Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  "The word's reached Abilene already. It's hard to keep too many secrets around here, Mr. Powell. Folks are always eager to hear the latest news."

  Ira frowned and said slowly, "A young man stopped by the train and talked to us for a while earlier today. I told him our destination. Could that have any connection with the men who attacked us?"

  "It could," Flint said grimly. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Billy Day and some Rafter D cowhands had been the masked men. But he didn’t share this with Ira; instead, he changed the subject. "You know that Copeland's a cattleman, don't you?"

  "He was," Ira replied. "We've made arrangements to tenant-farm on his land."

  Cully had been listening to the conversation with interest, and now he leaned forward and said incredulously, "You're going to farm on open range? String bob wire and plow up the grazing land?"

  "Yes, Deputy. That's exactly what we're going to do."

  Flint's eyes narrowed. "I'd heard that Copeland had some trouble last year..."

  "He told me he lost most of his herd to disease," Ira said. "Said it was Texas fever. That's why he was open to my suggestion that we farm the land. Now he won't have to worry about building his stock back up."

  That was true enough, Flint thought, but if Copeland intended to bring sodbusters in to farm on open range, the rancher was going to have plenty of other things to worry about. The older cattlemen hated few things more than barbed wire. Flint had heard that shooting wars had occurred down in Texas over the stuff, even though it had been introduced less than fifteen years earlier.

  Farmers and "bob wire"... Lucas Flint shivered as an eerie foreboding ran through him. But he said nothing as he rode beside the wagon train toward Abilene.

  3

  As the wagon train crawled at a snail’s pace across the sweltering prairie, Lucas Flint maintained a thoughtful silence. They had gone about a mile and were still two miles from the edge of town when he turned at last to Cully and said quietly, "Why don't you ride into Abilene ahead of us and let folks know we're coming?"

  Cully shot him a questioning frown. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Marshal? After what just happened, I figured you might want to swing around town and go straight to Copeland's place."

  "These folks are going to be part of our community, Cully. They deserve a proper welcome, instead of what they've had so far. Pass the word to your brother, to Sister Lorraine, and to some of the other citizens. It'd be a good idea to tell Angus and Dr. Keller, too."

  Cully nodded. "All right. I'll try to round up some folks to make 'em feel more at home." The deputy spurred his pinto to a trot and rode away.

  Ira Powell called from the wagon seat, "I see you're sending your deputy ahead, Marshal. Do you think the people of Abilene will be happy to see us?"

  The painfully hopeful look in the weary man's blue eyes touched Flint. He wished that he could guarantee a heartwarming welcome to this decent man and his followers, but he was well aware of the problems that would plague them.

  "I can't speak for all of them, Mr. Powell," he answered honestly. "But I'm sure some of them will. Plenty of good people live in Abilene."

  "I hope so, Marshal. We've experienced a lot of disappointments...many well before we began this trip. It would be...a pleasant change to feel welcomed."

  Within fifteen minutes Cully had reached the outskirts of Abilene. He trotted past the Great Western Cattle Company Stockyards and slowed his horse to a walk as he moved down Railroad Street to turn south at Cedar. Dismounting, he slipped into Karatofsky's Store, the major mercantile in Abilene, then got on his horse again and turned the corner to head west on Texas, stopping at several of the stores that lined the town's major thoroughfare. At each of his stops he informed the merchants that a wagon train full of settlers was on its way into town, expecting the prospect of new business to spark their interest. Settlers always needed supplies, Cully pointed out to the businessmen.

  "What do we need with a bunch of white trash like that in our town, Deputy?" one of the store owners said acidly.

  Cully was stunned. "They looked like good folks to me," he replied coolly.

  The bespectacled shopkeeper shook his head. "You don't have to do business with them and have them try to steal you blind, Deputy. I've had dealings with Rebels before. The government ought to make them stay there in the South. It's their own fault the place is in ruins."

  Cully clenched his jaw, turned abruptly, and strode from the store before he lost his temper. His mood worsened when he was greeted with the same reaction in about half the places he visited. He realized that Billy Day had spread the word that the settlers were from Georgia. By the time he reached Angus's Tavern, he was furious.

  Angus looked up from behind the bar as Cully pushed through the batwings. "Ye look a wee bit red in the face, lad. 'Tis this heat. Kin ye use a drink?"

  "You're right about the drink, but not about the heat," Cully told him as he leaned on the bar. "Has Billy Day or any of those Rafter D hands been in here in the last hour?"

  Angus shook his head. "Dinna ye and Lucas find 'em?"

  "Oh, we found them, all right, but they took off in a hurry." Cully then quickly described what had happened east of town. The Scotsman frowned and groaned when he heard about the attack on the wagon train.

  "No one was hurt, ye say?" he asked.

  "No, but it was just luck. I'm going to have to have a long talk with Billy real soon." Cully drained the mug of beer Angus had placed in front of him. "Those wagons will be here in a few minutes," he said as he thumped the empty mug on the bar. "Marshal Flint wants me to round up some of the townspeople to give these new settlers a friendly welcome. Why don't I meet you back here in fifteen minutes?" He strode toward the doors.

  "’Tis a good idea," Angus called to him.

  Cully nodded. "I'm on my way to see Joshua, Sister Lorraine, and Dr. Keller," he said as he pushed through the batwings.

  Leaving the tavern, Cully retraced his steps a few feet to the two-story cottage that housed Dr. Rose Keller's office. The small building was set back fifteen yards from the bustling boardwalk of Texas Street behind an attractively planted, well-tended yard. Bright spring flowers were blooming in front of the porch, lending an unexpected touch of color. Cully stepped onto the porch and opened the front door.

  At the sound of the door opening, a slender young woman came into the front room, wiping her hands on the white apron she wore over her simple, tailored dress. Her thick, dark brown hair was swept away from her attractive face, accentuating her high cheekbones and warm brown eyes. She smiled when she saw Cully standing in the doorway.

  "Hello, Cully," Dr. Rose Keller said. "What can I do for you?"

  Cully frowned at the crimson stains on Rose's apron. "Looks like you've got a patient," he said, pointing to the red blotches. "I don't want to take you away from your work."

  Rose looked puzzled for a moment and then glanced down at her stained apron. Suddenly she laughed. "Don't worry, Cully, it's not blood," she assured him. "I'm cooking tomatoes to put up."

  Cully shook his head and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I just thought...well, never mind that. Marshal Flint sent me to tell you that a wagon train full of settlers will be arriving in town in a few minutes."

  Rose's smile faded, and a look of concern replaced it. "Do they have medical problems?" she asked.

  "Not that I know of," Cully answered with a shake of his head. "But they've come all the way from Georgia, and they've had a rough time of it. The marshal thought it would be neighborly for some of the townsfolk to get together and make them feel welcome."

  "That is a good idea," Rose said as she reached behind her and began untying her apron. "I think I should check to see if they have any problems that need my attention."

  "That'd be just fine." Cully touched the brim of his hat and turned to leave. "I'm on my way to the church now to let Joshua and Sister Lorraine know." His grin widened as a thought struck him. "Those kids should be out of school
by now, and I'll bet they'd enjoy watching that wagon train move through town."

  With a wave of his hand he walked to the street and over to the hitchrack in front of Angus's Tavern. Untying his horse, he mounted up and rode west on Texas Street to Elm. Turning north, he followed Elm Street past Mud Creek and Hersey's old grist mill. A few years ago, a man had been lynched at the mill for killing another man, Cully remembered grimly. But folks no longer took the law into their own hands, he reflected—not since Lucas Flint had come to Abilene and assumed the duties of town marshal.

  On a small knoll overlooking the banks of Mud Creek, the whitewashed sides of the Calvary Methodist Church gleamed in the afternoon sun. Just beyond the church stood the parsonage where Cully's older brother, the Reverend Joshua Markham, lived. For several years Joshua had lived there alone and wrestled with his private demons. But the recent arrival of Sister Lorraine, a Dominican nun, and her boisterous group of orphans had changed everything for him.

  Sister Lorraine had left Philadelphia with several wagons full of children, ranging in age from toddlers to older teenagers, originally intending to establish an orphanage in Wichita. When the opportunity had arisen for them to stay in Abilene, Sister Lorraine had seized it gratefully. She and Joshua Markham worked well together despite their religious differences, and now the orphans were housed in the Methodist parsonage. And Joshua seemed to be thriving with their company.

  Cully rode up the long curving drive to the front of the church and swung from the saddle. Looping the reins around the iron railing, he bounded up the four steps leading to the doorway.

  Inside the simple, elegant white sanctuary, the air was cool, a welcome, refreshing change from the heat outside. Cully walked slowly over the wide-plank floor, his booted footsteps echoing hollowly in the high-ceilinged church.

  Joshua Markham, on his hands and knees beside the pulpit, was scrubbing the hardwood floor of the pulpit platform. A bucket of soapy water stood next to him.

  As Joshua looked up, Cully said with a grin, "I see you're doing the Lord's work as usual."

  "Cleanliness is next to godliness," Joshua said pointedly.

  "So I've heard."

  Joshua dropped the rag he was using into the bucket and stood up. He was a tall, slender man in his early thirties, a few years older than Cully, with piercing blue eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles. He brushed a lock of sun-bleached brown hair from his forehead and said, "I'm not going to comment about seeing you in church, Cully—that's a rare enough sight in itself—but what can I do for you?"

  "The kids back from school yet?"

  "I think so," Joshua replied. "I believe I heard them return a little while ago. Why?"

  "You think they'd like to come into town and greet a wagon train?"

  "That sounds like something they would enjoy, all right. But a wagon train hasn't been through here in quite a while."

  "There's going to be one today," Cully said. He repeated the story one more time.

  As Joshua listened intently to the plight of the settlers from Georgia, his expression changed from concern to anger. "Those poor people," he said sincerely when Cully had finished. "I’ll certainly be glad to go down and greet them, and I'm sure Sister Lorraine and the children will be, too."

  "Better get moving, then," Cully said. "They ought to be here any minute."

  Joshua nodded and began rolling down his shirt sleeves. "I'll go tell Sister Lorraine right now."

  Cully mounted up as Joshua hurried over to the parsonage. Turning his pinto toward town, the deputy noticed that from the little hill where the church was located, he could see clearly across Abilene. The caravan of wagons was in plain sight now, less than half a mile from the edge of town. The wagons were rolling slowly but steadily along the trail, and within a few minutes they would reach the sprawling stockyards of the Great Western Cattle Company.

  He urged his horse to a fast trot and rode toward Texas Street. Should any trouble break out as the wagon train passed through Abilene, he wanted to be on hand.

  As the wagon train crept into the eastern edge of Abilene, the sprawling two-hundred-fifty-acre stockyards stood as a grim reminder of the troubles Flint foresaw for Ira Powell and his followers. The cattle business brought not only prosperity to Abilene, but also trouble. Footloose cowboys, gamblers, and outlaws moved into prosperous cattle-towns like Abilene along with the herds that were being shipped to the big markets. Flint and other respectable citizens had worked hard to keep the peace and make Abilene a good place to live. He knew only too well that many of those same good citizens would regard Ira Powell and his band of settlers as a threat to their peace and livelihoods.

  After mulling all this over during the trek into town, Flint decided to gamble on his lawman's well-honed instincts and prepare Ira. "These stockyards should give you a good idea of why you may run into trouble here, Mr. Powell," Flint began carefully. "Cattle means big business in Abilene. A lot of people have built their lives around raising beef, and they don't want to see anything that will upset or change things. Some cattlemen around here won't like good rangeland being used for farming."

  "Surely the things that our farms can produce are just as important as cattle, Marshal," Ira said with a frown.

  Flint shook his head. "Maybe so, but cattle and the railroad made this town what it is. The whole state owes a lot to the cattle industry. Once Texas ranchers like Charlie Goodnight and Oliver Loving proved what a market there was for beef, folks here in Kansas decided they wanted to raise cattle, too, instead of just shipping Texas beef to the big markets."

  "But there have always been farms here, ever since the territory was settled, haven't there?"

  "Sure," Flint agreed. "But I don't ever recall a cattleman switching to farming like Copeland's doing."

  Ira sighed. "I suppose we'll just have to hope for the best, Marshal. That's what we've been doing for a long time now." His voice hardened as he went on, "I'm not the only one who's getting tired of being pushed around. We're not bad folks, Marshal. We just want to be left alone to live our lives."

  "I hope that's just what happens, Mr. Powell." Flint sincerely meant what he said, but he doubted it would be that simple.

  As the wagon train moved past the stockyards and onto Texas Street, Flint saw that quite a few people were already standing in clusters on the boardwalks. More citizens spilled out of the stores to watch the wagon train roll into town. Many of the men turned hard faces toward the newcomers, while the women inspected the shabby wagons with stern disapproval. The children were frankly wide-eyed with curiosity, especially when they noticed all the youngsters on the wagons.

  The strange, uneasy silence that hung over the street bothered Flint even more than the stony looks the townspeople gave the Southern settlers.

  Riding beside Ira Powell’s wagon, Flint felt confident that no one would start any trouble while he was there. He spotted Cully's horse tied to the hitch rail in front of Angus's Tavern and nodded a greeting as the deputy and the burly Scotsman stepped onto the boardwalk. Next door in the yard in front of Rose's office, Joshua Markham and Sister Lorraine had joined Rose and were watching the wagons while trying to keep an eye on the excited group of orphans. Several of the children waved joyfully at their counterparts in the wagons.

  A smile played on Flint's lips. Children didn’t care where you were from or how your folks made their living. They were much more interested in how well you could whittle or spit or roll a hoop.

  At the sight of these welcoming faces, Flint signaled Ira to halt the wagon train. He reined in and Ira Powell pulled his team to a stop as Rose, Joshua, and Sister Lorraine stepped into the street, meeting the newcomers in the center.

  Flint leaned on the pommel of his saddle and grinned at his friends. Turning to Ira, he said, "Mr. Powell, I'd like you to meet three of Abilene's finest citizens. This is Dr. Rose Keller, Sister Lorraine of the Dominican order, and the Reverend Joshua Markham, pastor of the Methodist church. Folks, this is Ira Powell, the le
ader of this wagon train."

  Ira doffed his battered hat and smiled at the three members of the unofficial welcoming committee. "I'm glad to meet you, ladies," he said in his deep, resonant voice. "You, too, Pastor."

  "Welcome to Abilene, Mr. Powell," Joshua said, stepping up to the wagon box and extending his hand to Ira. "We hope you and your friends will enjoy living among us."

  Ira hesitated briefly. He drew a deep breath, then took Joshua's hand. Rose moved to stand next to Joshua. "I'm a medical doctor, Mr. Powell," she said, "and I'd be glad to take a look at any of your people who are sick or injured."

  "We're all fine at the moment, ma'am. We're pretty much used to taking care of ourselves."

  "Yes, I'm sure you are. I just wanted you to know that my services are available anytime you need them."

  "Thank you, ma'am," Ira said, and he glanced back at the other wagons. "I'd introduce you to all the folks, but there's quite a few of 'em. We're a bit anxious to get to the Copeland place, too."

  "You can still get there by dark," Flint assured him.

  Sister Lorraine spoke up. "I'm sure we'll get to know all of you quite well, Mr. Powell. After all, you'll be part of the community now."

  "I hope so, Sister."

  While the gregarious Sister Lorraine chatted warmly with Ira, Flint casually scanned the street. The sullen crowd still stared at the Southerners, and the tension in the air had increased ominously since the wagons had stopped. Flint noticed his deputy lounging lazily against one of the awning posts in front of Angus's, but he knew only too well how deceptive that pose was. Cully was as ready for trouble as he was. Maybe Cully had been right when he suggested the train swing around Abilene.

  But this has to be done sooner or later, Flint thought. These folks are going to live here. If there's going to be trouble, it will be better to get it out in the open first thing, rather than let it simmer only to explode later.

  Flint noticed that Joshua Markham was sweating, just as he was. The preacher knew the kinds of emotion that were lurking under the surface. Or maybe it was only the afternoon heat. As usual, Rose Keller looked cool and pretty, and Sister Lorraine always managed somehow to tolerate the warmth of her heavy black habit.