Bounty of Greed

by Paul Colt

  “Coffee?”

  Tunstall wrinkled his nose. “No thank you.”

  “I’d have a cup, Dick,” Widenmann said.

  Brewer poured two cups and settled in a chair. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Dolan has trumped up some unpaid debt against the ranch. He got a court in Santa Fe to issue a lien against the stock. The sheriff will be along in the next few days to take possession of the horses.”

  “You want us to round ’em up?”

  “I do. Round them up and hide them.”

  Brewer smiled. “Gonna call their bluff?”

  “No. I simply refuse to be bullied. Dolan has no claim on those horses. His only claim is on the jurisdiction of a corrupt court. Until such time as we have honest law enforcement in this county, it shall be our civic obligation to resist.”

  “Me and the boys will take care of it in the morning. Will you be ridin’ back to Lincoln with Marshal Widenmann?”

  “Not straight away. I believe I shall accompany you when you disperse the herd into hiding. I shall ride back to Lincoln from there. One more thing, I plan to take young Bonney back to Lincoln with me if that won’t be too inconvenient.”

  Brewer shrugged. “Sure, no problem. Why?”

  “Lucy and Alex are forever warning me about Dolan turning to violence over our business competitions. I’m sure their concerns are wholly overdone, but he did challenge me to one of your western gun duels last month. Rob was kind enough to accompany me down here on the chance of such an eventuality. I’ve also taken the precaution of acquiring a gun myself, but Lucy reminds me that since I’ve hired professionals for the purpose of protecting things, I should let them take care of that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds like good advice.” He eyed the Colt on Tunstall’s hip. “You know how to use that thing?”

  “I’ve a rudimentary familiarity with a shotgun and doves.”

  “That hog leg matched against a man who knows how to use one is a far cry from bird huntin’.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “Let me and the boys round up the horses tomorrow. We’ll leave Bonney behind to give you some shooting lessons. We’ll go off and hide the herd day after tomorrow.”

  Lincoln

  February 17th

  By the time you allowed for a desk and a potbellied stove, the posse filled the sheriff’s office and cell block with a few men spilled out on the boardwalk. Brady mulled the problem. You had to have someplace to take the horses once you had them. He smiled to himself. What could be better than Jesse Evans’ neighboring ranch? That would sure as hell stick in Tunstall’s craw. You could count on it. Maybe even goad the son of a bitch into doing something stupid. Evans brought Frank Baker and Buckshot Roberts along to help out. That pair would shoot first and ask questions later. Dolan would approve. Hell, knowing Dolan, he likely put Evans up to it. With Mathews in charge, this posse had the feel of dynamite on a short fuse.

  “Swear in your men, Billy.”

  “Raise your right hands. Do you swear to uphold the law?”

  They nodded.

  Mathews handed out badges.

  “All right, men.” Brady looked from one to the next. “Billy, you got the court order?”

  Mathews nodded.

  “Good. Billy’s in charge. Jesse, you and your men follow his lead.”

  Evans and the boys nodded.

  “Once Brewer surrenders the horses, you drive ’em down to Seven Rivers for safekeepin’. You remember now, Mr. Dolan’s got a lien on ’em. You’ll be paid for their keep, but you best be sure nothin’ happens to ’em.”

  Evans scowled. “Yeah, yeah, Brady, we understand.”

  “Good. See you don’t forget it.”

  Mathews turned. “All right, boys, mount up.”

  They trooped out of the office.

  Flying H

  Bonney led the way down to the corral. He carried a stack of empty tomato cans he set in a line along the top rail.

  “How much experience have you got with a gun, Mr. Tun-stall?”

  “To be honest, precious little I’m afraid, William. I’ve some experience hunting doves with a shotgun.”

  “Then you know enough not to point a gun at anything unless you mean to shoot it.”

  He nodded.

  The kid shrugged. “That’s a start. Doves is small and quick. A shotgun will forgive you a near miss. Men is bigger and slower. An armed man won’t forgive you a near miss. You’d best hit him if you intend on using your gun. If you decide to use your gun, hit him first. He’s less likely to hit you if you do.”

  “I see. Well that seems plain enough.”

  “Let’s start about twelve paces.” He led the way.

  “This seems rather close. Not terribly sporting, I should think.”

  The kid knit his brow. “Nothin’ sporting about a gunfight, Mr. Tunstall, it’s life or death mostly. Now, let’s see you shoot that can on the left.”

  He drew his gun, thumbed the hammer and extended his aim in the posture of a gentleman raising a dueling pistol. The .44 bucked a cloud of blue smoke. The can stood untouched.

  “I say, that has quite a kick. Not as easy as it looks.”

  “High right.”

  “High right?”

  “You missed, high and right.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw it.”

  “You saw it?”

  “I did. Try again.”

  He tightened his grip prepared for the concussion. He cocked the gun and fired. The shot bit the rail low left. The can stood its ground.

  “Again.”

  He fired.

  “Left. Again.”

  He fired.

  “High.”

  “I’m beginning to see the wisdom of Lucy’s advice.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She said let the professionals look after the gun work.”

  The kid nodded. “Here’s why.” In a blink he drew and fired five times in rapid succession. The cans danced off the rail, the last in the air before the first hit the ground.

  “Oh, my. Is James Dolan that good?”

  “No. But he’s good enough.”

  “I’m hopeless then.”

  “Not hopeless, Mr. Tunstall, we’ve just got more work to do. Let me put those cans back up on the rail.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ruidoso Valley

  February 18th

  Late afternoon sun lingered, warming a mild winter afternoon. Brewer, Waite, andTunstall pushed a small horse herd up a rise. Brewer had the left swing with Tunstall on the right. Waite held drag. The juniper-dotted rise descended into a narrow rock-strewn canyon bordered on both sides by broad sloping walls studded in patches of mesquite and creosote. The canyon fell away, spilling into the broader valley beyond.

  Brewer had come up with the plan to hide the herd southwest of Lincoln, more or less under Brady’s nose. Tunstall thought the idea amusing. He pictured the sheriff’s posse miles to the south, searching trackless ranch land for a phantom herd. Brewer had Bonney and Middleton cover their back trail to provide warning of anyone attempting to follow. Now, descending the canyon with their destination in sight, all the precaution seemed needless.

  The herd trailed down the canyon floor raising a light mist of dust. The occasional sound of a hoof striking rock punctuated their progress. As the canyon floor leveled out to a gentle descent, a flock of turkeys exploded from a creosote patch in a rush of wings and alarmed gabble.

  “A couple of those would go good in the cook pot, Dick,” Waite said.

  Brewer nodded, drawing his Winchester. Waite drew his and held it to Tunstall.

  “Have a go at a hunt, Mr. Tunstall?”

  “You go along, Fred. You’re much better with that rifle than I. I’ll push these horses along whilst you have your sport.”

  Brewer and Waite peeled away and loped up the hillside on the turkeys’ line of flight. The flock settled somewhere up the hill, having take
n sufficient flight to allay their alarm. Tunstall slipped back to drag, relying on the terrain to channel the herd along the way to the valley. Satisfied he had the situation in hand, he turned his attention to the turkey hunters.

  Bonney and Middleton crested the rise. The canyon stretched out before them. A single rider pushed the herd dust cloud.

  “Where is everybody?” Middleton said.

  “There.” Bonney pointed to the hillside west of the road.

  “What the hell are they up to?”

  As if to answer the question, the hunters jumped a turkey. One charged a puff of smoke, followed by a rifle report. The bird dropped. A second flushed to the second hunter’s shot.

  “So we’ve turned this drive into a turkey shoot.”

  The kid smiled. “Looks like fun. Com’on.” He squeezed his roan into a lope down the hill.

  “Hey, what about our back trail?”

  “What back trail? We’re about done.”

  Middleton followed the kid down to the canyon floor and jogged along toward the retreating herd and the hunters.

  Tunstall took the first shot for another turkey then realized it came from behind. He turned in his saddle. He saw Bonney and Middleton similarly turned in their saddles fixed on a large band of riders cresting the rise at the south end of the canyon. More shots followed. Bonney broke west and spurred his big roan up the canyon floor toward a wooded thicket on the hillside. Middleton wheeled his horse and galloped toward Tun-stall. Farther up the canyon hillside, Brewer and Waite were drawn to the volley of gunshots ringing off the canyon walls. They too galloped back toward cover of the wooded thicket on the hillside.

  Tunstall circled his skittish mount trying to decide his best option as the posse thundered down to the canyon floor. Middleton waved his arm and shouted incomprehensibly as he raced up the canyon hillside to the east. The posse, perhaps twenty in number, divided. The main body raced to the west slope intent on assaulting the men taking cover in the thicket there. A smaller band appeared to pursue Middleton who, it seemed, would easily outdistance them until they turned toward Tunstall cutting him off from any run to safety. Unable to avoid confronting the sheriff’s erstwhile deputies Tunstall settled his horse and stepped down. He expected the shooting on the west slope to stop as soon as he made it clear he did not mean to resist. It did not.

  The riders drew closer. Badges confirmed these men for Brady’s officers. He took some comfort. They must be bound by the law they stand for.Comfort withered with recognition. Jesse Evans, what the hell was he doing wearing a badge?

  The leader drew rein. The posse men stepped down. Evans, Baker and Roberts spread out. “Tunstall, Deputy Sheriff Billy Mathews.” He held up the court order. “We come for your horses.”

  “There they are. Now call off those men shooting over there. There is no need to attack my men.”

  “They seem to be resisting an officer in the performance of his duties.”

  “Resisting nonsense! You and your men opened fire on them. Now cease it at once!”

  “You ain’t givin’ the orders here, Tunstall. I am. Now where are the rest of them horses?”

  “That’s all that remain after my rustling losses.” He glared at Evans. “Now call off your men before someone gets hurt.”

  Evans stepped up next to Mathews. “Are we gonna stand here all day jawin’ with the son of a bitch?” He jacked a round into his Winchester and leveled it at the Englishman. “Tunstall, you got ten seconds to tell us where to find the rest of them horses or I’m gonna shoot you for resisting arrest.”

  “You’ve an order to impound my horses. That is hardly an arrest warrant.”

  “You and your men will be under arrest for interferin’ with an officer in the performance of his duties if you don’t hand over them horses. Now where are they?”

  “Sorry, old chap, I’m afraid I can’t help you. You might be best to answer your own question. I suggest you start at Fort Stanton.”

  Evans’ rifle bloomed muzzle flash and smoke. Tunstall staggered back. He grasped his side. Bright blood oozed between his fingers. He looked up in disbelief.

  “I say, you’ve shot me. I’ll see you hang for attempted murder.”

  Mathews drew his gun and thumbed the hammer. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Tunstall. There’s no attempt to it. You just ain’t been shot good enough yet.” The gun exploded. The back of Tunstall’s head burst like a ripe mellon, his lifeless body slammed back against his horse and slumped to the ground. Evans stepped forward, straddling the body. He slammed his rifle butt across the bridge of the dead man’s nose, flattening it between sightless eyes. “How’s that for dead, you stinking son of a bitch?” He drew Tunstall’s gun, fired it twice and dropped it beside the body.

  “Com’on, Billy, let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Lincoln

  February 19th

  Nature draped the sky in somber gray crape for the ride up to Lincoln. Brewer took the lead. The kid followed behind, leading Tunstall’s gray with the body slung over the saddle. Middleton and Waite brought up the rear.

  “Kid sure took it bad,” Waite said.

  Middleton nodded. “He told me once, Tunstall treated him like the father he never had.”

  “Didn’t know him all that long, did he?”

  “Nope. Then how long’s long enough? The kid figures he’d have done hard time on that rustlin’ charge if Tunstall hadn’t sprung him. A man gets that personal with the idea of bein’ behind bars for a spell, he can be damn appreciative of the man that gets him off.”

  “Why’d John do it?”

  “The kid claimed he didn’t do it. Tunstall believed him.”

  “How many times do you know that ever worked?”

  Middleton spat a stream of tobacco juice. “Never.”

  “That about says it, don’t it.”

  “Them fellers we run off the other day might have got clear of us, but I s’pect they ain’t got clear of that kid. You can see it in his eyes.”

  “This thing between Dolan and Tunstall ain’t over. Dolan may think it is, but he’s wrong.” He spat again. “That lawyer fella, McSween, had an interest in Tunstall’s business. He’s likely to take over the rest of it and he ain’t goin’ away.”

  “Chisum’s got a stake in this too. Those boys weren’t all Brady’s regular deputies. I recognized some of Jesse Evans’ Seven Rivers boys. If Evans had a hand in this, you can bet Chisum will take an interest in stringin’ up them’s responsible.”

  “We’ll know soon enough. There’s Lincoln up yonder.”

  Dolan stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back. Thick lacy snowflakes spread a light mantle over the somber procession making its way up the street. Brewer led the way followed by the Bonney kid leading Tunstall’s horse with a blanket-covered body slung across the saddle. Two of the Englishmen’s hired guns trailed behind. A lot of good they’d done him. The whole thing played out about as well as he could have planned it. He figured they’d put up more of a fight. Finding Tunstall alone made it easier than he could have imagined. By not turning over the horses, the arrogant fool’s final act played right into his hands.

  The stock he had left didn’t cover the lien. He’d refile it against the ranch and get the whole shebang for the price of a bookkeeping transaction. With the Englishman out of the way, the future of the store and the bank were up in the air. The next order of business would be to offer McSween the chance to sell his interest. With Tunstall’s businesses out of the way, it would be back to business as usual. Well, not quite usual, the bank provided cash and the river of profits that went with it. The Englishman had been smart about that, too smart for his own good. He’d gotten exactly what he deserved.

  “Oh, no! Susan!” Lucy’s hands shot to her mouth. Realization hit her in the chest and slowly sank to her stomach in a sour ball.

  Susan left the teller’s cage and ran to the window. She put a comforting arm around Lucy, who sobbed against her breast.

>   “I was afraid of this. He was too righteous for his own good. He had no idea what he was up against. I tried to tell him.”

  Susan could sympathize with the girl. They both knew what a man should expect going up against the likes of Jimmy Dolan. She stroked Lucy’s hair. “We all did, dear. Sometimes you just can’t make a man listen.” Somehow those words sounded more prophetic than profound. She dismissed the thought. Alex could take care of himself.

  Lucy blinked at her tears and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She sniffed. “Com’on. They’re taking him to the sheriff’s office. Let’s go see what happened.”

  She started for the door. Susan grabbed her shawl from the peg beside the door. She took Lucy’s too and hurried out the door, running after her over frozen muddy ruts. Snowflakes swirled in the air, melting against her cheeks.

  Brewer and the boys stepped down. He looped a rein over the hitch rack as Lucy ran up to him.

  “What happened, Dick?”

  “Brady’s posse hit us in the canyon south of the Ruidoso Valley. I figure they planned to serve the lien on our stock, but that was no more than an excuse. They opened fire before they even got to us. Most of us took cover in the hills to shoot it out. Mr. Tunstall got cut off. John Middleton tried to lead him to safety but he didn’t follow. He may not have thought he was in danger. You know how he was about law and order.”

  “Why would they shoot him over such a thing?”

  He shrugged. “We’re here to report the killin’. We’ll see what Brady has to say for himself. Fred you stay with the body. Com’on, kid.”

  Billy squared his shoulders and followed Brewer up the boardwalk. Brown and the women fell in behind. They crowded into the sheriff’s office, finding Brady, as usual, at his desk.

  “What do you want, Brewer?”

  “You know damn good and well what we want. We brought in John Tunstall’s body. He’s been murdered.”

  “Murder’s a reckless charge, Brewer. Tunstall was shot resisting arrest.”

  “Arrest on what charge?”

  “Obstruction of a peace officer in the performance of his duty.”