by C. M. Curtis
“I’m not,” said Marcellin flatly.
“I can honestly say I am glad to hear that,” said Stewart. “It’s been truly heartbreaking to see these ranchers being forced to sell their ranches, and I’m happy to see you are not so desperate. In any event, let me leave you my card in case you ever want to talk to me. You have a nice ranch here and I would give you the best price I could for it.”
He pulled a card out of his vest pocket and laid it on the tea tray. Extending his hand to Marcellin, he said, “I’m glad I was able to meet you since, in a sense, we’ll be neighbors.”
“Has Emil Tannatt sold out to you?” asked Marcellin, trying not to sound worried.
“Not yet, though I believe he will, but several of the ranchers on the bench have signed papers and others have given me verbal commitments.
Turning to Catherine, he smiled and said, “Mrs. Marcellin, it’s been a pleasure meeting you.”
“Good day, Mr. Stewart.”
As he rode away, Catherine said, “I don’t like that man.”
Marcellin chuckled, “That was pretty obvious.”
“You didn’t like him either, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Is he the one who turned Jeff Havens in to the law?”
“Yes.”
Catherine’s face grew hard as she stared at the straight back of the departing visitor. “I don’t trust him, though they say he’s a well-respected rancher where he comes from. But Jim, if Jeff Havens is a murderer and a rustler and Tom Stewart is a respectable man, then I choose to spend my time with murderers and rustlers.”
“Havens deceived us, Mother.”
“How do you know that?”
Well, for one thing, he lied to us about who he really was.”
“Not to me he didn’t.”
Marcellin’s face showed surprise. “You mean to tell me you knew? Since when?”
“Since the first night he came here.”
“He told you his real name? Did he also tell you he was wanted by the law?”
“Yes he did.”
“And you didn’t see fit to tell me?”
“I believed he was innocent. I still do.”
“Do you believe that fantastic story about a pass though the mountain?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “but I don’t know why he would lie about it.” She paused and looked away, as if remembering something. “Yes,” she murmured, “I do believe it.”
Marcellin said, “If he really is a murderer and a rustler maybe his intent was to lure us all down there into an ambush.”
“But why? What could he possibly gain from that?”
“I don’t know, but he must have had some reason for lying to us. I don’t mind telling you Mother, it’s a huge disappointment to me.”
“Maybe the rustler’s pass really does exist, Jim; maybe you should go look for it.”
Marcellin was beginning to show his frustration. “Mother, you’re clinging to false hopes. I know how worried you are and I know how badly you want to save the ranch, but you believed in someone and you were deceived; we all were. I’m just glad we found out as soon as we did. I wish Jeff Havens had never come to this val . . .” He stopped mid-sentence and looked up at Catherine, who was slowly nodding her head.
“You forgot something, didn’t you,” she said.
“Yes,” he murmured. He leaned his head back in the chair, staring up at the gray sky. “He saved my life.”
“And he could have been killed doing it; don’t forget that.”
“And why do you suppose he did it, Mother?” Without waiting for an answer Marcellin said, “He’s a gun fighter, a rustler, who knows what else? Maybe he just enjoys killing. Maybe he did it for the excitement.”
“A man who saves your life deserves a little more loyalty than that, Jim.” She picked up the tray and walked into the house.
It had been drizzling rain for over an hour when Beeman arrived at the Circle M, wet and hungry and exhausted. Dolores was sweeping off the front porch, and when she saw him she stopped and smiled. She liked Beeman; partly because he enjoyed her cooking and showed it, but mostly because Catherine liked him, and Dolores liked everyone her mistress liked.
Beeman stepped out of the saddle, where he had spent most of his time for the past two days. His weariness showed on his face, and seeing it, Dolores propped her broom against the wall and disappeared into the house. Soon Catherine came out, concern on her face. She was alarmed at his appearance. She could not recall ever having seen him without his gun belt. Moreover she had believed him to be on his way south with Jeff Havens. Now, here he was, standing on the front steps of her house.
“Alvah, what’s happened, where’s Jeff Havens?”
Beeman forced a wry smile, “Oh he’s all right; you don’t need to worry much about him for the time being. Catherine, I’m as empty as a post hole. If you could spare a crust of bread and some cold coffee, I’d be glad to tell you the whole story. Jim needs to hear it too.”
“Dolores,” Catherine said, turning quickly, but there was no need to give Dolores instructions, she was already on her way to the kitchen, whence the sounds of lively activity and the delicious smells of food were soon emanating. Catherine built a fire in the fireplace and the sheriff sat on the hearth, drying, while the food was prepared.
He ate ravenously at first, but after taking the sharpest edge off his hunger, he slowed down and began to savor his food, occasionally nodding and winking at Dolores, sending her into throes of beaming ecstasy. He was almost finished with his meal when the door opened and Jim Marcellin entered. He was moving with less stiffness, but he still used a crutch. The two men exchanged greetings, and Marcellin sat down at the table next to Catherine.
“Alvah, we expected you to be a day and a half ride from here by now,” said Marcellin.
“I was.”
Marcellin appeared perplexed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Catherine interrupted, “Where’s Jeff Havens?”
Beeman looked down and chuckled, “Oh about a day and a half ride from here.”
Marcellin was looking at him intently, “On which side of the mountain, Alvah?”
“The east side. We went north around the mountain last night.”
Marcellin’s face broke into a grin, and he slammed his fist on the table. “The rustler’s pass,” he exclaimed.
“Yep,” said Beeman, “I rode through it this morning.”
“So you let him go?” asked Catherine.
Beeman winced, “No, not exactly.”
Marcellin roared with laughter, cheerful for the first time in days. “You mean he got away from you?”
“Yes, he got away from me, Jim,” said Beeman, clearly embarrassed.
Catherine was smiling and her eyes were wet, but she said nothing, not wishing to contribute to the sheriff’s discomfort.
“Dolores,” said Jim, “go get Reef.”
Reef, who still occupied Shorty’s recently vacated position, was the only cowboy on the premises at the moment. Beeman jumped to his feet, “I’ll get him!” He knew Dolores would tell Reef the entire story. But she was already out the door, and when she returned a few minutes later, followed by Reef, the latter wore an impish smirk, confirming Beeman’s fears.
Reef removed his hat as he entered the kitchen and nodded a greeting to Catherine and Jim.
“Afternoon, Sheriff,” he said to Beeman.
Beeman nodded stiffly, but said nothing.
“Reef,” said Jim, “I want you to ride over to Emil Tannatt’s. Tell him I need to speak with him here today. Tell him it’s important.”
Reef looked down at the floor, frowning, turning his hat in his hands, “Well, all right I’ll go, if you say so, Mr. Marcellin.”
“Is something wrong?” asked Marcellin, perplexed by the young cowboy’s apparent reluctance to carry out this simple order.
“It’s just that with all these escaped outlaws runnin’ around the country, a man ain’t s
afe.”
Beeman shot up out of the chair as Reef spun around and sped out the door.
“I’ll arrest you next,” Beeman shouted after him.
Marcellin laughed for a moment, then, settling back in his chair, he became serious. “Alvah, what we have to do has got to be done fast. Some of the ranchers on the bench have already signed papers with Tom Stewart. They practically gave their ranches away and there are a lot more who are talking about doing it, including Emil Tannatt—as you already know. If that happens Tom Stewart will own most of the valley, and what’s more, he’ll be my closest neighbor.”
“Ugh,” said Catherine making a face of disgust which Dolores quickly imitated, though she had never met Tom Stewart.
“What do you have in mind?” Beeman asked.
“Probably the same thing you do, Alvah. As long as the rustlers don’t know we’ve discovered their canyon, we have the advantage over them. Jeff Havens described a little valley on the other side of the mountain, where the rustlers have built a corral and some lean-tos.”
“The valley is there,” said Beeman, and it’s a good place for an ambush if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Exactly. That would be the place where they camp and where they change the brands. Once they set up camp and start rustling cattle, they’re bound to be there for a week or more. We can send two men down there to hide out and watch for them. When they show up, one of the men can stay and keep track of them, while the other could hustle back up here to let us know the rustlers have arrived. Then we could take a group of men down and surround them.”
Beeman said, “If I come along, Jim, there’ll be no hanging. We’ll take prisoners, take them to town, lock them up and they’ll stand trial. I want that understood right from the beginning.”
“Then you’re not invited, Alvah. We can’t pansy around with these rustlers. We have to hit them and hit them hard. Any one of them who doesn’t surrender will be shot. Any one who does surrender will be hanged. It’s the law of the range. Besides, Emil Tannatt’s got a right to be in on this and you can guess how he’ll feel about it.”
Beeman frowned, “Then I shouldn’t even be here listening to you, Jim. Whatever you do, don’t tell me when, where or how. I’m completely out of it. And that goes for afterwards too.”
“I’m sorry, Alvah, that’s the way it has to be.”
No one said anything for a moment, then, sounding defensive, Marcellin spoke, “Do you realize how much money we ranchers are losing every month? Some of us, maybe all of us, will surely go belly up.”
Beeman held up a hand, palm forward, as a sign for Marcellin to stop. “No more talk, Jim. Like I said; I don’t want to hear about it, and this conversation never happened.” He stood up, “If you don’t mind I’ll grab a little shut-eye in your bunk-house before I head back to town.”
“Sure,” said Marcellin softly, looking down at his hands on the table.
Beeman went to the bunk house and slept like a dead man for two hours. He awoke feeling drugged, and though it had been less than three hours since he had eaten, he was hungry again. He sat on the side of the bunk and pulled on his boots. “Feel like Methuselah,” he muttered to himself.
He went to the corral and saddled his horse, then walked across to the kitchen, where he found Catherine engaged in conversation with Cracker, who had just ridden in from the range.
He entered the kitchen and exchanged greetings with Cracker. “Well I see you’re back among the living, Alvah,” said Catherine.
Beeman smiled weakly and nodded.
“Are you hungry again?” she asked.
“I could use a bite, but I think I’d better pass; I need to be getting back to town.”
“I’ll fix you something you can eat on the way.”
“Thanks. There’s one other thing,” said Beeman, beginning to act uncomfortable. “I need to borrow some ammunition for my rifle.”
Cracker’s gaze dropped to Beeman’s waist, taking note of the fact that he wore no gun belt, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he asked, “Got enough pistol ammunition?”
Catherine turned away to hide her smile. Beeman pointedly ignored the question.
Cracker went out and soon returned with a box of cartridges, then left again, grinning.
Beeman waited in the kitchen as Catherine laid thick slabs of roast beef on slices of fresh bread baked earlier that day. These she placed in a cloth sack, along with a large slice of apple pie, some fruit, and a wrapped mason jar full of hot coffee.
Thanking Catherine, Beeman said good-bye and mounted his horse. As he was leaving the yard he was joined by Cracker and Eli, riding one on either side of him.
“Eli, we’re doin’ it wrong,” Said Cracker, speaking as though Beeman were not there.
Beeman gritted his teeth, steeling himself for what he knew was to come.
Cracker continued, “This life of labor and drudgery is gettin’ us nowhere.”
“You’re right about that Cracker,” said Eli, “but what’re we gonna do about it?”
“Me, I’ve decided to turn to a life of crime,” replied Cracker. “It’s easy work, the pay’s good, and best of all; it’s safe.”
Beeman stared ahead stonily.
“That’s true,” said Eli, “but it ain’t that way everywhere.”
“What do you mean?”
“I knew a man once who told me about a place that had a sheriff who carried guns.”
“Guns?” said Cracker in mock perplexity. “What in the world for?” He paused, his expression changing to one of theatrical astonishment, “Do you mean . . . ?”
“That’s right,” said Eli, “he put bullets in ‘em.”
“Well, I never,” said Cracker, shaking his head. “That beats anything I ever heard tell of. He could hurt somebody that way. Why, if that idea ever catches on a man won’t be able to make a dishonest living anywhere.”
“Haw haw,” said Beeman, spurring his horse forward, leaving the two laughing cowboys behind.
He was not really angry. He realized, in a sense, this good natured badinage was a way of telling him they were his friends. He knew, as they did, this was nothing, compared to what he would receive from the disgruntled inhabitants of the valley when they found out he had allowed the prisoner to escape.
When Beeman was gone, Marcellin entered the kitchen where Catherine and Dolores were preparing supper. Pots were steaming on the stove and the back door was open to let in fresh air. The sun had just dropped behind the mountains and there was smoke coming from the cook shack where Willy was preparing supper for the hungry cowhands who would soon be riding in from their day’s work.
Marcellin sat down at the table and Catherine glanced over at him and looked away.
He sighed, “I know, mother, you don’t even need to say it. You don’t approve.”
Catherine said nothing.
“These are men’s affairs,” he said defensively. “It has to be done this way.”
“What has to be done what way?” she asked archly.
“You know . . . hanging.”
She turned and faced him. “I don’t care how many rustlers you hang. You can run all over the world, hanging people here and hanging people there if you want. Make yourself a gallows on wheels if it makes you happy. But the way you’ve been treating your friends lately makes me glad I’m just your mother.” She swung away from him and picked up a pan, slamming it down on the stove.
Marcellin was at a loss. Seeing her so adamant made him worry that she may be right, but he didn’t know what she was talking about.
“What did I do to my friends now?” he asked, in complete exasperation.
Catherine turned again. “There’s an election coming up. People around here are fed up with this rustling problem and Alvah Beeman just let one of the rustlers escape, although you and I know Jeff Havens is not really a rustler. What do you think Alvah’s chances are of being re-elected now? If he were to take part in rounding up the outlaws down at
the rustler’s pass and bringing them back to stand trial he would be a hero. But he’s not invited.” She slammed the pan down again and left the room.
Marcellin sat there for a moment, stung. Dolores turned from her cooking to shoot him a disapproving glance. Presently he leaned forward, and swearing softly, slapped the table with the palm of his hand. He stood up and limped out the door as Dolores slammed a pan down on the stove.
Eli and Cracker were just riding in from harassing Beeman. “Loan me your horse, Eli,” said Marcellin, handing his crutch to his son. “I’ll be right back.”
From her window Catherine watched as her son rode out of the yard after Beeman. She smiled.
Tom Stewart was angry and worried. When Beeman and Jeff had eluded the lynch mob, Stewart had believed the sheriff would simply hide out until the members of the mob had cooled off and decided to go home. But now Beeman was back and the story was all over town. Stewart had attempted vainly to disguise his anger from the person who told him, but back in the hotel room he made no such attempt. Flying into a rage, he fumed, “That fool. That idiotic fool! If we had known what he was planning, we could’ve used the pass to get ahead of them and set up an ambush.
“So what’s the plan now?” Fogarty asked, “Go back?”
“No,” said Stewart, “we can’t go back yet. I’ve got too many of these ranchers on the verge of selling out. I think I can even land Tannatt; he’s one of the two big fish. Once I own the Double T, nobody will be able to hold out for long, including Marcellin. He won’t be so cocky when he leaves this valley pulling his mother in a handcart. Go get the horses; we’ve got a lot to do and we’ve got to get it done fast.”
Chapter 18
From his point of concealment on a craggy, brush-covered hillside, Jeff watched as Beeman lowered the pack, then the gun belt, and pistol to the ground. It was a gesture he had not expected, but one that brought him a great sense of relief. It was a long ride that was ahead of him, and he had not relished the thought of making it unarmed and without food.