Remarque's Law

by Will DuRey

  Ben’s attention was immediately caught by the group of people around the stationary wagon off to his left. When he recognized Lottie as one of the figures kneeling in the dust, he spurred his horse to quickly join them.

  They got Frank Faulds into the house where Lottie and her mother worked on him, applying balms and salves to heal cuts and ease swellings. Silently, the boys ate biscuits and drank milk while watching the ministrations to their father. Ben and Drew listened to the details and both were aware that if Wilson had gone through with the killings, Lottie, too, would have been a victim.

  ‘Dick Garde and Jonas need supplies,’ Frank told Drew. ‘The other night we agreed we’d all go into Pecos together. I came to see if you needed anything.’

  ‘When are you going?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Do you still mean to go?’ asked Ben.

  The look he cast at the boys carried an unmistakeable meaning but Frank’s response cast aside any doubts that the recent event had dented his determination to stay along the Pecos. ‘There are things we need.’

  Drew Skivver spoke to his wife. ‘Sarah, prepare a list and I’ll go with them.’

  ‘I’ll ride into town with you,’ Ben said.

  Drew Skivver turned a severe eye on the younger man. ‘I might be injured but I still mean to stand alongside my neighbours.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Ben. ‘I just meant to add to the party.’ But he wasn’t sure that Drew’s presence would be a benefit to the rest of the farmers. One-handed, it was unlikely he’d be able to drive his own team or load anything but the smallest items onto the wagon. ‘Let’s get there early,’ he said, ‘before the town’s fully awake.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Because of a damaged shaft on Dick Garde’s wagon, the arrival next morning of the farmers at the Skivver place was an hour later than had been planned. In addition to the Gardes’ slow moving vehicle, there were three other wagons, each with at least two men on the driving board. Every family was represented but those whose needs in Pecos were small had agreed to share wagon space. They were accompanied by four mounted men, who were spaced along the flanks like military outriders, but they rode with the awkwardness of those unaccustomed to the saddle. Working the land had made them strong but it was difficult to believe they would be effective as a fighting force. The small caravan halted on the trail above Drew Skivver’s place and waited for his wagon to join them.

  Drew was sitting behind the team but it was Lottie who was handling the leathers. Determined though her father was to ride into Pecos with his neighbours, it was apparent that the physical demands were still beyond his capability. He’d argued against Lottie driving the wagon, worried for her safety when they reached Pecos, but she’d been adamant. Ben Joyner had shared Drew’s misgivings and the look he flashed at Lottie when she climbed on to the high board left her in no doubt that he opposed her action. She’d tilted her chin at him as though ready to fight him over the issue so, silently, he’d climbed onto the chestnut and ridden up the hill behind the wagon.

  The scheme to reach Pecos, conduct business and be homeward bound before the town was immersed in the full thrust of daily toil had been thwarted by the slow pace invoked by the broken wagon shaft. The streets of Pecos were now alive with regular morning activity. The line of wagons attracted little attention as they filed over the bridge, wound their way between the Mexican buildings and entered Austin Street.

  It was customary to load wagons that arrived at the Bartlett brothers’ store in the long side alley that ran from Austin Street through to the parallel River Road. The arrival of five in convoy, however, took the storekeepers by surprise, more so when they identified the drivers. The treatment of the farmers by the cowmen was a major talking point and the sight of Drew Skivver with his arm in a sling was a reminder of the recent violence that had occurred only yards from their establishment. The battered face of Frank Faulds was unexpected and the assembly of so many farmers rang warning bells in John Bartlett’s mind that a showdown with the cattlemen was the purpose of their visit. The production of lists from shirt pockets, however, lifted his apprehension and the promise of money put a smile on his face that, even if laced with nervousness, was still genuine. So far their arrival in town had not caused a ruckus and if he could attend to them quickly they might be on the road home before news of their visit reached the ears of any cattleman. Accordingly, he left the task of attending to the daily needs of the townspeople to his younger brother and his wife while he filled the orders that were being placed on the counter.

  Hitching the chestnut to a rail at the front of the store, Ben Joyner leant against a boardwalk post. When their order was filled, he would help Lottie and her father load the wagon for the return journey but, at present, was content to watch the late morning activity on the street. Although he had no reason to expect an assembly of cowboys in town so early in the day, he was still wary of Gus Remarque’s intentions. He remained watchful for people who showed an excessive interest in the farmer’s wagons, people who might have sympathy with the cattlemen’s cause or the cattlemen’s money in their pocket. A quarter of an hour passed before his eyes settled on John Vasey.

  The sheriff was sauntering along the street offering greetings to most of the people he met, stopping occasionally in doorways to exchange words with the shopkeeper within. His expression lost much of its cheerfulness when he reached Ben and became aware of the activity in the side alley.

  ‘Don’t want you or these people lingering in town,’ he told Ben.

  ‘These people are buying supplies. Reckon they’ll stay as long as it takes. I’ll go when they go.’

  ‘I don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘Nor do the farmers. They aren’t trying to drive anyone out of their homes.’

  John Vasey turned his head, throwing a look towards the hotel that dominated the street. ‘Mr Remarque is in town. Stayed overnight at the Alamo.’

  ‘Not my concern,’ Ben told the sheriff, but it was news that justified his caution.

  ‘He wants you and Mrs Tippett out of Pecos. The twenty-four hours he gave you is almost up.’

  Despite the brusqueness of their confrontation the previous day, the rancher’s demand took Ben by surprise. Perhaps, he mused, his former boss had been convinced by Wilson or Davey Pursur that he’d thrown in his lot with the farmers. If that was true, the order merely made it clear that he would be treated in the same manner as his allies. But the inclusion of Mrs Tippett was significant. It meant that Gus Remarque knew who she was, that he was responsible for the deaths of her son and brother.

  The sound of horsemen distracted him from his thoughts and both he and the sheriff turned to inspect the new arrivals in town.

  Hector Carter wasn’t much beyond thirty years of age but he ran one of the larger northern cattle ranches. He’d inherited it from his father who’d settled in the area shortly after Gus Remarque arrived in this part of Texas. Alongside Hector rode another cattle rancher, Tom Wainwright. Each man was accompanied by his top hand, who rode behind. They glanced at the sheriff as they passed, acknowledging him with brisk head movements, but the collection of wagons in the alley didn’t escape their attention. Nor did they fail to identify the farmers who were loading those wagons, some of whom ceased their labour to follow the progress of the armed cattlemen as they rode along the street.

  ‘What’s going on?’ muttered John Vasey. If the question was aimed at Ben Joyner then he had little hope of an answer, but the appearance of Gus Remarque on the veranda of the Alamo Hotel made it clear that a meeting was about to be convened of the main ranchers along the Pecos. In verification, another rancher, Oscar Johnson, arrived in town at some pace, as though he’d been making a determined effort to catch up with the men ahead. As they dismounted outside the hotel, Sheriff Vasey stepped down from the boardwalk, took a few steps in that direction then paused when he came under Gus Remarque’s inspection.

  The rancher’s gaze lifted from the lawman to sc
rutinize the man with whom he’d been in conversation. He watched as Ben Joyner pushed himself away from the post against which he’d been leaning and returned his stare, refuting the power he had had as employer. As though to emphasise Ben Joyner’s opposition, three men, farmers, appeared at his side. Gus Remarque had never exchanged a word with any of them but he knew the names of Dick Garde, Jonas Petterfield and Frank Faulds. For Gus, their presence in Pecos was an open challenge to his authority. Any words of greeting he intended for his fellow ranchers were forgotten; the purpose for summoning them superseded manners.

  ‘My patience is at an end,’ he told them. ‘Allowing these land grabbers to build homes and fences only encourages others to do the same. If we let them stay we’ll be overrun with farmers stealing our grass. They’ve killed one of my riders and I want them gone from the river valley today by whatever means is necessary.’

  Tom Wainwright rubbed his jaw. He was still doubtful that violence would achieve Gus Remarque’s hoped-for results. In his opinion, the killing of the Dutchman had been an unnecessarily brutal affair and Col Brodie’s subsequent death a matter of justice rather than a cause for retribution. ‘Let’s talk about this inside,’ he said, pointing the way to the hotel. ‘I need a beer to wash the dust from my throat.’

  Hector Carter agreed and moved towards the door but it opened before he reached it and he stepped aside to allow the solitary woman to exit. The smile she offered him disappeared when she found herself confronted by Gus Remarque.

  ‘I hope your luggage is packed,’ he said bluntly to Elsa Tippett.

  ‘Why would it be?’

  ‘Because I want you out of Pecos along with all the other farmers and land stealers.’

  Tom Wainwright found it difficult to hide his anger over Gus Remarque’s ungracious remarks. Whatever his cause, this was neither the time nor the place to address the woman with such virulence. It was tantamount to drawing all of the ranchers to his cause, convincing the woman that they were all in accord with Remarque’s ultimatum. It wasn’t true, that was a personal matter, but the conflict against the farmers, too, was almost a personal matter that Gus Remarque was determined to drag them into. He would have offered some kind of apology to Elsa Tippett on his own behalf but she’d turned on her heel and gone back into the hotel.

  Although they were unable to hear his words, his gesticulations made it clear to those watching from the veranda of the general store that Gus Remarque was angry and that they were the objects of his ire. Leaving the farmers on the boardwalk, Ben Joyner left the veranda and joined the sheriff on the road. Side by side they walked towards the hotel. Even though he had no intention of acceding to the order, Ben wanted to know Gus Remarque’s reason for wanting him to leave Pecos. He guessed that the short conversation with Elsa Tippett had been on the same subject.

  ‘Mr Remarque,’ he called and his challenge gained the attention of all the cattlemen.

  Gus Remarque stationed himself at the head of the steps, adopting an aggressive pose, making it clear that there was no place on the hotel veranda for Ben or the sheriff. He looked down on the pair who had stopped at the foot of the five-step flight. With the backing of the most influential men in the area, he was ready for a fight.

  All along the street, people had paused, their curiosity pricked by the arrival of the owners of the biggest cattle ranches and further excited by the purposeful manner in which the sheriff made his way up the centre of the road towards the Alamo Hotel. One or two who had been in the vicinity of the general store had seen the assembly of farmers and were now gossiping to their neighbours that the dispute was building to a climax. The killing wouldn’t be restricted to those who had already fallen, they prophesised; the situation was building up to a showdown when more blood would be shed. The faint-hearted should get off the street and run for cover.

  Gus Remarque brushed aside his jacket so that he could hook his thumbs into the top of his pants. It was an action that showed he wasn’t wearing a gun belt. When he spoke, he addressed John Vasey, barely sparing a glance for Ben Joyner as though his former employee was beneath consideration.

  ‘You didn’t pass on my instruction to the Tippett woman, Sheriff.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  Gus Remarque jutted his chin in Ben’s direction. ‘What about him?’

  ‘I’m in front of you,’ Ben said. ‘Why don’t you deliver your own message?’

  ‘OK. You’ve got two hours to get out of Pecos, and this time don’t come back.’

  ‘You’ve got some reason why I shouldn’t be here?’

  ‘This is cattle country. There’s no room for farmers or turncoats.’

  ‘Mrs Tippett is neither of those. Why do you want her to leave?’

  ‘She came here with you. She leaves with you.’

  John Vasey interrupted. ‘You don’t decide who stays in this town, Mr Remarque. That’s my job.’

  ‘Then do it.’

  ‘And you don’t have the authority to tell me what to do.’

  Gus Remarque raised his eyes from the faces of the men below him and looked over their heads at the movement that had caught his attention. He smiled. ‘I think I do,’ he said.

  The sheriff and Ben Joyner turned as they caught the sound of approaching horses. Instantly, Ben rued the delay caused by the damaged wagon shaft. Without it, the farmers would by now have finished their business and be on the homeward trail. The incoming riders were a bunch from the Long-R led by Davey Pursur. Coming abreast of the general store, the Long-R foreman slowed his pace and made it clear to those loading wagons that they were under his observation, but the group didn’t halt there. They continued up the street until they were within a few yards of the hotel, and formed a line that entrapped the sheriff and Ben between themselves and the cattlemen on the veranda. Jarvis Wilson rode his horse alongside Davey Pursur, and Gatt Stone joined them. Marty Levin was one of the four Long-R ranch hands that were a horse length behind.

  ‘Don’t try taking matters into your own hand, Mr Remarque,’ John Vasey said. ‘I told you yesterday that I intended to involve the Rangers and that wasn’t an idle threat.’

  Talk of the Texas Rangers had an effect on Hector Carter, Tom Wainwright and Oscar Johnson. They exchanged looks that expressed their reluctance to become embroiled in any affair that would put them at loggerheads with the state’s lawmen.

  ‘Don’t let him bluff you,’ Gus Remarque said when he saw their reaction. ‘He hasn’t sent any messages to Fort Worth or Austin. That would be an admission that he can’t keep order in his own town. He’s too proud to seek help from state authorities. There are no Rangers on the way to Pecos.’

  Gus Remarque’s reassurance was less convincing than he’d hoped. His fellow ranchers showed no inclination to back any play he might be considering. In a show of bravado, John Vasey insisted that he didn’t want any gunplay between cattlemen and farmers, and that he wanted the guns of the Long-R riders deposited in his office while they remained in town.

  It was Jarvis Wilson, of course, who scoffed at the suggestion. ‘My gun stays tied to my hip,’ he announced.

  ‘Then get out of town,’ John Vasey told him.

  ‘Is that what you want, Mr Remarque?’

  ‘No,’ said the ranch owner. ‘It’s those people I want out of town and out of the territory.’

  Gus Remarque’s comment had been aimed at the farmers who had congregated outside the store. News of the arrival of the cattlemen had put a temporary halt to their dealings with the Bartlett brothers. Now, a couple of them were making their way along the street. Jonas Petterfield was carrying a shotgun and Dick Garde a single shot rifle.

  ‘Looks like they want a fight,’ he added.

  Ben pushed his way past the cowboy’s horses. Like the sheriff, he didn’t want the matter developing into a battle. The farmers, he believed, had little chance of emerging as victors if the conflict developed into outright warfare. He could see Lottie and her father anxiously watching the progre
ss of their armed neighbours who were midway between the store and the hotel.

  ‘Stop there,’ Ben shouted, holding up his right hand to back up his words.

  Behind him, Jarvis Wilson spoke, his voice full of scorn. ‘Let them come,’ and Ben felt the mounted man’s boot full on his back. He was hurtled forward onto the hard, dry street.

  Then, amid the shouts of men and the startled cries of horses, the guns began to fire.

  Sprawled and face down on the ground, Ben had to twist awkwardly to take in the scene behind. Even as he’d been thrust forward, Ben had heard John Vasey’s voice raised in protest, warning everyone that he would have no violence on the streets of Pecos, but the first gunshot cut short his words. Now he was twisting and falling, a gout of blood bursting out of his back to stain the ground where he fell. Ben wasn’t sure who had shot the sheriff: Gatt Stone and Davey Pursur were the likely candidates but there was nothing Ben could do to help the stricken lawman. In fact, his own safety was under threat. In response to the urgent calls of Gus Remarque, Jarvis Wilson was reaching for his pistol. There was little doubt he would use it before Ben was able to draw his own gun.

  Jarvis Wilson was pulling the reins with his left hand, endeavouring to turn his mount into a position that would enable him to get a clearer shot at Ben. The startled horse reacted clumsily, shaking its head and shuffling its feet in an indeterminate attempt to obey its rider’s instructions. Wilson yelled angrily at his mount as he pulled his Colt from its holster but the horse’s improper reaction was no longer entirely due to its own failings. Another horse had been ridden into it, the collision so forceful that it had slewed to the right, its back legs folding until it almost sat on the ground.