by Jory Sherman
“One day, you sonofabitch,” Jed said under his breath, and he breathed deep to clear his mind of the hate and the desire for vengeance.
And he thought of dead Julio back there lying faceup in the washed-out place with the sparse grasses. He closed in on the rear of the herd with the remuda and barked at the lumbering cattle, waving his hat to get them to move faster. He wanted to get to Abilene, too. He wanted very much to talk to the sheriff about the murder of a poor, innocent Mexican boy.
CHAPTER
5
JED NOW CARRIED A SECRET, AND THE SECRET WEIGHED heavy in his heart as the herd streamed into the Great Western Stockyard pens in Abilene. Dan and Colter had guided the lead cattle through the gates, then Colter had left. Jed was amazed at the size of the stockyards. The three hundred head did not come close to filling the big corral. Wranglers appeared and helped to keep the herd moving until the last of the longhorns was inside. One of the men closed the gate.
“When’s the rest of ’em comin’ in?” he asked.
“That’s all there is,” Dan told him.
“Where you from?” asked the young man.
“Waco.”
“Pretty small herd to drive all that way. Want us to tally ’em?”
“No. Let the buyer make the count. As for the size of the herd, we go with what we’ve got,” Dan said.
“These for auction?” one of the other men asked.
Jed shook his head. “Sold already. I think.”
“Who you lookin’ fer?”
“Malcolm Trent,” Jed said, as he handed off the remuda to a youthful man who emerged from the livery, with a tangle of rope halters in his hands. “Grain ’em, will you?”
“Sure thing. Four bits a day per head if you board ’em. You want ’em combed and curried? That’s another two bits for each horse.”
“No. Not today. I’ll come by and see what they need after I finish my business with Trent.”
“Suit yourself, Mister,” the boy said. He looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, and it looked like his hair hadn’t seen a brush or a comb ever. His face was still sprinkled with freckles. “I’ll take ’em over to the livery. You want me to take your horses, too?”
“Yeah. Dan, give him your horse.” Jed swung down out of the saddle and handed the reins to the boy. “Sure you can handle all these at once?”
“Mister, you got a small herd and a small remuda. I’ve handled more’n this all at once.”
Dan dismounted, too, and handed his reins to the young man. The two of them watched him lead all the horses to the livery barn. One of the wranglers walked over.
“I’ll fetch Mr. Trent,” he said. “He’s over at the Drover’s Cottage. Won’t be long. Funny, he didn’t say nothin’ about no cattle comin’ in.”
“Maybe he wasn’t expecting us this soon,” Jed said.
The man walked away and Jed walked over to the pole fence, leaned against it. Dan came over and climbed up, sat on the top rail.
“Boy, am I glad to get these cattle in the pens,” he said. “I’m plumb wore down to a nubbin.”
“Dan, I got something to tell you, but you’ve got to keep it to yourself, hear?”
“Sure, Jed.”
“Swear?”
“I swear. Ye gods, Jed, what is it?”
“I mean really swear. You can’t breathe a word. Or even act like you know what I’m about to tell you.”
“Cross my heart, Jed, for chrissake.”
Jed drew in a deep breath, let out it. His brown eyes darkened, then flashed as they widened. Dan swallowed, waiting.
“I’ve been riding with death for the past eight mile, Danny.”
“Huh? What in hell’re you talkin’ about, Jedediah Brand?”
“Julio Cardoza. He’s dead.”
“Plumb dead?”
“Dead as a stump, Danny. Did you see all them buzzards in the sky when we set out?”
“I saw some buzzards. Didn’t pay much attention to them. Ye gods, Jed, there’s buzzards ever’ damn where.
It don’t mean nothin’.”
“Well, these buzzards had carrion to feed on. I rode over and took a look for myself. Found Julio lying there with his throat cut wide open. Deader’n hell.”
Dan gasped. Then he shook his head.
“Don’t be pullin’ my leg, Jed. That ain’t funny.”
“Damn you, Danny, I’m serious. Colter killed him.
Last night. I know it as sure as I know my own name.
Nobody else could have done it. It was Colter. I told you there was something fishy about that jasper. He murdered poor Julio while we were asleep.”
“Lord, Jed. You got to do something about it. I mean, we do, I reckon.”
“I’m going to the sheriff here in Abilene as soon as Colter pays us. I just wanted you to know what I been carryin’ around with me.”
“Why? Why would Silas do a thing like that? Poor ol’ Julio.”
“I don’t know. But I think if I’d have said anything back there, he would have killed me without batting an eye.”
Dan let out a low whistle. He started looking around as if expecting Colter to jump up out of nowhere and start shooting at them. His face drained of blood until it was as pasty as pie dough.
“Jed, we got to get away from that man Colter. He’s plumb poison.”
“We’ve got to see him one more time. To get our money.”
“Do you trust him, Jed?”
“To pay us, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t see how he can get out of it. Trent’s going to give me the money and then I’ll give it to Colter.”
“Why don’t we just take our money out and leave his for him someplace.”
“That’s a thought. But we’ll probably get paid with a bank draft.”
“Oh shit.”
“We’ll go with Colter to the bank when he cashes it. Don’t worry, Danny. We’ll get our money.”
“Ma’s counting on it.”
“I know.”
Dan lifted his pistol from its holster on his belt. He thumbed the hammer back to half cock and spun the cylinder on his six-gun, a converted Remington New Model Army in .44 caliber that had been converted from caplock to centerfire. He was plainly nervous, his face bathed in sweat, his hands trembling slightly.
“Danny, put that damned thing away,” Jed told him.
“I just want to be sure it works, Jed.”
“You won’t need it. We’re not going to brace Silas.”
“No, maybe. But, he might brace us.”
“Don’t be a goose. He wouldn’t try anything here. In public.”
“God, I keep thinking about poor ol’ Julio. He was just a damned kid.”
“Don’t think about it, Danny. I’m glad you didn’t see him like that.”
“I never saw a dead person before, not since Grandpa, and I was so little at the time I hardly remember it. And I never saw nobody killed. Murdered.”
“Put the pistol away, Danny.”
Danny spun the cylinder so that the cylinder was off center slightly and eased the hammer back down until it was snug. He slid the pistol back into its holster, but made sure it was loose. He hooked his thumbs into his cartridge-studded gun belt.
“I wonder if I should get my rifle,” Dan said.
“Danny. Stop it.”
“Well, Christ, Jed.”
They waited for the buyer. Jed looked down the street at the town of Abilene. It was mostly log cabins from what he could see and there were not many people on the streets. It was warm and maybe everyone was staying inside, but it did not look like a thriving town from where he stood.
A sign caught Jed’s attention. In large block letters it stated: NO GUNS IN ABILENE.
“Dan, look,” he said, pointing. “See that sign yonder?”
Dan looked in the direction his brother was pointing. He read the sign and shook his head.
“Wonder what that means, Jed?”
“It
means there’s law in Abilene.” Jed grinned.
As they were staring at the sign, two men stepped off the boardwalk on Texas Street and walked toward them. Both men wore sidearms. Both men wore shiny stars on their vests. They crossed the railroad tracks and headed straight for the Brand brothers.
“Uh-oh,” Dan said.
“We’ve done nothing wrong,” Jed said. “Just let me do all the talking, Danny.”
“Good afternoon,” one of the men said. “I’m Marshal Tom Smith. You boys from Texas?”
“We are,” Jed said.
“Are you planning to go into town?”
“I don’t rightly know. We’re waiting for Mr. Malcolm Trent to come and pay us for these cattle we just run in here.”
“Well, if you cross those tracks yonder, you’ve got to leave your guns in my office. I’ll give you a receipt and you’ll get ’em back when you ride out.”
“Where’s your office, Marshal?”
“First building there on the other side of the tracks. You can’t miss it.”
“Tell him, Jed,” Dan whispered, poking Jed in the side with his elbow.
“What’s that?” Smith said.
“Aw, nothing, Marshal.”
“Jed—”
“Shut up, Danny.”
Smith, a flint-eyed man, lean as a whip, bored into Jed’s eyes with his own.
“Something on your mind, cowboy?” Smith asked.
“No, not … I mean, if we come across the tracks, we’ll drop off our pistols in your office.”
“Your friend seems to have something he wants you to tell me. Are those cattle stolen, by any chance?”
“No, sir. He’s my brother, Dan Brand. My name’s Jed.”
“Where you from, Jed?”
“Waco.”
“Well, you’re a long way from home. You keep your nose clean in Abilene and we’ll get along.”
“Yes sir.”
Smith looked at some of the cattle through the fence.
His deputy kept his eyes on the Brand brothers.
“Two Bar Eight, huh? Haven’t seen that one up here before,” Smith said. “Those all you brought?”
“Yes sir.”
“Well, you boys get your business done and if you come into town, you stop by, hear?”
Jed nodded. Smith and his deputy turned on their heels and walked back across the railroad tracks.
Dan was having a fit.
“Damn it, Jed, that was your chance. You should have told that marshal about Colter.”
“Danny, hold your horses, will you? Colter’s not here and I’ve got nothing to back up my story. The minute I opened my mouth about a murder, that marshal would have put us both in the juzgado. I’m just not ready to go to the law yet.”
“Well, when will you be?”
“After we get our pay and Colter’s where that marshal can grab him.”
“Damn, Jed. I know you’re a lot smarter than me, but sometimes you seem awful dumb.”
“Well, we won’t have to wait long, maybe. Here comes a man walking toward us. I’ll bet that’s Malcolm Trent.”
A well-dressed man with shiny boots walked toward them on Texas Street. He nodded to Smith and the deputy and they waved to him.
“One of you named Jed Brand?” the man said as he came up to the corral.
“I am.”
“Let’s go into the sale barn, then, and do our business.”
“Are you Mr. Trent?”
The man shook his head. He was dressed like a banker and his short-brimmed hat looked newly blocked and was unsoiled. He sported a small brisk mustache and lamb-chop sideburns. He wore a vest under his suit coat from which a gold chain dangled.
“No, I’m his agent, Rufus Whitby.”
“Where’s Mr. Trent?” Jed asked, his tone laced with suspicion.
“He’s busy, Mr. Brand. Shall we? It’ll be a little cooler in the barn, away from the hot sun.”
Whitby pointed at the barn and then started walking toward it. As he turned, Jed noticed something else the man was wearing, tucked into his lower vest pocket.
Both Brand boys looked at each other. Dan shrugged.
When Whitby was far enough away, Jed turned to Dan and whispered in his ear.
“Watch him, Danny. In a ‘No Gun’ town, he’s packin’ a derringer.”
Dan swore under his breath.
Jed loosened his pistol in his holster. Just in case.
CHAPTER
6
THERE WAS A SMALL, SPARSELY FURNISHED OFFICE inside the large barn. Whitby seemed right at home there. He opened the door and ushered the brothers inside, motioned for them to take chairs and sit.
“Did you boys meet Bear River yet?” Whitby asked as he sat down behind the desk. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a fat envelope.
“Who’s Bear River?” Jed asked.
“Oh, I beg your pardon. Marshal Smith. That’s what they call him. He has quite a history, especially here in Abilene. I take it you’ve never been here before.”
“No, we haven’t,” Jed said.
“We’ll be a few minutes. I have a man outside counting the cattle you drove in here today. Meanwhile, here are some documents to look over.”
Whitby took two sheets of paper from the envelope and laid them on the table. One was a bill of sale, the other was a receipt for cash, with the amounts left blank.
“When we get the count, I can fill in the documents, but you should read them first.”
Jed picked up one sheet of paper and began reading it. Dan did the same with the other document.
“Abilene has quite a history,” Whitby said. “When it was platted that creek you might have seen on the way here was called Armistead. Then, when the war broke out, it was changed to Mud Creek because Mr. Armistead had joined the Confederate Army.
“The name ‘Abilene’ comes right out of the Bible, the New Testament, in fact. It means ‘City of the Plains.’ Wasn’t much of a city, though. For some time it was just a bunch of huts, maybe half a dozen. Then Joe McCoy changed all that when he built all this, calling it ‘The Great Western Stockyards.’ Yes sir, Joe had a vision, a vision of a great cattle depot where you Texans could drive your herds to a safe place right on the railroad.”
Dan and Jed exchanged papers and read them as Whitby continued bragging about Abilene and McCoy’s stockyards.
“That was back in sixty-seven. We built the Drover’s Cottage where the cattlemen from Texas and the cattle buyers from the east could meet, eat, drink, and talk business. The following year, the town swelled and in came the pimps, the prostitutes, the gamblers, the saloons. Abilene was a wild cowtown, I tell you. Those look all right to you?”
“Yes,” Jed said. “We’ll sign when the numbers are all filled in.”
“Be only a few minutes. My boys are good at tallying cattle and you don’t have that many. Cigar?”
Whitby reached into his upper vest pocket and pulled out three cheroots. He offered two of them to Dan and Jed. They shook their heads.
Whitby got a matchbox out of the desk drawer and lit his cheroot. He put the dead match into a clay ashtray on top of the desk. He inhaled and spooled out a long plume of blue smoke. He leaned back in his chair.
There was a knock on the office door.
“Come in,” Whitby said.
One of the young men Jed had seen earlier, who had helped them with their cattle, entered the room. He held a piece of paper and the stub of a pencil in his hand.
“Yes, Vernon,” Whitby said. “What’ve you got?”
“Me’n Randy counted three hundred and four head of Two Bar Eight cattle.”
“Sure?”
“I’m sure, Mr. Whitby.” He handed the tally sheet to Whitby, who glanced at it and then nodded.
“Thanks, Vernon. You may go.”
“There’s a couple of marshals out there lookin’ over the herd, Mr. Whitby. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Smith?”
�
��No, sir, ain’t Bear River Smith. These aren’t Abilene marshals. They’re U.S. marshals. It’s Cal Garner and Leon Simms. Cal’s got him a magnifying glass. Looks like they’re checkin’ those Two Bar Eight brands.”
“No matter,” Whitby said. “Mr. Trent has the authority to buy these cattle. They’re being shipped east this afternoon. You and Dale get ready. There’s a big herd due in this afternoon. About three thousand head coming in from Fort Worth.”
“Yes sir.” Vernon left the room but didn’t close the door.
Whitby filled out the documents, then counted out the money in the envelope. He pushed the documents across the desk at Jed.
“If you’ll sign these, I’ll pay you for the cattle, Mr. Brand.” Whitby stacked the bills up in front of him.
“Those cattle,” Jed said. “We saw the bill of sale in Waco. They’re legal.”
“I’m sure they are,” Whitby said. “As soon as you sign, the money’s yours.”
Jed signed the papers. Whitby looked at the signatures, then pushed the stack of money toward Jed. “Count it if you like.”
“I will, sir.”
Jed counted the money as Dan looked on anxiously. When he was finished, he nodded. “The money’s right, Mr. Whitby.”
“Fine. That concludes our business, then.”
He folded up the documents, put them back in the envelope, which was considerably thinner, put it in his inside coat pocket and stood up. He ushered Dan and Jed out into the barn, then walked briskly outside, leaving the two men standing there.
“Now what?” Dan asked.
“I guess we wait here for Colter.”
“What’s all that about those brands on the cattle?”
“I don’t know, Danny. But Whitby wasn’t worried. So I’m not worried.”
Someone came through the back door of the barn, his figure in shadow.
“Jed,” Colter called. “Do you have my money?”
“Yes, and we want ours.”
Colter walked up to them and held out his hand. “As soon as I count it, Brand.”
Jed handed Colter all of the money. Dan licked his lips.
They heard footsteps outside the front of the barn. Jed and Dan looked toward the open doors and saw two men striding toward them. Then they turned around to look at Colter.
“What the hell….” Jed said.