by Paul Colt
Chisum rubbed his jaw, smoothing his mustache between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll have some of my boys join up with Brewer’s men. Let’s get after ’em.”
“I need to ride down to the Flying H in the morning to speak with Brewer before I return to Lincoln.”
“I’ll send some of my boys with you. Johnny, you ride on up to Lincoln and let Widenmann and Ledger in on what we’re planning here. Alex, you need to take one or two men back to Lincoln to look after you and Susan. Dolan starts to feel us closin’ in on him, you’ll be a target just like Tunstall.”
“I don’t mind saying I feel a bit like that already.”
February 28th
Roth tossed the blanket up on the black’s back in the gray light of predawn. His breath hung in the night chill. The black snorted and stomped anxious to be off. He hauled his saddle down from the rack and settled it over the blanket, feeling the fit to the withers. Satisfied, he lifted the stirrup fender over the seat and ducked under the horse’s belly to snag the cinch. He came up with the strap and sensed her presence. He passed the strap through the cinch ring and up through the saddle ring. He turned to her.
She was little more than a silhouette in the dim light. A sparkle of light from somewhere caught her eye. She came to his arms. A light scent of cinnamon sweetened the comfortable smells of straw and horses. He held her soft and warm. She came to wish him a safe trip and to remind him to watch out for trouble. She needed no words to say these things. Her spirits must be quiet. If she sensed anything troubling, as she did at times, she’d say so.
“How long Johnny be gone?”
He shrugged against her. “Hard to say, couple days up to Lincoln, couple more down to the Flyin’ H. After that, it depends on Brewer. I expect we’ll ride out after Evans’ men. We know where to find Brady’s part of the bunch.”
“You go after the bad man?”
She meant Crystobal. “I promised Señor John I’d clear him off my trail before we get married.” She lifted her eyes to his. She didn’t like the sound of that. “He’s afraid for you, Dawn, like a good father should be.”
“Dawn Sky afraid for Johnny.”
“Don’t be.” He whispered into her hair. “I’ll be the same sort of fearful for our daughter one day.”
She favored him with one of those liquid looks that had no bottom. She touched her lips to his. He went lost in the sweetness.
“That’ll sure ’nuff bring a feller home quick as he can.” Put him in need of distraction too, he told himself. He turned to the cinch strap, double loop, finger snug, cross and tie. He lowered the stirrup fender.
She followed at his side as he led the black into the chill morning air. A sliver of waning moonlight silvered black lights in her hair. He stepped into the saddle and settled. She touched his knee. He patted her hand. He eased the black clear and squeezed up a lope.
Chisum led McSween across the yard to the corral. Bright morning sun slanted over the eastern hills, with the promise of an early spring. Three men waited with their horses. Hired guns, McSween mulled the turn of his future. Two were tall and lean. One of them had the look of a schoolteacher in his long black frock coat. The third was average height. He wore baggy britches and a loose fitting serape.
“Mornin’ boys.” Chisum looked around. “Where’s Johnny?”
The schoolteacher spoke up. “Rode out for Lincoln just before sunup.”
Chisum nodded. “This here’s Alex McSween. Alex, meet Doc Scurlock.”
The man in the black frock coat pushed back behind the butts of the Colts slung on his hips touched his wide hat brim. He wore a sober expression with a prominent nose, lean cheekbones and neatly trimmed brown hair and mustaches.
“That there’s Charlie Bowdre.” Chisum gestured to the shorter man in a baggy double-breasted shirt. Plain featured, he had a weak chin that disappeared under a drooping mustache.
“The red-haired fella is Bill McClosky. He takes his paycheck from us these days, but he knows his way around Seven Rivers.” The angular McClosky smiled at the mention of his history. The corners of his red handlebar turned up.
“You boys take Alex here over to the Flyin’ H. Dick Brewer’s gonna take some boys out after the men who killed John Tunstall. You go along with Dick and do like he says.”
The men nodded. McSween turned to Chisum. “Thanks for your help, John.”
“Least I can do. Hell, you’re the one takin’ all the risk. You take care of yourself and mind what I said about takin’ a couple of the Regulators along to help out.”
McSween shook his hand and collected his horse’s rein, signaling the men to mount up. Scurlock picked up the lead and peeled away to the southwest.
Flying H
March 1st
Waite squinted against the glare of a low afternoon sun. He climbed up the bottom rail of the corral and looked northeast. “Riders comin’!”
Big Jim looked out from the loft above. Henry Brown left the hay he’d been spreading in the corral and crossed to Waite’s side. Brewer, Bonney and Middleton tumbled out of the ranch house to the porch.
Brewer pursed his lips. “Any idea who it is?”
Waite shook his head.
“Spread out near some cover until we figure out who they are.” The boys eased off, spreading out around the house, the barn, the hay wagon and a small stand of trees north of the corral.
Big Jim made them out. “Looks like McSween. I don’t recognize the men with him.”
Brewer adjusted the gun on his hip. “Hold your positions until we figure who they are.”
The riders slowed to a trot as they approached the gate. Mc-Sween waved as if to signal all clear. Brewer recognized Scurlock and took the rest for Chisum men.
McSween and Scurlock drew rein. Scurlock grinned. “Bring ’em in, Dick. We ain’t no trouble.”
“Com’on in, boys.” He let McSween step down. “This mean you got an answer from Chisum?”
“What does it look like?”
“Come in and tell me all about it.” He turned to Middleton. “John, show Doc and the boys where they can bunk.” He stepped aside and let McSween lead the way inside. The Bonney kid followed along. This was about avenging Tunstall. That made it his business.
McSween bent over the water bucket, took a dipper and drank. Water dribbled down his chin spreading dark red splotches on his cravat. He returned the dipper to the bucket and tossed his hat on the table. Dust mites boiled up in the sun splash where the hat hit the table. He pulled up a chair.
Brewer sat across from him. Billy stood in the shadows beside the door.
“Chisum’s with us.”
“It looked as much with all that firepower. The question is whatdowedonow?”
“Roth rode up to Lincoln to talk to Widenmann. In the meantime we’ll use Wilson’s warrants and your deputization. That way you and the boys can go after them with the law on your side.”
“Good,” Brewer said.
“That mean we can start huntin’ tomorrow?”
McSween had almost forgotten Billy in the shadows. You could hear menace in the reference to hunting. “I’ll go on back to Lincoln tomorrow. We should know if Widenmann has anything to add to what we’ve got in a few days.”
Billy drew his gun. “I got everything I need right here, right now.”
McSween held up a hand. “I understand your impatience, Billy. We don’t want to do things the way Dolan and his crowd do. New Mexico needs real law and order and that means putting an end to the likes of Jimmy Dolan. You’ll have your chance to see justice done by John Tunstall. Done the way he’d want it done, according to the law.”
The kid holstered his gun, turned on his heel, cracked the door and went out into the sun glare.
“Can you control him, Dick?”
He knit his brow. “Maybe.”
“I hope so. One more thing, Chisum thinks I should take one of the boys back to Lincoln with me. He thinks I’ll be a target once Dolan gets the feeling we’re
closing in on him.”
“John’s smart.”
“I thought so too.”
“I’ll send Big Jim back with you. He’s like havin’ a man and a half around.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lincoln
March 2nd
Roth drew the black down to an easy jog at the east end of town. Lincoln stretched out like a sleeping cat, content under a noticeably warmer afternoon sun. The chill breeze, prodding tumbleweed down the street, lacked the sharp edge of bitter winter. Riding past Mrs. O’Hara’s place, he wondered how Lucy was taking Tunstall’s death. He’d never figure that one out. He thought sure she had her cap set for Ty once he got his wife’s mourning out of his system. Maybe she got tired of waiting.
He glanced at Dolan’s store. He had an odd sense of being watched. Dolan would be smart to keep an eye on things. If the man thought Tunstall’s killin’ settled things, he was in for a surprise. There were times when a man could push people. Sometimes you could push them pretty far, if you knew when to back off a little. Trouble was, men like Dolan didn’t know how to back off. Sooner or later they pushed too far. That’s when things had a way of snappin’ back. Dolan was about to find that out.
He drew rein at the Wortley rail and swung down. Likely he’d find Ledger or Widenmann or both registered. He clumped up the step to the boardwalk and into the sepia-lit lobby. The clerk behind the counter dozed, perched on a stool that threatened to throw him. Roth’s boot scrape snapped him awake.
“Uh, what can I do for you?” He blinked.
“I need a room.”
“That’ll be a dollar.” He spun the register and reached for a key.
The marshals were both registered. “Either Widenmann or Ledger in?”
“No, sir. They’ll likely be back for supper, Mr.—” He read the register. “Roth. Room three.” He slid the key across the counter. “You want me to give ’em a message?”
“Yeah, tell ’em I’m in room three and to knock loud. I’m likely to be asleep.”
“Sure thing. Down the hall, second room on the right. Stable’s out back.”
“Much obliged.” He stepped back outside and collected the black. The stable around back of the alley had a watering trough beside the door. He let the black have his fill. Inside he found a vacant stall with fresh bedding. He pulled off his saddle and bridle and hung them on a worn rack. He found grain in a bin at the back of the stable with a scoop and a stack of buckets. He scooped grain into a bucket and carried it back to the stall. He climbed the loft ladder and pitched a forkful of hay into the stall. The black snorted appreciative. He climbed back down and placed the bucket of grain beside the hay. The black buried his nose in the bucket with another snort for his chores.
The room was small, spare and mostly clean. It had a bed that looked damn good after two nights of hard ground on the ride up from South Spring. He stretched out to wait for Widenmann or Ledger. His eyes drifted closed.
The knock at the door sounded like a gunshot. He jerked awake. “Yeah?”
“Johnny, it’s Ty.”
He rolled off the bed and shook the sleep from his head. Dull light seeping through the plain muslin curtains told him he’d dozed into sunset. He opened the door.
Ty chuckled. “Settled down life ain’t that hard on a man. What brings you to town?”
“I come to see you and Widenmann.”
“We just rode in. Rob’ll meet us for drinks and supper.”
Roth lifted his gun belt off the bedpost, strapped it on and picked his hat off the dresser. He followed Ledger out to the dining room. They grabbed a table and signaled the bartender for drinks. Widenmann arrived along with the whiskey.
“Bring me one too.” He shook Roth’s hand. “What brings you to town, Johnny?”
“Tunstall’s murder.”
“McSween and Chisum talked.”
“They did. Chisum sent some of his men down to the Flying H to back up Brewer and his men. They’re goin’ after the boys Justice Wilson issued warrants for.”
Widenmann stroked his mustache. “Dolan and Brady won’t sit still for that. We’ve already seen how that works.”
The bartender arrived with Widenmann’s drink. He took a swallow. “I don’t figure much good will come of Brewer’s men going after the Brady posse.”
“Rob, they murdered a man. Brady won’t lift a finger. Hell, he was likely in on planning it with Dolan,” Ty said.
“Likely so, but that don’t prove it.”
“That’s how McSween and Chisum see it. Dolan’s behind Tunstall’s killin’ sure as we’re sittin’ here. Provin’ it starts with Brady’s men. Chisum and McSween want to put the Regulators on the trail of Mathews and the Seven Rivers boys. Sooner or later somebody will talk. Brady will end up guilty or incompetent. Either way they figure to be rid of him. That should clip Dolan’s wings. Who knows, maybe they get lucky and implicate him or he does somethin’ foolish when they get that close to him.”
Widenmann tossed off his drink and signaled for another round. “I don’t know. It sounds good, but you push Brady and Dolan into a corner they’ll fight for sure. Santa Fe won’t like that. They’ll play it like vigilante justice takin’ over the county. If they call in the army, we could have a war on our hands.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“I don’t know. I’d feel better if I had jurisdiction. McSween told me to try to get that on the grounds that Tunstall was a foreign national. I’ve sent a request to Marshal Sherman but I haven’t heard anything yet.”
“You threatened Brady with the fact that Tunstall was a foreigner to get us out of jail,” Ty said.
“The bluff worked, but it was a stretch.”
“Would you have locked him up?”
“Sure, but that don’t mean I could make it stick.”
The waiter arrived with the bottle. Roth poured a round. “So it’s the same with these boys. The worst thing that can happen is a court throws out the charge. A lot of water goes under the bridge before that happens. Maybe enough water to get one of the sons a bitches talkin’. McSween will be along in a day or two. He’ll help you put a legal shine on it.”
“You goin’ down to the Flying H, Johnny?”
“I am.”
“Ty, you mind ridin’ along so we have a witness account of what happens?”
Ty nodded.
“Good. Now let’s get us some supper.”
Flying H
March 4th
Roth and Ledger rode in under a cold drizzle and the watchful rifle sights of Henry Brown and Charlie Bowdre. The first gave an unpleasant promise of spring. The second a small sample of the considerable firepower assembled for the business at hand. They drew rein at the house and stepped down, shaking rainwater from slickers and hats. Brewer and Bonney waited on the porch. Roth led the way up the step out of the rain.
“Com’on in.” Brewer extended his hand. “It may not be snow, but you boys look a might chilled.”
Brewer led them inside. The ranch house looked like an armed camp. The Regulators scattered around the parlor. Doc Scurlock, Tom O’Folliard, Fred Waite and John Middleton huddled around a poker game in one corner. Frank McNab and Bill McCloskey dozed in their bedrolls. Bonney went back to cleaning his guns. Brewer gestured to a rough cut table near the stove.
“We got some hot coffee.”
“That’d go mighty good.” Roth spoke for both of them.
Brewer took the pot off the stove and poured two steaming cups. He set them on the table and pulled up a chair for himself.
Ty took a swallow. “Johnny tells me you’re going to lead the posse.”
“Mr. McSween and Chisum say I am.”
“What do you plan to do?”
Brewer furrowed his brow. “We’ll start with Evans and his boys. We can take care of them before Brady and Dolan find out we’re on to ’em. There won’t be much fight left in them once we’ve got ’em outnumbered.”
Ty looked over the rim o
f his coffee cup. “Where do you plan to hold ’em?”
“Hold ’em?”
“Yeah, you don’t expect Brady to hold your prisoners, do you?”
“I don’t expect to hold no prisoners.”
Ty set his coffee down. “You want the law on your side, don’t you?”
He nodded.
“Then you’ll take those men into custody and let a court decide their guilt.”
“I said we wanted the law on our side. I didn’t say we trust the territorial courts to do us justice.”
“Serve them warrants fair and honest and even the territorial courts will back you. Turn this into a vigilante lynching and you won’t have anybody back you. You’ll be no better than Dolan and Brady.”
“We’ll give ’em a chance to surrender. I know those boys. They won’t. They’ll settle things the way they always do, with a gun.”
“If you run the posse, Dick, it’s your responsibility.”
“And I’m tellin’ you this posse better be ready for trouble.”
Roth eased forward. “Com’on, Ty. I think we best see to them horses.”
Ty caught his drift and scraped back his chair. “Thanks for the coffee, Dick.”
“Hope it warms you up some.”
Roth led the way outside. The rain had stopped. Dark woolen clouds rode off on a chill wind. They collected the horses and led them across the muddy yard to the barn. Ty led the steel-dust to an empty stall and ground tied him. Roth found another nearby. Saddle leather creaked as Ty threw up a stirrup fender.
“I got a bad feelin’ about this, Johnny. Brewer might listen to reason but he’s got some boys in there with quick triggers. How’s he gonna keep a lid on the likes of Bonney?”
“They ain’t regular lawmen. They see things different. You’ll be along to show ’em the right way to do things. They’re good men. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”
Ty hefted his saddle onto the rack and threw the blanket over it to dry. “I hope you’re right, but like I said, I got a bad feelin’ about this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Seven Rivers