“What’s this world coming to when all anyone thinks about is how much money they make?” Old Man Taylor spat in disgust. “If he leaves, there goes our last bastion of life.”
“Well, he’s only thinking about it. And you know Dub. It takes him a century to make up his mind and then he wonders if he’s doing right.”
“Still, he’s talked about it, and that’s upsetting enough.” Taylor jabbed his knife into the block. “Damn. Now you’ve gone and ruined my day. You realize, don’t you, that if Dub goes, the Palmers and Renfro and his wife might soon follow. Then where would we be?”
“We’d still have you.”
“I’d kick you but it’s too hot.”
“We’d still have Svenson and his missus, and Lafferty over to the feed and grain, and Wilson and some of the others.”
Old Man Taylor swore. “You can’t drink horseshoes and oats.”
“Maybe you can get Wilson to sell liquor in his restaurant,” Marshal Lunsford suggested.
“In case you’ve forgotten, Agnes is a teetotaler, and a Bible-thumper, to boot. Wilson isn’t about to rile her and have to sleep on the settee until the Second Coming.”
“I guess you’re doomed, then.”
“Make light of this calamity all you want, but you like a nip as much as I do. Or are you fixing to head for greener pastures too?”
Marshal Lunsford patted his arm again. “With this clipped wing? Nowhere is as green as my pastures get.”
“I should go have a talk with Dub.” Old Man Taylor placed his hands on the arms of his chair to push to his feet, then froze. “What the hell? Am I seeing things, or are we being invaded?”
Over twenty riders were entering town from the north. In the lead was a brawny bearded man who was studying the buildings as if he found them intensely interesting. At the rear was a Conestoga, driven by a scrawny character in a floppy hat.
“There’s that kid!” Old Man Taylor exclaimed. “Billy Braden.” Suddenly Taylor shot erect. “My God. Look! Three of them are women.” He took several steps, his astonishment growing. “Painted women!”
The visitors angled toward the saloon, and Marshal Lunsford did the same. “Hello, Billy,” he greeted the younger man as they dismounted. “This is a surprise.”
Up and down the street people were appearing out of doorways and poking heads from windows.
“Marshal!” Billy said, thrusting a hand out. “You told me to bring my friends, remember?”
Lunsford flicked his eyes from one to the other, taking their measure. “You sure have a lot of them.”
The big man with the bushy beard stepped up to shake. “That he does. I’m Jack Shelton. When he told me about this place, I had to come and see for myself.”
“You’ve never seen a town before?”
Shelton had a rumbling laugh. “That was a good one. Why don’t you join me and my boys for a drink? We’d like to get acquainted.”
“You don’t need to twist my arm where whiskey is concerned,” Marshal Lunsford said.
Jack Shelton roared once more. “I guess not, when it’s all busted up like that.” He steered the marshal toward the door. “From the war, I hear? I never did enlist, myself. Couldn’t stand to take orders.”
Lunsford was sensitive where his stint in the military was concerned. “I believed I was fighting for a worthy cause.”
“Was that cause worth your arm?”
Then they were inside and Dub Wheeton was gawking in dumbfounded disbelief. Within moments his saloon was more filled than it had been in a month of Sundays. Scooting behind the bar, Dub embraced them with a warm smile. “Welcome, all of you! I don’t know what the occasion is but I’m right happy to meet all of you.”
While the men bellied up to the bar, the three women took seats at a table. Marshal Lunsford was trying to recall if he’d ever seen them before when the oldest grinned at him, and winked. He looked away. “So, Mr. Shelton. Might I ask where you folks are bound?”
“This very spot,” Shelton said.
“You’re staying the night?”
“This night and maybe a lot more besides. I’m thinking of settling here. Of starting up a ranch a few miles outside town.” Jack Shelton accepted a whiskey bottle from Dub. “Is the land west of here spoken for or can I stake a claim?”
“Claim all you want,” Lunsford said, “but there’s not much there. Not in the way of good grazing land. Nor much water.”
“Oh, we’ll manage,” Jack Shelton said confidently. He filled a glass from the bottle and emptied the glass in one swallow. “That would put hair on a nail! My compliments, barkeep. Don’t forget the ladies yonder.”
Dub went around the end of the bar to the table. “What can I get you gals?”
“I’m Belle James,” the oldest said, “and Scotch is my poison. Remember that, because I drink a lot of it.” She looked him up and down and fluttered her eyes. “My, aren’t you a fine figure of a man. And you own this saloon, too? Your wife must be considerably proud.”
“I’m not married, ma’am.”
“All the better,” Belle James said, and ran the pink tip of her tongue across her cherry red lips.
Dub’s throat bobbed. “Forgive me for askin’, but what is it you girls do?”
“Anything and everything, sugar,” Belle James said. “But we’ll talk about that later.”
Marshal Lunsford leaned his good arm on the bar. Some of the men had drifted to tables, among them a tall man who favored a shotgun. He broke out a deck of cards and began shuffling. “How long will you be in town before you head off to start your ranch?”
“As long as it takes,” Jack Shelton said.
“This is a nice, quiet place we have here,” Lunsford said. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Makes two of us, lawman,” Jack Shelton said. “Anyone who acts up will have me to deal with as well as you.” He poured another glass and gulped, heedless of the whiskey that sloshed over his chin and down his beard. “You should be grateful. In one day we’ve pretty near doubled the population.”
“It’s just that this is my home. I like these people.”
“Good for you. I hope I grow to like them, too. I’m all for gettin’ along. You want to get along with me, don’t you, Marshal? Billy told me you make it your life’s work to get along with everyone.”
“Excuse me,” Lunsford said, and left the saloon. Laughter rang in his ears but he didn’t look back. He went straight to the restaurant and sat at a corner table and ordered a coffee, black.
Mrs. Wilson brought it. “Why, Paul, is it me or are you glum today?”
“The eclipse doesn’t agree with me,” Lunsford said.
“We had an eclipse?” Mrs. Wilson gazed out the window. “I didn’t notice everything go dark.”
“You will.”
“I declare, you’re talking less sense than that crotchety Taylor.” Mrs. Wilson began wiping off the next table. “Him and his silly birds. The last time he was in here, he called me a speckled hen. Can you imagine?”
Deep in thought, Lunsford nursed his cup. He had a decision to make, a decision that could affect everyone in Nowhere. But after half an hour he was no closer to making up his mind than when he came in.
That was when the door opened and in clomped Hap Evans from the Bar J. Evans was the oldest puncher on the spread, his exact years a mystery because he refused to say.
“Howdy, Hap,” the lawman said. “Delivering another cow to the Wilsons?” It was Evans’s job to make the weekly run from the Bar J so the restaurant had a fresh and steady supply of beefsteak.
“Marshal!” Hap sank into a chair and grinned his toothless grin. “Have you heard the news?”
“Nowhere has been overrun by locusts?”
“What? No.” Hap scratched his chin. “I just stopped off at Dub’s and found out he’s hired himself some girls. Three of ’em, as pretty as you please.”
“They worked fast,” Lunsford said. “I didn’t think he could afford t
he extravagance.”
“The way I hear it,” the old puncher revealed, scratching his leg, “Dub struck a special deal with a fella by the name of Shelton. Dub doesn’t pay those girls a cent. They pay him ten percent of their earnin’s. Is that shrewd or what?”
“Shrewd as a tree stump.”
“Dub is tickled. Why, he was buyin’ drinks for everyone and crowin’ about how he doesn’t have to leave Nowhere.” Hap scratched at his shirt. “I can’t wait to go to the saloon this evenin’ but I’d best take a bath first. I saw a flea on me yesterday, and females can be right fussy.”
“Two baths would be better,” Marshal Lunsford said. He paid for his coffee and walked out. Down the street the Conestoga was parked in front of the general store and George Palmer was talking to the man who called himself Jack Shelton. With Shelton were Billy Braden and several of the hard men they rode with. Lunsford came up on them quietly.
“. . . whole wagon load?” George was saying. “But what about the ranch you plan to start? Won’t you need the stove and clock and the rest?”
“I need money for other things right now and this is the only way to get it,” Jack Shelton answered. “So do we have a deal or not?”
Lunsford had to find out. He stepped past the team, asking, “What deal would that be?”
George Palmer nodded at the Conestoga. “Mr. Shelton is offering to sell me the wagon and all its contents, the oxen included, for four hundred dollars. I could resell it for ten times that much.”
“It sounds too good to be true,” Marshal Lunsford said. “And you know what people say when that’s the case.”
Jack Shelton gave him a sharp glance. “You’ve never known anyone to sell something for less than it’s worth just to get rid of it?” He thumped the Conestoga’s bed. “I don’t have any use for this prairie schooner anymore so I’m willin’ to part with it for less than it’s worth.”
“Your offer is tempting,” George Palmer said.
“Quit straddlin’ the fence or I’ll change my mind,” Shelton warned. “Then you’ll be kickin’ yourself for not jumpin’ when you had the chance.”
George turned to his Helen, who nodded. “All right. Four hundred it is. Just don’t come back later wanting everything back because you realized you made a mistake.”
“I can guarantee that won’t happen.”
“Come inside. I have to get the money.” Everyone entered the general store except Lunsford. He made a circuit of the wagon, noticing little things he hadn’t noticed before. The team, for instance, was gaunt and haggard. Gripping the seat with his good arm, he pulled himself high enough to see under the canopy. Possessions were piled high, among them a grandfather clock that alone had to be worth seven hundred dollars. He had seen one just like it once in St. Louis.
Climbing down, Marshal Lunsford walked past the front wheel, then stopped. The spokes and the rim were spattered with red drops. Drops so bright, they had to be recent. Squatting, he touched one, and noticed a hairy gob stuck to the underside of a felloe. He pried it off with his fingernails. Holding it up, he recognized it for what it was and dropped it as if it were a red-hot ember.
Rising, Lunsford hastened to the jail. He locked the door, pulled the blinds, and slumped into the chair behind his desk. “This is bad. This is very bad.” From the top drawer he took a silver flask, opened it, and glued it to his mouth. When he had enough, he bleakly asked the darkness, “What do I do now?”
Chapter Eight
When Hap Evans came back from Nowhere and told Seth Jackson there was a man in town who wanted to see him about important business, it pricked Seth’s curiosity. Next morning, Seth instructed Joe Elliot to look after things while he was gone. Then he had his horse saddled and hit the trail to Nowhere.
Seth reckoned the newcomer might want to buy some stock. The word being bandied about was that Jack Shelton intended to start a ranch, and that took cattle.
Normally the ride took about two hours but Seth dragged it out so it took almost three. He had a lot to ponder. His gambling was foremost. All these years, he had managed to keep from getting in over his head. Not this time. Chick was right. It had been unbelievably stupid of him to pit his skill against Titus Merney. Professional gamblers were in a class by themselves. Everyone knew that.
The prospect of losing the Bar J frightened Seth no end. Clara and him had put everything into the ranch. It was a testament to their love. Losing her had been the worst calamity of his life. The long, lonely nights since had been unbearable. He hated to think his addiction to cards would cost him all they had achieved.
Maybe Shelton was the solution, Seth reflected. If the man bought enough cattle from him, his problem was solved.
Usually not much was going on in Nowhere that early in the morning, but when Seth arrived George and Helen Palmer were busy unloading a Conestoga and Svenson was shoeing a horse and there were more horses lined up at the rail in front of the saloon and in front of the restaurant. Whoever was in Dub’s was having a high old time, if the whooping and hollering was any indication.
Tying his zebra dun at the rail, Seth pushed through the door. Right away he saw the three doves Hap had mentioned. At another table sat a dark-haired man with a goatee, all by himself. His boots propped on the table, he was rolling the makings. Strapped around his waist were a pair of nickel-plated revolvers.
“Is there a Jack Shelton here?” Seth asked loud enough to be heard.
A bearded mountain turned from the bar. “Who wants to know?”
“Seth Jackson from the Bar J.”
“Mr. Jackson, I’m plumb delighted. I’m your man. Join me, would you?” Jack Shelton carried a bottle and two glasses to a corner table and shoved a chair out. “Have a seat. I’d like to get to know you before we talk business.”
“What more do you need to know other than I’m a rancher?” Seth saw a slab-faced man with a shotgun come to the end of the bar and stand where he could watch them and the door, both.
“I need to know how much you like money.”
“There’s like and there’s need and I need a lot,” Seth commented.
Shelton opened the bottle and poured drinks for both of them and slid a glass over, the whole while eyeing Seth as if Seth were a horse he might buy.
“What would you say if I could earn you thousands of dollars a year more than you’re earnin’ now?”
“Is this money that falls from trees or the kind that drifts down out of thin air?”
Laughs came easy to the bearded man. “It’s the cut I’ll pay you for holdin’ cattle for me until I sell them. Twenty percent of every herd.”
Seth didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. “So you already have all the cattle you can use?”
“Cows are like grass. You find them just about everywhere.”
“True, but most of those cows belong to someone else. You wouldn’t be proposin’ something illegal, would you?”
“One man’s illegal is another’s bread and butter. I’m not askin’ that you steal. All I want is the run of part of your range now and then. You keep your hands and your cattle away, and after I make a sale, your bank account grows.”
The full scope of what Shelton was proposing hit Seth like a club between the eyes. “In case you ain’t heard, rustlers are hung in these parts.”
“But you wouldn’t be rustlin’ anything. You’d be rentin’ me the use of your land and water, that’s all. If anyone asks, you can say you never knew anything shady was going on.”
Seth sat back. Part of him was tempted but part of him had scruples. “You’ve got sand, Shelton. I’ll give you that. I could go to the marshal and have you run out of Nowhere. Or I could go to my ranch, collect all my punchers, and come back and run you out myself.”
“You could,” Jack Shelton said. “But my pards and I don’t run easy.” He spread his big hands. “And why spill blood when there’s no need? What would you get out of it? Nothin’. But if you use your head and let me use your land, six or
seven weeks from now I’ll give you four thousand dollars.”
“That much that soon?” Seth’s temptation grew. He could pay off Titus Merney and have enough left to make some improvements on the ranch. Or go to Beaver City and sit in on a few games.
“That soon or sooner. What do you say? Are you interested?”
Seth hedged. “I need time to think about it.”
“I need to know today. I’m leavin’ later on to get the cattle.” Shelton rose. “Let me know in an hour, why don’t you?”
Seth sat there a while absently turning the glass over and over in his hands, then he rose and went out. He was so absorbed in thought that he crossed the street without realizing it and drew up short when he heard his name mentioned. “How’s that?”
“It’s a fine day, wouldn’t you agree?” Helen Palmer asked. She had her hair done up in a fashion that reminded Seth of Clara, and wore a dress like one Clara had bought in the Palmers’ store.
“We’re still breathin’,” Seth said.
“My, my, aren’t we cynical today?” Helen reached up to grab the strap on a trunk her husband was sliding out the end of the Conestoga.
George poked his head past the canvas. “Is that you, Seth? Thought I heard your voice. Did you hear about the great deal I struck with Jack Shelton?”
Seth nodded.
“That man is going to be a boon to this town. Wait and see. Wilson was saying how he’s done more business since Shelton’s outfit arrived than he usually does in a month. Svenson has been making horseshoes around the clock. And every stall in Taylor’s livery is taken.”
“How does Chick Storm feel about him?”
“Chick? I don’t know as they’ve met yet. Why should that matter? Chick doesn’t live here.” George hopped down and lifted his end of the trunk. “You should stop by in a few days. Once we’ve catalogued all the contents, we’re having a special sale.”
“Maybe I will,” Seth said, and walked on to the feed and grain. Lafferty was behind the counter, sorting through a bin of seed packets. “Jim, I need to place an order for more oats.”
Ralph Compton Nowhere, TX Page 6