Ira stared at him for a long moment, then said coldly, "I understand." He turned and walked out of the office, his back stiff and his eyes straight ahead.
Flint stood looking at the closed door for a long moment, then uttered a heartfelt curse. He looked at Rose and shook his head. "I didn't handle that very well, did I?"
"Maybe not. But you said what you thought needed to be said. There's no point in the settlers doing something that might provoke more trouble."
"No, but they have every right to come into town, just as Powell said." Flint sat down heavily. "They've got me in the middle. All I want is peace and quiet here in town."
Rose leaned forward. "You've been a lawman long enough to know that you can't please everyone, Lucas. All you can do is enforce the law as fairly as possible."
Suddenly, the tense frown left his handsome face, and his features lit up in a warm smile. "And all you can do as a doctor is what your knowledge of medicine tells you is possible. But that doesn't mean you quit worrying about your patients, does it?"
Rose shook her head. "You're right, Lucas," she admitted with a chuckle. "Doctors still worry, even when we know there's nothing else we can do. What about marshals?"
"We worry," Flint said simply.
During supper that night, Tom Powell quietly nursed a swollen jaw and ate little. Ira cheerfully tried to make conversation, but the stony silences he received in response forced him to abandon the effort. As he finished his supper, he was certain that there were quite a few silent suppers in the other soddies on Copeland's ranch. Everyone was brooding over what had happened in Abilene earlier in the day.
Once Violet had served the stew, she said nothing. She watched Tom with soulful brown eyes and looked as if she wanted to do something to soothe his seething emotions but couldn’t figure out just what.
Finally, when the meal was over, Ira leaned back in his chair and said, "Tomorrow's the Sabbath, so we'll rest. But first thing Monday morning I want to finish that plowing we started this morning, Tom."
"Sure, Pa," Tom replied thickly. He pushed his bowl away and reached for his cup of coffee. He seemed able to sip the hot liquid without hurting his jaw too much.
Ira frowned and looked up. "You hear something?" he asked. The sounds of shooting and yelling were faint at first, barely audible in the sod cabin.
Tom hesitated, listening intently. "Guns!" he said abruptly. "Sounds like riders comin', Pa!"
Both men were on their feet instantly, Tom hurrying to the corner for Ira's ancient rifle while his father rushed to the doorway, pushing back the canvas curtain that covered the opening.
"Wait a minute, Pa!" Tom called after him, but it was too late. Ira was already outside.
The yelling was louder now, clearly audible over the cracking of pistols. Tom ducked through the doorway, the sound of hoofbeats filling his ears, and spotted his father standing several feet away. In the moonlight he could see Ira staring at the field where earlier in the day they had started turning the earth in preparation for planting their crop.
Men on horseback were storming through that field now, waving guns in the air and firing them, whooping exuberantly as their horses trampled through the plowed earth. It was too dark to see the faces of any of the men, but they were obviously cowboys.
Tom stood beside Ira, tightly clutching the rifle in his hands. The young man's breath came faster, and he abruptly brought the rifle's stock to his shoulder.
Ira lashed out, grabbing the barrel of the rifle, and forcing it back toward the ground. "No!" he snapped. "You'll just get us killed, boy!"
The leader of the group of cowboys suddenly twisted in his saddle, brought his pistol down, and aimed it at the two men standing in front of the soddy. Tom, from over his father's shoulder, saw what was about to happen. Uttering an inarticulate cry, he grabbed Ira and dove to the ground.
Flame darted from the muzzle of the cowboy's gun. Once, twice, three times it blasted, the slugs whining over the heads of Ira and Tom to thud into the walls of the soddy. Then the cowboy let out another yell, savagely spurred his horse, and galloped away from the would-be farm. The other raiders followed him, still firing into the air.
Tom rolled over and leaped to his feet. "Violet! Violet, you all right, gal?" he called anxiously as he ran to the doorway of the soddy.
The young woman appeared, framed in the lantern light, and nodded. "I'm fine, Tom," she quavered. "Just scared, is all."
Tom took her into his arms and held her tightly for a long moment.
Ira struggled to his feet and stared into the darkness where the cowboys had disappeared. No real harm had been done—this time. But Ira knew what this meant, and he murmured, "My God, my God. It's just starting..."
6
Ira Powell's gloomy prediction proved to be accurate. Over the next week, trouble visited the D Slash C nearly every night, sometimes in several places. The local cowhands were taking great delight in tormenting the farmers, stampeding cattle through the newly plowed and planted fields, fouling ponds and creeks, and generally torturing the settlers from Georgia.
A few of the foolhardier farmers tried unsuccessfully to fight back. Those who dared to shoot at the marauders had to dive back into their soddies in a hail of bullets. It was only blind luck that no one was killed or seriously wounded.
Not much could be done about these raiders who galloped onto the farms in the black night, wreaked havoc, and disappeared into the protection of darkness. Reports of the attacks reached Lucas Flint daily, and he seethed in frustration, powerless to stop the harassment. Although he was convinced that Billy Day was involved in most of the attacks, he had no concrete evidence to prove it.
As if the problems on Copeland's ranch were not enough, Flint also had trouble in town. The fights in the Alamo and Karatofsky's Great Western Store had only been the opening rounds in the battle between the farmers and the cowhands. Flint and Cully were kept busy breaking up saloon fights. The city coffers increased with the fines that Flint imposed on brawlers in an attempt to discourage fighting, but even that measure didn’t stop the fights. Short of swearing in a dozen special deputies and making the whole town off limits to cowhands and settlers alike, there was nothing more Flint could do.
Ira Powell was just as upset as Flint. He had made the arrangements with Copeland and led people to Kansas to make a fresh start in their lives. Now, despite all his efforts, the dream of a new life was crumbling. But Ira knew only one way to deal with disappointment and frustration: He had to keep trying, to keep working the land he had chosen for himself and his family.
One bright morning, he was plodding along behind his mule in front of the soddy, steering the plow and making fresh furrows in the field that had been chopped up the night before by wild cowboys, when he looked up and noticed a man on horseback and someone in a buggy approaching from the direction of Abilene.
Ira stopped working and wiped his forehead. As they drew nearer, his keen eyes made out the sober suit of the Methodist minister, Joshua Markham, and the heavy black habit of the nun, Sister Lorraine.
At least these two were not coming to cause trouble, Ira thought. He glanced around the field and noticed that Tom and Violet were nowhere in sight. They had probably gone to one of the fields behind the soddy, on the other side of the rise. Ira was relieved; Tom was so hostile to anyone from Abilene that his father was glad he wasn’t present to see these visitors.
Joshua lifted a hand in greeting as he reined in. Beside him, Sister Lorraine pulled the buggy horse to a stop. Joshua said, "Hello, Mr. Powell. How are you?"
"Tolerable, I suppose," Ira answered. He nodded to the nun. "Hello, Sister."
"Mr. Powell," Sister Lorraine replied. "The Reverend Markham and I decided to ride out and see how you and your friends are doing."
"Thank you, both of you. We appreciate the concern. Why don't you come into the cabin? There's some cool spring water there."
"We didn't mean to take you away from your work," Joshua began.
A tired grin split Ira's lined face. "Pastor, I'd welcome any excuse to stop this plowing for a while. That sun gets to a man after a few hours."
"Indeed, it does," Joshua agreed. "We'd be glad to join you for a drink of water."
Ira turned the mule around, and the little group rode to the soddy. Several days earlier, Tom had placed two poles in the ground a few feet in front of the doorway and stretched some canvas from them to the soddy wall, creating an awning of sorts. The shade beneath the canvas felt cool and welcome to Ira as he picked up the water bucket and the dipper that sat by the door.
"Come on in," he said. "It's more comfortable inside."
The two visitors joined him in the soddy, and Ira found cups for them and dipped water from the bucket. As the three of them sat down at the rough table placed in the center of the neatly arranged, clean cabin, Joshua said, "I want to invite you and your friends to attend services at my church anytime you feel like it, Mr. Powell. Everyone is always welcome."
"Well, thank you, Pastor," Ira replied. "I've done quite a bit of reading in the Good Book myself. Three or four times all the way through it, in fact. I usually do a little preaching on the Sabbath."
"Oh," Joshua said. "I wouldn't want to interfere with your services..."
Ira shook his head. "They're not really services like in a real church. We'd be honored to visit sometime and hear you preach."
Joshua grinned. "We'll all be glad to see you."
Sister Lorraine had been unusually quiet. Now she leaned forward and said, "Mr. Powell, I want to talk to you about another matter. Dr. Keller mentioned to me that most of your people are unable to read and write."
"That's true," Ira admitted. "My ma taught me to read when I was a youngster, and I've done my best to teach Tom, but most of these folks never had any time for schooling. I don't imagine any of the children around here can read."
"Then you'll be glad to know that we've made arrangements for the children to attend school in Abilene," Sister Lorraine said. "I have quite a bit of experience with children, and I can tell you how important an education is to their welfare."
Ira looked down at his hands and frowned. After a long moment, he looked at her and said, "That's true, Sister, but I don't know how these families will feel about sending their kids away from their work. Many families depend on these youngsters to work in the fields. We need all the help we can get while these farms are getting started."
"I'm well aware of the practice of using children to help out in the fields, Mr. Powell," Sister Lorraine answered. "But a child who cannot read and write will never be able to do anything in the world." Her stern voice softened somewhat. "It took some convincing to get the town council to see things our way, but that's something the reverend and I are good at. Surely you can persuade your friends to allow their children to attend school."
Ira leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully rubbed his jaw. After a moment, he said, "You're right, Sister. Learning's the best way—maybe the only way—out of the troubles those youngsters will be facing as they grow up." He suddenly smiled across the table at his two visitors. "I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say we'd be glad to have them go to your school."
"It's your school, too, Mr. Powell," Joshua pointed out. "You and your friends are part of our community now."
Ira laughed humorlessly. "I just wish the rest of the folks around here felt like that, Pastor. I expect you've heard about the troubles we've been having out here."
Joshua nodded, his light blue eyes darkening angrily. "I certainly have," he said, "and I think it's awful that you're being treated so rudely. The ranchers are going to have to learn that there's enough room here for everybody."
"For some folks, there's never enough room," Ira said sadly.
Neither Joshua nor Sister Lorraine could argue with that. Both of them had seen ample evidence that some people could never be satisfied, no matter how much money or land or power they possessed. Usually it was the little folks, like Ira Powell and his friends, who got stepped on and pushed aside in the never-ending quest for more of everything.
But a start had been made today, a beginning of cooperation between the town and the settlers. Sending the children to school was the first step.
All three people sitting around the table hoped it would work out better than things had so far.
Dr. Rose Keller was sitting in her office a few days later, working on her patients' files, when the front door of the house opened. Putting her pen down, she stood up and walked to the doorway that led into the front room, expecting to see either a patient or Lucas Flint waiting there. It was late in the afternoon, and the marshal frequently dropped by at the end of the day to take her to dinner.
Instead, a short, slender man with thinning brown hair and a sour expression stood there. He wore a brown suit and a string tie and stood with his arms folded, impatiently tapping one foot,
"Why, hello, Mr. Thornbury," Rose said as she stepped into the room. She was surprised to see Abilene's schoolmaster. "What can I do for you?"
Emery Thornbury didn’t take off his hat or even touch the brim in greeting. He seemed to be too angry to worry about being polite. That wasn’t uncommon, Rose thought. Thornbury was usually angry about something.
"You can send those horrible children back where they came from," the teacher snapped.
"What children are you referring to, Mr. Thornbury?" Rose asked in mock puzzlement. She believed she knew the answer already.
"Those illiterate little monsters from Georgia. I'm told it was your idea that they attend school here in town."
"There's no other place where they can be taught, Mr. Thornbury. I just mentioned to Reverend Markham and Sister Lorraine that none of them can read or write."
"And those two do-gooders ran right to the town council to make life more difficult for me," Thornbury sniffed.
Rose felt her face flush with anger at Thornbury's obnoxious attitude. "I believe it is your job to teach," she said, keeping her voice level and calm. "Then the children won't be illiterate."
Thornbury waved a thin hand. "Those children won't learn, Doctor. I don't believe they're even capable of learning. All they're suited for is pulling a plow, like the beasts of burden they are."
Rose took a deep breath, making a great effort to control her temper. Rather than lashing out at Thornbury, she asked, "Have they been causing problems in class?"
"Of course they have," Thornbury snapped. "They're children, aren't they? And they're accustomed to living an undisciplined existence. They have no respect for authority at all."
Rose knew only too well that authority meant a great deal to Emery Thornbury. The man thrived on the power he exerted over his students and had clashed with many people over his roughshod teaching methods. Cully Markham had threatened to take a hickory switch to Thornbury if the teacher didn’t stop whipping the children so frequently. But many of the parents supported Thornbury and approved of his harsh methods. He was also the only teacher the town council had been able to keep in the job for more than a few months.
"Not only are they as wild as Indians," Thornbury went on, "but the school is packed to bursting now. It was bad enough when all of those...those orphans were allowed to attend the school. Now, each day more of those urchins come in from Mr. Copeland's ranch. I simply cannot continue to teach under these conditions, Doctor."
"Then what do you suggest we do about the situation, Mr. Thornbury?" Rose asked tightly.
Thornbury sneered. "Tell those Southern children that they are no longer welcome. I realize nothing can be done about the orphans without that nun upsetting the entire town, but at least we can get rid of those poor white trash."
Appalled by his words, Rose stared at him. She slowly drew a deep breath and shook her head. "There's a town council meeting in three days, Mr. Thornbury," she finally told him. "All I can say is that you should attend and express your opinions to the entire council."
"I plan to do just that," T
hornbury declared. Without another word, he turned and stalked from the doctor's office.
Rose watched him go. As the door slammed behind him, she looked down at her hands and saw that her fingers were trembling with the anger she still felt. She would be certain that she attended the council meeting, too, to make sure that someone spoke up in opposition to the venom that Thornbury planned to spew.
Suddenly, a smile curved Rose's lips. An idea had occurred to her, and the more she considered it, the more sense it made to her.
Let Emery Thornbury express his complaints. She would have a little surprise waiting for the schoolmaster.
At seven o'clock on Thursday evening, the town council met in Abilene's courthouse. Every member was in attendance. The seven men and one woman—Dr. Rose Keller—sat at a long table in the front of the room. Rose was a new member on the council, and her mere presence was quite a coup. At first the seven businessmen who made up the council were leery about a woman serving with them. But Rose's personality and medical skills had impressed the town's citizens, and in the last election she had overwhelmingly defeated her opponent and been elected to the council.
Several rows of chairs had been set up facing the table for spectators and people who wished to bring complaints before the council. Lucas Flint sat in one of the chairs, his right booted foot resting lightly on his left knee, his hat on the floor beside his chair. He regularly attended the council meetings in case the officials had any questions for him about law and order in Abilene.
Emery Thornbury was also there, sitting at the opposite end of the marshal's row. A few other citizens were present when the meeting began, but nothing about the low-key proceedings warned of the fireworks that would soon explode.
The council first disposed of several routine matters. Then the mayor turned to the audience and said, "All right, is there any other business to be brought to our attention?"
Rattler's Law, Volume One Page 66