by Dan Arnold
I shook my head.
“You’ve been here for a couple of days, what’s going on? Is it true the Thorndyke’s have been stealing land?”
“The situation here is worse than I thought. The day I got here, I sent a letter to Hugh Lomax asking him to send a telegram to the U.S. Marshal in Denver. I didn’t think I could trust the local telegraph office. It appears the people in key positions in this town are all in the Thorndyke’s pocket, one way or another. Sheriff Holden works for Herman Thorndyke, so he’s no help, as far as law enforcement goes.
The Thorndyke’s are attempting to make all of Chaparral County into their own private kingdom. Herman Thorndyke has organized a “Stockman’s Association.” If you support the Thorndyke’s, you’re a member, and they’ll leave you alone. If you oppose the Thorndyke’s plan, you’re an enemy. They eliminate their enemies. Most of the small ranchers and farmers are struggling just to survive. The Thorndyke’s are forcing them out and stealing their land.
The Stockman’s Association has hired a regulator. They’ve over played their hand and the small ranchers and settlers are going to fight back. They’ve formed a vigilante committee,” Bob stated.
“Wait a minute, what is a regulator?”
Bob looked away.
“A regulator is a man like me, John. He’s a range detective. Typically we investigate rustling and help eliminate it, by whatever means necessary. Whoever the Stockman’s Association has hired, he’s killing the people on their list of suspected rustlers. It’s actually just a list of people they want eliminated.”
“Yeah, that’s what Joe Holden told me. Do you have any idea who this regulator might be?”
He shook his head.
“What exactly is this vigilante committee planning to do?”
“I don’t know, but once people start choosing up sides, there’s going to be a range war, for sure. That’s why I sent for the U.S. Marshal. We also need to get word out to the Governor. This is a powder keg, and it’s about to blow up.”
What do you know about the Thorndyke’s?”
“I’ve seen the whole family. Herman Thorndyke, the father, and two of the sons live here in town. The oldest son, Henry, lives out on the ranch headquarters. He runs the ranch these days. I don’t know for sure where Howard lives. He’s the youngest and just returned home from college, back east. He seems to be fond of the ladies, if you take my meaning.”
“I’m going to go meet Mr. Thorndyke senior. I want you to try to find out the names of everyone in the Stockman’s Association.”
“That will be easy enough. Why do you want to know?”
“I’m going to tell them all, the Governor and the U.S. Marshal know who they are, and what they’ve done.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Bob started.
“You know Bob; this is the second time you’ve balked when I gave you specific instructions. How did you find me so fast when I got shot? You must have still been close to the area where I left you. I told you to come directly here.”
“Well, I didn’t like the idea of you facing Slade alone. I decided to follow you, to be there as back up, just in the event you needed me. I saw you talking to Slade at Mrs. Poole’s Boarding House. When you rode over the hill into Waller, I watched the town from the top of the hill. I could see there were only a few saddle horses in the town, so I figured you wouldn’t be there for long. I turned around and headed this way. I was probably only a little over a mile or so ahead of you, when the shooting started. It took me several minutes to get back to you. When I got there, you were sitting on your horse in the middle of the road, as if you were waiting for me. You informed me, rather casually, that you had killed Slade.”
“How can I trust you, if you won’t follow orders?”
He stared at me for a moment.
“Would you rather trust me with your life, or just to follow your orders?”
I thought about that. He was right.
“Fair enough, you did save my life. I’m sorry I put it that way. I probably should have listened to you, but I do need you to follow my lead as well. Why shouldn’t I brace the Stockman’s Association?”
“They’re pretending they don’t know who the killer is, even though he works for them. They’ll probably be willing to do just about anything to protect themselves.”
“We might be able to use that to our advantage. Right now, we can’t predict where the killer will strike next, except at the people on that list. We can’t watch everyone on their list, but we could watch just one person.”
“Indeed we could, but which one?”
“I was thinking maybe me, or…you.”
“I understand your reasoning, John. If we can get them to send the regulator after one of us, we could try to take him. The problem is it would be far too easy to get killed, and very difficult to set the trap. Also, we may not have time to set up something like that. There were nine names on the list; two have been killed and four have fled. There are actually only three names left on that list now. It would be better to try and watch them.”
“I’ll bet those three people have taken steps to protect themselves.”
“I’ve heard they are in armed camps, and more than one has hired gun help. It’s going to be a full blown range war.”
“I’m focused on catching this bushwhacking regulator. The members of the Stockman’s Association know who it is, and the most prominent member of that group is Herman Thorndyke. I’m going to see him. Where does he live?”
36.
When I got to the Thorndyke house, I was amused to see they didn’t seem to have a butler. Mr. Thorndyke answered the door himself, in his shirt sleeves. Herman Thorndyke, the “old man”, wasn’t much older than me, which meant his sons would be in their twenties. We were sitting in his office in his home. It really was the biggest house on the highest hill, in the town of Thorndyke. However, it was the original two story wood sided ranch house that had been built to raise a family in tough times. It was practical, not pretty.
“Mr. Thorndyke, you and Bill Courtney used to be friends. His foreman Glen, tells me before they fenced the Bar C, you used to run your cattle together on the same range. What happened to change that friendship?”
“Until Sheriff Holden told me you would be coming by, I wasn’t aware that we were no longer friends. I’ve done nothing to offend Bill Courtney. What’s his complaint?”
“That was a bald faced lie,” I thought.
“He has a section of land along the creek over in this county y’all used to run cattle on. He fenced it and he believes y’all tore down his fence and someone stole his cattle.”
“That’s ridiculous. I had nothing to do with any of that. I’ve been busy organizing a Stockman’s Association, to combat this very type of thing. So many people have been moving in here and helping themselves to our land and cattle, something has to be done. Bill wouldn’t join us. He may change his mind now. How many cattle has he lost?”
“He lost about fifty head.”
“Fifty head! Why, that’s not rustling, its outright theft. It would take an organized crew to steal that many head. I haven’t heard of a cattle theft like that, in many years.”
“When the cowboys from the Bar C came looking for the herd, your cowboys stopped them and turned them back.”
“That’s a damned lie! We would be happy to assist in the recovery of Bill’s stock. My son Henry runs the ranch these days. You could ask him about it.”
“I’m headed out there, to do just that, later today.”
Herman Thorndyke’s attitude changed when he heard me say those words.
“You have no jurisdiction in this county. The crime you describe occurred here in Chaparral County, I suggest you mind you own damned business. We have a fine lawman in Sheriff Joe Holden. He can investigate the theft. You should go on back where you came from.”
“Bill Courtney was shot in Alta Vista County. I tracked the shooter here.”
It was close e
nough to the truth. The evidence certainly led here.
“Are you suggesting we had something to do with it?”
“No, I’m merely pointing out that I’m in pursuit of a criminal who has committed crimes in my county. It is my business. I will be happy to cooperate with Sheriff Holden, but I’ll continue to investigate, as I see fit.”
“We’ll see about that.” He was actually gloating.
“You would be unwise to try to stop me. I know you and your Stockman’s Association have hired a killer. I intend to find him. You are on the brink of an all-out range war in this county. Additionally, the Governor is aware of my investigation and Maxwell Warren, the United States Marshal in Denver, has been sent for.”
That rocked him.
“Now see here, this is outrageous,” he spluttered. “We’ve done no such thing. You can’t prove any of that.
“I can and I will. You’ve gone too far. It’s time to pay the piper.”
I walked out of his office and his big house on the hill.
I didn’t have any trouble getting directions out to the new Diamond T headquarters. Everyone in town seemed to know where it was. I know, because I spent some time wandering around town, asking questions and telling people I was going out there. The ranch headquarters was just down the road, only a few miles outside the town. Bob already knew where it was.
I walked to the livery stable and saddled Dusty. I spent more time than I usually did grooming him and talking to him.
I wasn’t looking forward to what I was about to do.
I checked my Colt and my Winchester. I led Dusty outside, tightened the cinch, mounted up and headed out of town.
It was a pretty day, but it was starting to get hot. As I rode down the road, I studied the country side. I could see for miles in any direction. I knew pretty much everything I saw was considered Thorndyke land.
People tend to think of the Great Plains as being flat and featureless. There are actually very few parts of the plains that are featureless. In most places there are rolling hills, arroyos, rock outcroppings and even the occasional mesa. It tends to be very dry country, prone to violent storms. A dry gully can become a roaring stream in a flash flood, washing away everything in its path. Trees can be very scarce. You could ride twenty or thirty miles and never see even one tree.
Yellow Horse and I had first come into this country, more than twenty years ago, driving a trail herd up from Texas. Back then, there had been times when the only shade we could find was in the shadow of our own horses. You could ride all day, and never see a tree.
Here the country was dry and brushy. The road was a nearly straight line and the ground was rolling, not at all flat. From the top of any little rise, I could look back and see the town, but occasionally I would be in a low place and the view was blocked by the heavy brush and rugged terrain. In this arid setting, I knew the Thorndyke Ranch headquarters would be near a river or creek.
Eventually, I came to a dry wash. This was one of those gullies prone to being churned to pieces in a flash flood. Where the road went through, it slanted down and away, off toward a creek somewhere farther to the north. The road dipped down into the wash, and up the other side.
I stopped as I approached the wash.
This was the only suitable place for an ambush I had seen since leaving the town of Thorndyke. I studied the ground and the surrounding area for a moment, and then I asked Dusty to walk on. I was sweating profusely now.
We proceeded through the wash and up the other side, without incident. I caught a little breeze, up on the high ground. I shivered. About ten minutes later I was looking down a long slope at the new Diamond T headquarters, about a half a mile away.
I could see why they had chosen the spot. A stream meandered through this little valley and wrapped around a small piece of higher ground, on three sides. The ranch buildings were on that little rise, surrounded by massive cottonwood trees and smaller willows.
It was an ideal location. There was water and good grass in abundance. I was aware it used to belong to another, smaller ranch. That family had been bought out or driven out by the Thorndykes. It was an example of the changing times.
Twenty years ago, all this land had belonged to no one, except maybe the Indians, or the United States of America, depending on who you asked.
As I approached the ranch buildings, I passed several pens. Some had horses in them, but most were empty, waiting for a time when they would be used to gather and sort the stock. There was the usual assortment of outbuildings and barns. I could smell good things being cooked in the cook shack and I could hear the ringing sound of a blacksmith, hammering away on something. Over by one barn, a couple of ranch hands were throwing hay out of a wagon. There were two men watching a third man saddle a bronc in the breaking pen.
I had expected to find a bunch of hired guns here, but this was about as normal a scene as I had ever observed.
The two men at the breaking pen noticed me and came walking over, as I stepped down off Dusty.
“Howdy, mister, what can we do for you?” the smaller of the two men asked.
“Howdy, I’m John Everett Sage, the Sheriff of Alta Vista County. I’m here looking to meet with Mr. Thorndyke.”
“…Which one?”
“I was given to understand Henry Thorndyke, lives here.”
“Oh, yeah he does. I only asked because all five of the brothers were here earlier this morning. They’ve been gone all day since.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“No, I have no idea. Sometimes they ride out together and don’t come back for days. I’m Bud, the foreman here. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Yes, Bud, thank you. When Henry does come back, will you tell him I was here and I’ll be waiting to meet him in Thorndyke?”
“Sure, who did you say you are again?”
I mounted back up on Dusty.
“I’m the Sheriff of Alta Vista County, John Everett Sage.”
I turned Dusty and rode back out the way I had come in.
As I approached the dry wash from this direction I continued to be vigilant, but I could see nothing threatening. Never the less, at the moment I reached the near edge, I slapped spurs to Dusty. He leaped forward into the wash and galloped up the other side, with me stretched low over his neck.
The sound of his hooves hitting the rocky road surface hadn’t masked the sound of the rifle shot.
I pulled him to a stop and leapt off. I grabbed my rifle. There was the sound of someone sliding down into the wash from somewhere farther up. I crouched and sighted down my rifle barrel at the opening in the brush where the road came up out of the wash. I could hear running feet coming down the wash toward the road. I put my finger on the trigger, just as the figure appeared in the gap. He jerked and fell, as another rifle shot rang out. I stayed where I was, ready to fire.
“John, it’s me. Can you hear me?”
I whistled a whippoorwill call. Then I realized Bob wouldn’t know what it meant.
“Yeah, Bob, I’m OK.”
I stood up and approached the fallen man, keeping my rifle on him.
When I reached him, he was face down and completely still. His rifle lay near him. I could see a bullet wound in the back of his left shoulder.
He nearly surprised me when he rolled over, with his pistol coming up in his right hand. I kicked it out of his hand and smashed him in the head with my rifle stock.
Bob emerged from the brush, carrying the rifle he had used to shoot the man.
“Is he dead?”
“No, fortunately he’s not dead, yet. Let’s see what we can do to keep him alive.”
I picked up his rifle and gently jacked open the breach. The shell that popped up was in .44-40 caliber.
We examined his wound. The bullet had hit him under his collar bone near the breast bone and exited through his left shoulder. He was bleeding profusely, suggesting his heart was still strong and indicating there was extensive damage to
a big artery or vessel somewhere in his chest or shoulder. The worst bleeding was at the exit wound. I slapped my scarf on the chest wound and rolled him face down, applying strong downward pressure on the exit wound, and indirectly to the chest wound. He moaned a little at the pain. In this way, by keeping pressure on the wounds, I was able to stop the worst of the bleeding. When he became conscious, I asked him if Thorndyke had sent him to kill me. He nodded his head.
Bob left and retrieved the shooter’s horse from where it was tied out of sight, farther up the wash. I had recognized the fresh tracks when I rode through here, the first time. On the way up the wash he found a single 44-40 shell lying where the shooter had jacked it out, as he was heading for the road. Bob also found the bushwhackers hiding place. There was a flat rock which the shooter had used for a rifle rest. It was that fixed and prone firing position that had caused him to miss his shot at me. I had counted on his not being able to adjust quickly enough at a fast moving target.
“I can’t believe it worked. I’m sorry he got a shot off at you. When I got here, I decided to go down the wash, and when he showed up, he went up the wash. I couldn’t see where he set up. When you rode through here from town, I thought he just might try to kill you. I figured he hadn’t had time to really get set up yet, but I nearly fired a warning shot, anyway.”
“I’m glad you didn’t, he would’ve gotten away.”
“It was horrible waiting here, not knowing for sure where he was. I couldn’t move. If I had, he would have known I was here.”