diehl’s store and turned right for the Shamrock Saloon.
Starit’s saloon was fairly typical. The swinging doors allowed a man to see over them for a view of either the inside or outside. A bar ran down one side, with several tables in the open space on the opposite side of the room. Scott Penny sat at one of the tables playing solitaire. Cecil Starit, the owner, bartender, and swamper, was behind the bar wiping down the large mirror that ran the full length of the bar.
“What’ll it be stranger?” Starit asked as Josh walked in, removing his hat and placing it on the bar next to him.
“I could do with a sarsaparillo if you’ve got one handy,” Logan replied.
“Sarsaparillo it is then,” Starit said. He put the drink on the bar and went back to cleaning glasses. Logan turned his back to the bar, “Scott, I hear you’re now unemployed.”
“That I am, and better for it,” Scott said.
“Mr. Diehl told me what happened with Bull. I’m much obliged.”
Scott ran his fingers through his hair and scratched the back of his neck, “Well, I sure couldn’t let Bull back shoot you. That big, old .52 caliber Sharps would’ve made a nasty hole. He eased it down mighty gingerly when he felt the muzzle of my Colt against the back of his neck.
“I never liked him anyway. I can’t stand bullies, and he shapes up to be one. Although I imagine he still might have a headache.” Scott was grinning with the last statement.
“Nonetheless, I owe you. Mr. Starit, set Scott up with another glass of the same.”
“You betcha; be glad to do it if you’ll call me Cecil,” Starit said. He picked up a bottle, carried it over to Scott’s table, and poured him another glass.
“Thanks Cecil. Call me Josh.
“Mind if I join you?” Josh asked Scott.
“Shoot, no. Come on over and take a load off,” Scott replied.
Logan put his hat on his head, picked up his sarsaparillo with his right hand, and walked over to Scott’s table. He moved his chair around so that he could watch the front and back door of the saloon; a move that was not missed by Cecil Starit nor Scott Penny.
Having a seat, Josh asked Cecil Starit, “When do you expect the troopers to start showing up?”
Cecil looked up at the clock. “The boys should be arriving any moment now. Usually it’s five or so when they do start wandering in. A good crowd it is that we normally have. Most of them come here, although there are a few who stop at the King 7, though it boggles me mind why they would, the way Bartholf waters down the whiskey.”
Scott took a sip of his whiskey. “Cecil’s a straight arrow, Josh. He don’t water down the whiskey, he don’t allow no card sharps in, and he don’t take advantage of a cowboy with a load on. You can trust him. But he also don’t allow no drunk cowboy to bust up his place. He’s almighty proud of that mirror and I’d hate to think what he might do to the man who broke it.”
“Aye, proud I am. I had the freighters haul this here beauty all the way from New Orleans by way of Houston. It was bullets I was a sweatin’ waiting for it to arrive. But here it is, more beautiful than I could have imagined,” Cecil said with an admiring smile and a swipe with a cleaning rag.
Josh smiled and said, “It is that Cecil, something to be proud of.”
Josh turned to Scott and asked, “So what are your plans now? You planning on hanging around or taking off for other parts?”
“I thought I’d hang around for a while, ju
st to see what happens between Ruffcarn and Nance. I’d sure like to see Ruffcarn get his comeuppance. But I’m thinkin’ about headin’ for Colorado in a while. Understand they’ve found some gold out there.”
“How would you like to make a little money before you head west?” Josh asked.
“I’ve nothing against making money. What do you have in mind?”
“Scott, Mr. Nance made me foreman of the Rocking N. I’m looking for a few good men. But I’m not going to kid you, a fight is brewing. There could be, and probably will be, some shooting. We’ve got rustling going on, and that’s going to stop. As you know, we also have the Comanche problem. So you’d be earning your money.”
“Foreman. I’d love to see Ruffcarn’s face when he hears that. You bet I’ll take the job. Cecil here has about cleaned me out. And if I stay at the Diehl place much longer, what with all that good cooking, I won’t be able to find a horse that can carry me. Anyway, Colorado ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
“Good. Figure on leaving tomorrow. Why don’t you check with Tiny Bakton and line up a wagon for tomorrow afternoon. We’ll pick up supplies for a couple of weeks, including ammunition. I left a list with Mr. Diehl. You can also pick up whatever personal provisions you need and put it on the Nance tab.”
“Guess I’d better get busy,” Scott Penny said as he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “It feels good to be working for a decent outfit again.”
“You need any money to tide you over?”
“Nope, I’m set. After I get the wagon set up, I’m heading to Mrs. Diehl’s. I sure don’t want to miss out on supper. I’ll see you there. Just watch your back, amigo; you never know when some of that Ruffcarn crew might wander in.”
“You do the same,” Josh said. He watched Scott Penny push open the swinging doors and disappear around the corner of the saloon.
Josh pushed back from the table, got up, put his hat back on, and strolled over to the bar. Cecil Starit had his back to him cleaning a glass. Cecil wasn’t a tall man, about 5’ 8”, but he was broad. He reminded Josh of his uncle back in Tennessee. Uncle Floyd was a younger brother of Pa. Pa always said that he got the name Floyd because of the night he was born. It was a cold and rainy October night. Creeks were out of their banks and the valleys were looking at some major flooding. Grandma said a good strong Scottish name for this man-child was Floyd, for the flooding; Floyd David Logan.
Logan's Word: A Logan Family Western - Book 1 (Logan Family Western Series) Page 5