Tough Justice

by Colin Bainbridge

  ‘He can go to hell,’ Fuller said.

  Ignoring the comment, the lawyer produced a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Fuller. Fuller took one glance and then laughed out loud.

  ‘This is a mockery,’ he said, tearing the paper in two.

  ‘Do I take it that you are refusing the offer?’ Dinsdale said.

  ‘Yeah, you’re damn right I am. And you can tell Rickard that if he or any of his boys set foot on my property again, I’ll see that they get dragged off behind a team of horses.’

  At his words one of the men on the chaise-longue sat up and his hand dropped towards his gun-belt.

  ‘I wouldn’t do anything foolish,’ Fuller said. He turned to the lawyer. ‘I think you all had better leave right now.’

  Dinsdale got to his feet. ‘Is that your final word?’ he said.

  ‘Get goin’!’ Fuller replied.

  The lawyer led the way to the door. As he was going through it, one of the men accompanying him turned to Fuller with an ugly leer across his face.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We’ll be back.’

  ‘That girl of yours sure looks good,’ another one said. ‘I figure she needs a man.’

  Fuller took a step forward but managed to restrain himself as both men burst into ugly laughter, spitting on the veranda as they descended the steps.

  ‘Nice company you keep!’ Fuller called to the lawyer as they all mounted up and rode out of the yard. Fuller watched them go before returning inside.

  ‘I know it ain’t no business of mine, but what was all that about?’ Eliot asked.

  ‘I told you things weren’t good around here. Well, it looks like they just got a whole lot worse. I figured Rickard was out to get his hands on the Long Rail. So far his tactics have been designed to wear me down. Now it looks like he’s comin’ out into the open. I hate to say it, but I think we’re gonna have a range war on our hands, because I certainly don’t intend givin’ way to him or his gunnies.’

  ‘I take it that he hasn’t got a claim to any of the property?’

  ‘Of course he hasn’t. This has come up before though. The real reason he wants the east range is that the river runs through it. If he gets his hands on the water rights, it won’t be just the Long Rail that suffers.’

  Just at that moment the door to Lorna’s room opened and she came out again. She looked at the troubled faces of Fuller and Eliot.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ she said. ‘I must say I didn’t much like the look of those men.’

  Fuller made an effort to smile. ‘Everythin’s fine,’ he said. ‘Like I said before, you’ve no need to worry your head about anything. Now Mr Eliot and me have to get back to roundin’ up the cattle. Will you be OK till we’re finished?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I have plenty of things to do.’

  ‘If you decide to go for a ride, take one of the men along with you,’ Fuller said. He exchanged glances with Eliot. ‘I wouldn’t like you to run the risk of an accident. Ridin’ the range ain’t quite like takin’ a trot in the park.’

  ‘I won’t be ridin’ any more today,’ she assured him. ‘You get back to work and I’ll make somethin’ nice to eat for later.’

  Fuller grinned. ‘It’s a deal,’ he said.

  Chapter Three

  It was late in the afternoon when Lowell left Granton and darkness descended as he rode towards the Half-Box M. It suited his purposes. He didn’t know exactly what he intended doing, but he was well aware of the fact that was running a big risk. While as yet he had no proof that it was men from the Half-Box M who had sought to kill him, a lot of circumstantial evidence was building up and pointing to the possibility. He still couldn’t think of a reason why they would do it, but that was a different matter. Perhaps he would pick up some clues when he reached the Half-Box M. Then he remembered Fuller’s words about cattle disappearing. If Rickard was involved, he might be able to find proof.

  In fact, it took less time and effort than he had reckoned. By his calculations, midnight had not been long gone when the presence of cattle alerted him to the fact that he must be on Half-Box range. Looming out of the darkness, the animals stood singly or in groups of two or three. Riding close to where a couple of cows stood, he dropped from the saddle and made his approach. Being careful to do nothing that might spook them, he struck a match and examined the brand. Both of them carried a Long Rail brand. So Fuller was right. The cattle rustling was confirmed and the stolen beasts were ending up at the Half-Box M.

  He got back into the saddle but as he rode he took the time to examine more of the cattle. He was curious about what Fuller had said about cattalo cross-breeds and kept an eye open for them. However, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Apparently he had struck lucky the first time. Apart from one, the others all bore the Half-Box brand. It would be easy, however, to change a Long Rail brand into a Half-Box M. Fuller was too trusting. He should have chosen a more elaborate identification that would defy any efforts at re-branding. He took a closer look at the Half-Box brand. It was hard to see in the dark, but was the Half-Box symbol above the R a little elongated? Either way, he had seen enough to convince him that Fuller was correct and Rickard was implicated in cattle-rustling. Rickard was a powerful man. What else might he be mixed up in? He didn’t seem to be making a lot of effort to conceal his activities either, but if Eliot was right and Rickard had the law in his pocket, it was hardly surprising. The events of that day seemed to prove it.

  It seemed a long time since he had set out the previous morning, but in spite of everything that had happened he was feeling remarkably fresh. He was concerned for his horse, however, and decided that it was time to make camp, at least for a few hours. He peered through the blackness, searching for a suitable location. A little way ahead of him a line of trees suggested the presence of water and he rode down to the banks of a stream. It was a good spot. Before long he had tended to the sorrel, built a fire, and boiled water for coffee. He wasn’t concerned about anybody seeing the flames; even if somebody was about, he was in a hollow and the trees screened him. He got out the makings and built a smoke.

  He felt quite comfortable but strangely lonely. He couldn’t understand it. Since Etta had died, he had got used to being by himself. Even before that he had been something of a loner, content to spend nights under the stars with only his horse for company. Being with Etta had brought about changes, but hadn’t fundamentally altered him. So why did he feel differently? As his reflections wandered, suddenly he found that he was thinking of Lorna Fuller. He felt guilty but he didn’t know why.

  Finishing the last of his coffee, he threw the dregs into the fire and got to his feet. He wandered over to his horse and spent a few minutes stroking its face and mane. He walked to the top of the slope leading down to the water and looked out across the range. A yellow moon hung low towards the western horizon. Returning to the stream bank, he felt an urge to enter the water. He took off his boots and shirt and waded into the stream. The water was cold and invigorating. He lay on his back and looked up into the star-filled sky, occasionally moving his arms and legs to resist the slow-moving current. The fire, reduced to a glow, occasionally spluttered. After a time, he rose in the water and splashed his way to the river-bank. Making his way over to the fire, he stamped it out and afterwards took some time to remove any traces that he had been there. His mind felt clear. He had found what he had come looking for. A time might come when he would need to pay a call on the Half-Box M but it wasn’t now.

  His first thought was to head back to Granton. He recalled what had happened and thought about the man in the buckskin jacket. He was tempted to go back and see if he could find him, but then he reflected that he could wait. He hadn’t been the only one involved; there was the marshal too. He had unfinished business with both of them but after all, no harm had been done. What did that leave? He was still feeling bad about the way he had made his exit from the Long Rail. After some thought, he came to the conclusion that th
e best thing to do would be to go back there and let Fuller know what he had discovered. The fact remained that it was round-up time and Fuller would need all the help he could get. It was easy to forget the basic things that went on whatever else happened. In all his thinking, he didn’t consciously acknowledge the attraction of Lorna Fuller. He saddled up his horse and, as the first intimations of dawn began to hint at the arrival of another day, rode up out of the stream-bed, setting his course for the Long Rail.

  Rickard was in a very bad mood. He had just received a message at the telegraph office from no less a person than Mossman himself, asking some awkward questions about his conduct of business in Granton, and more specifically about whether he had dealt with Lowell. As regards the first, he was beginning to wonder himself whether he had perhaps done the wrong thing in trying to go beyond Mossman’s instructions. Being put in charge of the Half-Box M in particular had given him plenty of scope for some personal aggrandisement. Mossman would probably not have disapproved but he was wily enough to know when he was being cheated of the profits. As for Lowell, that little matter was proving to be particularly irritating. After all, whatever grudge Mossman held against Lowell, it was not his affair. He barely knew who Lowell was. As far as he was concerned he was a nonentity who did not merit a fraction of the amount of attention he was having to give him. But Mossman was the boss and he could ill afford to rile him any further. It was a long distance between Granton and Shoshone Flats, but Mossman had a long arm and his influence was pervasive.

  As if that wasn’t sufficient, his lawyer had already reported back on the unsuccessful outcome of his visit to Fuller at the Long Rail. He wasn’t surprised. It had been a long shot. Clearly Fuller needed more persuading. The communication from Mossman only made the issue more urgent. Mossman might not appreciate the Half-Box M getting involved in a dispute about water rights, but if the acquisition of the Long Rail could be effected without any lingering consequences, he would almost certainly approve. He could have no objections to a fait accompli. The question was: how to proceed? Maybe it was time for his men to redeem themselves after the ghost town fiasco.

  Making his way to the Fashion Restaurant, he stomped inside and ordered a pot of coffee. While he drank it, he sat by the window. Outside, the heaped piles of buffalo hides reminded him that he needed to organize their transportation. He observed the general activity, keeping his eyes open for any sight of Vernon. Assuming he had made his way to Buckhorn, it couldn’t be long till he got back. He realized he was making an assumption. The cack-handed efforts of his men had only served to drive Lowell away. However, Lowell had been living there for a long time. It was fair to assume that at some point he would return.

  He got to thinking about Lowell. What was it that Mossman had against him? What could possibly cause him to want Lowell’s removal so much? Whatever it was, it seemed to have come out of the blue. Why had it become so urgent? Suddenly he had a flash of inspiration. Mossman had acquired the stage line and had just concluded an even bigger coup with the establishment of the railroad link to Shoshone Flats. He could expect to make a fortune from the shipment of cattle back east. Could Lowell know something that might upset his plans? Something Mossman had just realized himself? If so. . . .

  Suddenly he jumped to his feet and, leaving the coffee almost untouched, made for the door. A new thought had struck him. If Lowell knew something to Mossman’s detriment, it might be in his own interests to find out just what it was. He might have made a big mistake in acquiescing with Mossman’s instructions. It might be more sensible to keep Lowell alive – at least for the time being. He needed to find Vernon.

  Lowell had been somewhat nervous about returning to the Long Rail, but he needn’t have worried. There was no doubting the warmth of Fuller’s welcome. Lowell did not go into any details about his brief time in Granton, concentrating instead on informing Fuller about the rustled cattle he had found on Rickard’s range. Fuller in turn told Lowell about the visit from the lawyer.

  ‘I think we’re in for trouble,’ he said. ‘I reckon Rickard’s gonna be turnin’ up the heat.’ Lowell had to agree. ‘I want to get those beefs on the trail as quick as possible now,’ Fuller continued. ‘We’ve rounded up most of the cattle, but there are still a lot of ’em hidin’ out in the draws. Do you reckon you and Eliot could help bring ’em in?’

  It suited Lowell to get back into some kind of routine. He had been kicking his heels for too long and the prospect of some hard work was a boon. The morning after his arrival he and Eliot rode off for the rough country on the fringes of the ranch.

  It was a hard area to cover, with brush-filled ravines and thickets of mesquite and prickly pear. They rode into the coulees to roust up the cattle that had established themselves there but bringing them out was only part of the problem and they had to exercise a lot of care to prevent them circling and getting back in again. It was hard work and sweaty, with a constant risk of getting cut and scratched by the sharp thorns. It took most of the day to roust out some score of cattle and start drifting them towards the holding place. A couple of old bulls kept trying to lead the others and head back for the brush but they rode them tight.

  The next day was a repeat of the first, but Lowell was relishing the work. He had struck up a rapport with Eliot and they worked well together. When he lay in his bunk at night, Lowell began to be aware of how much he owed the other man. Eliot had backed him up when he faced the gunslicks, risking his own life in the process. He had taken him back to the Long Rail and helped restore him to health. He had come to seek him at the dugout. He wasn’t the only person he had to thank either. There was Fuller and Lorna. Since his return he had not seen much of her but then he had not spent any time around the ranch-house. It came as something of a revelation to him to think about what they had all done. He felt the stirrings of an emotion he had not felt for a long time and for some reason recalled the words someone had once used to describe an experience he had had: like he had been down to the river and restored.

  Rickard stood at the window of his office watching as a mule train carrying his buffalo hides pulled away. There were six wagons full of them, pulled by teams of mules and accompanied by swarms of flies. He carried on observing till his view was obscured by intervening buildings and then turned, poured himself a drink and sat down on his leather chair. He remained for a considerable time, plunged in thought, when there was a discreet knock at the door which opened to admit his secretary.

  ‘Mr Vernon to see you,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have disturbed you but. . . .’

  ‘That’s fine, Miss Lockhart. Show him in.’

  This was a stroke of luck. He was beginning to think he might not see Vernon and here he was in person. Vernon shuffled into the room and at a gesture from Rickard took a chair on the opposite side of the desk.

  ‘You were supposed to report to me before now,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Rickard. I haven’t been feelin’ so well.’

  ‘Too much hard liquor. Well, what have you to say for yourself? Have you dealt with Lowell?’

  Rickard could tell by Vernon’s shame-faced and embarrassed expression that he had not carried out his commission, but in view of recent developments that was all to the good. He was enjoying seeing Vernon squirm.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Vernon repeated, ‘but like I say, I haven’t been well. I’m gonna take a ride to Buckhorn tonight.’

  ‘My instructions were quite explicit. I don’t like being let down.’

  ‘I won’t let you down. I’ve got the matter in hand.’

  Rickard grinned. ‘As it turns out, Lowell can wait. I got somethin’ else for you now.’

  ‘Anythin’, anythin’ at all, Mr Rickard.’

  ‘The little job I got in mind should suit you down to the ground. After all, you like to see yourself as a buffalo hunter.’

  ‘I saw the mule train pull out of town. You needin’ more hides?’

  ‘Yes, but that’s not what I got in mind for th
e moment. No, this is a lot easier.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A simple assignment. Just take a ride over to the Long Rail and shoot a few cows.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be trespassin’?’

  Rickard gave out a loud laugh. ‘Trespassin’,’ he said. ‘After all you’ve got on your slate, you’re worried about trespassin’?’

  Concerned that he might have made a mistake, Vernon was quick to rectify it. ‘Of course it ain’t a problem. Just leave it to me.’

  ‘One other thing. Make sure you dump a few corpses in the river.’

  Vernon was puzzled but thought it best not to ask any questions.

  ‘You say you were meanin’ to ride out to that old ghost town tonight. Well, you can pay a visit to the Long Rail instead. Take a few of your no-good cronies along with you if you like.’ Vernon got to his feet.

  ‘And remember, I won’t be so tolerant of any mistakes this time,’ Rickard added. ‘It’s an easy assignment. Just make sure you get it done.’

  Vernon made for the door, feeling relieved at the outcome. He had been expecting a lot worse. He slithered out and Rickard heard the sound of his steps going down the stairs. What a little weasel, he thought. But he had his uses. If Fuller’s resolve not to sell was not finally undermined by this latest ploy, he was ready for an all-out assault. And if Vernon got caught, it was none of his business. No one would believe anything he said and there would be no proof the Half-Box M was involved. In any case, the marshal was in his pocket. If Vernon got himself killed, so much the better.

  On the fourth day after his arrival back at the Long Rail, Lowell and Eliot were working towards the east range. As they approached the river which ran through the property, they saw something lying in the water. Spurring their horses, they rode up close. Blocking the flow of water were the rotting corpses of three cows. The river at this point was quite shallow and a quick examination showed that the cows had been shot.