Torture Town

by William W. Johnstone

  IAN MACDONALD

  HARRY BUTRUM

  Murdered by Cowards

  who work for the Tumbling P

  The wagon was followed by a carriage in which Ben Ross was riding. On horseback, behind the carriage, were Ben’s son, Rex, and the ranch foreman, Dean Kelly. Behind them rode every other cowboy from the BR ranch.

  Nate Poindexter was standing just inside the Brown Spur Saloon, holding a beer as he peered out across the batwing doors at the funeral cortege passing by.

  Matt Jensen came up to stand beside Nate, and to look out onto the somber scene.

  “You’re Nate Poindexter?” Matt asked.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I want to know,” Matt replied.

  Nate turned toward him, and saw the star of a deputy sheriff penned to Matt’s vest.

  “You’re the law?”

  “Yes, I’m the new deputy sheriff. The name is Matt Jensen.”

  “What can I do for you, Deputy Jensen?”

  “For a start, you can tell me what you know about the killing of those two men.”

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  “What do you know about this?” Matt asked, showing him the note that had been found with the body. “This note does refer to one of your men, doesn’t it?”

  “He was hardly a man. He was fourteen years old, Deputy,” Nate said.

  “I’ll admit that was a tragedy,” Matt said. “But why extend the tragedy by killing two more men?”

  “Are you accusing me of killing those two men?”

  “No, I’m just asking you what you know about it?”

  “I don’t know anything about it.” Nate ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “Deputy, I wish I could tell you with absolute authority that none of our men were responsible, but I can’t. I will tell you that, if any of Tumbling P riders did it, they were acting on their own . . . not with the authority, the permission, or even the knowledge of my father, me, or our foreman. And to show you the sincerity of our cooperation, I will invite you to visit the Tumbling P, and question anyone you wish.”

  “All right,” Matt said. “I appreciate your cooperation. I’ll be out there in the next day or so.”

  “I’ll be there,” Nate promised.

  With a nod, Matt left the saloon, then went out to the cemetery to watch the burial of the two BR riders. He stood as unobtrusively as he could in the background, listening to the conversations.

  Two coffins lay next to the two open graves, which were themselves next to the freshly turned dirt that marked the grave of Seth Miller. The BR riders were gathered around the graves, as were some of the bar girls and prostitutes who knew Harry Butrum and Ian MacDonald. Because the bar girls and prostitutes had been invited to the funeral, the Reverend Charles Landers had refused to perform the burial rites and give the accusatory sermon he had given at the burial of Seth Miller. Most of the cowboys thought his absence was a positive.

  The task of actually “saying a few words” fell upon Rex Ross, and he moved over to stand by the two coffins.

  For the moment, the coffins were open, and Ian and Harry, wearing suits that they had never worn during their lifetimes, lay in the coffins, their eyes closed, and their arms folded across their bodies, with their hands clasped. Both men were cleanly shaved, their hair was neatly combed, and none of their wounds were visible.

  Rex cleared his throat, and began to speak.

  “I have been asked to say a few words about Ian MacDonald and Harry Butrum. I do so willingly, considering it a great honor. Ian and Harry not only worked with us, they were our friends.

  “Both of Harry’s parents are dead, and he had no brothers and sisters. We were, literally, the only family he had. The same could almost be said for Ian. He did have family, but they are all in Scotland, and that made us his family.

  “So that these two men . . . our friends, and members of our family, not be forgotten, I want to share a few memories with you, memories that, as long as they be kept green, will mean that Ian and Harry are still with us.

  “Who can ever forget Harry’s skill at the fandango? I think all the young ladies here will attest to the fact that no one was any better at that dance than Harry Butrum.”

  Several of the women, their eyes welled with tears, nodded in the affirmative.

  “Och, mon, and Ian’s Scottish brogue stirred the hearts of many a lad and lassie.” Rex perfectly imitated Ian’s brogue, and it brought smiles, and even a few chuckles, to the mourners.

  “And so we are here to lay our friends to rest, knowing that they are going to a better place . . . and that they’ll be keeping each other company until they are reunited with old friends and family, and make new ones.”

  Rex nodded at the undertaker, who, quickly, put the tops on the coffins and nailed them shut. Then the two coffins were lowered into the ground by ropes. Once they were at the bottom of the graves, first Rex, then several others, dropped a hand full of dirt onto the wooden lids. That done, the grave diggers began shoveling dirt into the holes.

  “You would be Matt Jensen?” Ben Ross said, coming over then to speak to Matt.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve heard you’re the new deputy sheriff.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m not on anyone’s side,” Matt insisted.

  “You say that, but are you not staying in a hotel that’s on the north side of Central Street?”

  “I am.”

  “That puts you on the side of the Tumbling P.”

  “No, Mr. Ross. It puts me on the north side of Central,” Matt said. “If it makes you feel better, it so happens that I’m boarding my horse in the stalls that are on the south side of the livery.”

  Ross stared at Matt for a moment; then, unexpectedly, he broke out into laughter.

  “Good enough, Deputy, good enough,” he said. “In the meantime, will you be finding out who killed my two men?”

  “I intend to,” Matt said. “I would also like to know who killed Jimmy Patterson.”

  “Yes,” Ross said. “I expect that you would. But I swear to you, Deputy, I had nothing to do with it, and I don’t know who did.”

  “I’m going to go out to the Tumbling P tomorrow to see what I can learn. Nate Poindexter has offered full cooperation. If I come to visit the BR, can I expect the same thing from you?”

  “Of course you can,” Ben said. “I swear to you, Deputy, Poindexter and I have kept this feud going for well over twenty years without anything like this ever happening before. I don’t know what has happened lately to bring on all this killing, but it has me greatly disturbed.”

  “Disturbed enough to establish peace between you?”

  Ben pointed toward the two graves, which were now being closed. “How can I have peace when something like this happens?”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Tumbling P Ranch

  “There was another funeral in town,” Morgan said.

  “Yes, a couple of our boys went,” Gabe said.

  Morgan looked up in surprise.

  “They stayed out of the way, and didn’t cause any trouble. But they said they used to be friends with Harry before he started workin’ for Ben Ross. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, of course I don’t mind. I just don’t want any more trouble, if we can help it. What about Strawn? I haven’t seen him in a few days. Have you?”

  “Actually, he’s out in bunkhouse, right now, playing poker,” Gabe replied. “Do you want to see him?”

  “Yes, send him up to the house, would you? I’d like to talk to him.”

  “All right.” Gabe started toward the bunkhouse; then he stopped and looked back toward Ben. “Ben, you think maybe he had somethin’ to do with killin’ those two BR riders, do you?”

  Morgan was surprised by Gabe’s question. “Why do you ask? Do you think he might have?”

  “I’ve given it some thought,” Gabe admitted.


  “I sure as hell hope he didn’t have anything to do with it,” Morgan said. “But I want to hear him tell me, himself, that he didn’t.”

  A few minutes later, Strawn came up to the big house, his steps heavy on the porch. He knocked loudly, and Morgan answered the door.

  “Mathis said you wanted to see me,” Strawn said.

  “Yes, please, come in. Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thanks, I just had me some. Is someone givin’ you trouble somewhere that you want me to take care of?”

  “Not that I know of. Strawn, what do you know about MacDonald and Butrum?”

  “MacDonald and Butrum? Who are they? Someone that’s wantin’ to work for you? You want me to check ’em out for you?”

  “No, haven’t you been into town? Haven’t you heard anything about them? That’s all anyone has been talking about for the last few days.”

  Strawn shook his head. “I ain’t been off the ranch since I come to work for you. I figure I’m drawin’ wages to look out for you, and your hands and cattle, then the least I can do is stay here and do my job without gallivantin’ off somewhere. What about these two you’re askin’ about? Who are they?”

  “Yes, well, they are . . . that is, they were, riders for Ben Ross over at the BR. But a couple of days ago, in the middle of the night, someone burned the line shack they were in and shot both of them dead.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Mr. Strawn?”

  “No, I don’t know nothin’ about that. I never even heard about them until you just told me. But that sure does give you a good reason for keepin’ me ’n’ my men around.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if someone was to do somethin’ like that to you? You know, like to get back at you?”

  “Why would they? I mean if we didn’t have anything to do with killing MacDonald and Butrum, why would they want to get back at me?”

  “Well, the thing is, they probably don’t know who done it, so that means they’ll figure you done it. Looks to me like I’m about to earn my pay.”

  “How is that?”

  Sylvia heard a conversation going on between her father and another man, so she started down the stairs to see who it was. When she saw Strawn, she gasped. With the terrible scar and deformed eye, he had to be the ugliest man she had ever seen.

  Hearing his daughter on the stairs, Morgan looked up toward her. He hoped that she hadn’t overheard too much of the conversation.

  “Sylvia, this gentleman is Sam Strawn,” Morgan said. “I know you haven’t met him since you returned, but he has come to work for us. Mr. Strawn, this is my daughter.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Strawn said, his voice a wheeze.

  “I thought I had met all the cowboys since I came back,” Sylvia said.

  “Oh, honey, Mr. Strawn isn’t a cowboy,” Morgan said quickly.

  “He isn’t? Well, what will he be doing?”

  “You do remember the incident on the road, don’t you? When three of Ben Ross’s men accosted us? They were going to take you with them, and hold you for ransom.”

  “Yes, of course. How could I forget something like that?”

  “Mr. Strawn’s . . . specialty . . . is in seeing that nothing like that happens again. You might think of him as a private detective, hired to keep our ranch safe.”

  “Anytime you’ve a notion to go travelin’ somewhere, ma’am, why, you just let me know and I’ll make sure you get there ’n’ back, all safe and sound,” Strawn said.

  “I . . . I thank you, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Sylvia said. Turning, she went, quickly, back upstairs.

  Morgan watched his daughter run back upstairs, then turned back to Strawn. “I suppose there is something to what you are saying, about possible retaliation. So, over the next several days, I will expect you to be particularly vigilant as you go about your duties.”

  “All right,” Strawn said. “I’ll be wantin’ bonuses,” he added.

  “Bonuses? For what?”

  “Let’s say that some men from the BR Ranch come onto the Tumbling P for no good reason, and when I challenge ’em, why there is a shoot-out. And, let’s say that in that shoot-out, durin’ which I’m riskin’ my life, that mayhaps I might kill one of ’em. I think if somethin’ like that was to happen, what with me riskin’ my life ’n’ all, well then maybe a hunnert-dollar bonus wouldn’t be too much to ask for.”

  “Are you asking me to pay you a hundred dollars to kill someone?” Morgan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Morgan frowned. “Look here, Mr. Strawn, I do hope that you don’t think I hired you for such a purpose. And if I were to pay a bounty on men that you might kill, it would make it appear that I am endorsing the killing. In fact, quite the opposite is true. The reason I hired you is the thought that having someone like you to provide security would cause the BR riders to think twice before there is any more mischief. I’m hoping that having you around will help to keep the peace.”

  Strawn stretched his face into what might have been a smile.

  “I think you got the wrong idea of what I was sayin’, Mr. Poindexter. It ain’t as if I’m plannin’ on just goin’ out and shootin’ people for no reason. But if comes down to it, and I wind up havin’ to shoot someone, say, to save your life, or the life of your daughter, or mayhaps the life of one of your riders, I was just thinkin’ that maybe a little bonus might be called for.”

  Morgan stroked his chin for a moment before he responded.

  “All right, Mr. Strawn. If you put that way, I suppose I could, if the occasion warranted, pay a bonus.”

  Strawn smiled again, and extended his hand. “I thought you might see it that way. And I want you to know that as long as I’m on the job, then neither you, nor your son, nor your daughter, have got a thing to worry about.”

  A few minutes after Strawn left, Sylvia came back down, dressed in riding clothes.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “I’m going to visit Linda Stallings this afternoon,” Sylvia said.

  “Oh, darlin’, given the circumstances, I’m not sure that is a very good idea.”

  “What circumstances?”

  “You did hear that two of Ben Ross’s riders were killed, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with . . .” Sylvia stopped in midsentence. “Papa, we didn’t have anything to do with that, did we?”

  “No!” Morgan said instantly. “At least, I certainly didn’t have anything to do with it, and I’m equally certain that no one who works for me did.”

  “Then why should that have anything to do with whether or not I can visit Linda?”

  “I suppose it has nothing to do with it,” Morgan said. “But please, do be careful.”

  Rex was leaning against a fence watching the farrier use a hoof pick to clean stones from a horse’s hoof before replacing the shoe.

  “Mr. Ross?”

  Turning, Rex saw Andy Warren from the Wedge Hill Ranch. For just a moment, Rex felt a twinge of apprehension. Had he been seen crossing the ranch the other night?

  “Hello, Andy. What brings you over here?”

  Andy pulled an envelope from his saddlebag and handed it down to Rex. “Miss Stallings give me this letter to give to you,” he said.

  “Thank you, Andy. Oh, the cook made sinkers this morning. Step into the cookhouse and have a couple, with a cup of coffee, before you start back.”

  Andy smiled, and nodded. “Thanks, I’ll just do that.”

  Curious as to why Linda Stallings would send him a letter, Rex waited until Andy had ridden away before he opened the envelope.

  I shall meet you at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon at the old springhouse on Wedge Hill Ranch.

  Sylvia

  Rex smiled broadly, then folded the letter and stuck it down into his pocket.

  There were two horses tied up outside the springhou
se when Rex arrived, and for a moment he was confused. Why were there two horses? Had someone found out that Sylvia sent a letter to him? Was this a trap?

  Cautiously, he approached the little, low-lying stone house, then examined the horses. One had a tilted P as its brand, the other had two-piece brand. The first mark was an angle on its side, the second a triangle with the point up. Wedge Hill.

  Linda Stallings appeared in the doorway.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello,” Rex replied, still curious about what was going on.

  Sylvia appeared then.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you could come!” she said, excitedly.

  Smiling, Rex dismounted, and was surprised when Sylvia rushed into his arms and kissed him in front of Linda. He looked toward Linda.

  “Oh, don’t worry about her. She knows all about us,” Sylvia said. “Don’t forget, she’s the one who set up this meeting for us.”

  “I’m going to take both of your horses with me,” Linda said. “I think that if someone happened to be riding by and saw two horses outside a building that has been abandoned for several years, they might get a little curious.” Linda smiled. “And though it isn’t any of my business, I think you probably aren’t going to be interested in curious visitors for the next hour or so.”

  “Did you eat lunch?” Sylvia asked.

  “No. You said to meet you at one, I didn’t want to take a chance on being late.”

  “Good. I have fried chicken, biscuits, and potato salad. We’ll have a picnic lunch.”

  “Oh, a lunch sounds heavenly!” Linda said.

  “Get your own lunch,” Sylvia replied, not taking her eyes off Rex’s face.

  “I can take a hint,” Linda said. “I’ll be back by three o’clock. I hope you two can find some way to entertain yourselves until then,” she teased.