Gunsmoke and Gold

by William W. Johnstone

  “Could he be in on it with his son and the Raner girl?” Matt asked. “Is that possible?”

  Jack rubbed his face and sighed. “Hell, Matt, the whole town might be in on this thing, for all I know. I feel like I’m bein’ pulled in fifteen directions.”

  A boy stuck his head into the office. “Here comes the sheep!” he hollered. “Thousands of ’em.”

  The handlers did not push the sheep through town, but instead skirted it on the north side. Still, it was more sheep than anyone in town had ever seen. Louis Longmont rode in, accompanied by his bodyguard, Mike. They stood on the boardwalk in front of the sheriff’s office while the sheep were being moved to the newly-leased range on the Box H.

  “Will you be stayin’ in the area long, Mister Longmont?” Jack asked.

  “Long enough to see that my investment is properly cared for,” the man said. “One way or the other,” he added.

  There was a very thinly-veiled threat there, and Jack Linwood knew it.

  “I trust,” Louis said, “that I will not have to pull in some, ah, associates of mine to protect my investment?”

  “I sure hope not,” Jack replied.

  The men paused to watch Victoria drive by in a buggy, a picnic basket on the seat beside her. She waved and smiled at the men.

  “Pretty girl,” Louis remarked.

  “She draws,” Jack said. “Real good at it. She’s goin’ just outside of town, to that crick that runs into the Colorado. She’ll spend all day there, drawin’ pictures of trees and birds and the like. Them’s her drawin’s on the walls of the cafe.”

  Jack stepped off the boardwalk and walked to his horse, buckling the straps on a saddlebag. Sam looked down at the dirt. Each time Jack’s right boot hit the earth, a V-shaped mark appeared.

  “Now wait just a damn minute!” Sam said. “What’s going on here?”

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked, turning to face the men on the boardwalk.

  Sam pointed to the ground. The men stared at the damning mark in the dirt. But it was Dewey who found the real culprit. He sat down on the edge of the boardwalk and got up a lot faster.

  “Oww!” he yelled, grabbing at the seat of his jeans.

  Matt knelt down and ran his hand over the boards. Two headless nails had been exposed as the boards had worn down over the years of foot-traffic, one set just behind the other. He put his boot over the nails and turned, feeling the drag as the nails cut into the sole. He sat down and pulled off his boot, holding it up for all to see.

  A V had been gouged into the sole.

  “Well, I’ll be durned,” Charlie said, kneeling down and carefully feeling the sharp nails. “And look where it is. Anybody steppin’ up from tyin’ their horse at that rail would step right on the nails.”

  “And the pressure from their weight would be enough to mark the sole,” Jimmy said.

  “That means that half the people in town might have those cuts on their boots,” Sam said.

  The sheriff took off his hat and scratched his head. Matt noticed the man was graying. “We’re right back where we started from,” Jack said. “A right-handed man, with a cut on his sole, and totin’ a Springfield rifle.”

  Louis Longmont’s fancy wagons came rolling through town and Louis and Mike got back into the saddle and followed them toward their new campsite.

  “I pity anybody who tries to attack that bunch of sheep,” Dewey said.

  Charlie smiled. “Louis told me not too long ago that some ranchers up north of here tried to squeeze him out a couple of years ago. He just bought up all the land that surrounded their ranches, damned up all the creeks, fenced off the river, and blew down part of a mountain, blocking the only road for two, three miles. He sealed them in. Didn’t take them long to come callin’, hat in hand. Said he settled that situation without firin’ a shot.”

  “I wish this one could be,” Jack said wistfully. “But right about now, Pete’s got his son by the throat, Hugo’s yellin’ at his daughter, Blake’s probably gettin’ drunk, Red Raley is plannin’ more night raids, that damn sniper is layin’ in wait to kill somebody, and Dale and Chrisman is plottin’ and schemin’ against everybody else. I wonder what else is gonna happen?”

  * * *

  In the middle of the afternoon, a farmer came rattling his wagon into town, galloping his team. He whoaed in front of the sheriffs office and started hollering.

  “That Mexican girl is layin’ out yonder by the crick,” he yelled. “She’s unconscious and ain’t got a stitch on. I throwed my coat over her and come into town as fast as my old team could pull.”

  “Dewey, run fetch the doc,” Jack said. “Jimmy, go get Matt and Sam. Charlie, go get the girl’s father while I beat it out to the crick. Move, boys!”

  Doctor Lemmon was only seconds behind Jack. He covered Victoria with a blanket and used salts to bring her to consciousness. She had been beaten very badly, her face swollen and one eye closed. There was blood on her mouth. The inside of her thighs were bruised.

  “Raped?” Jack asked, his face and eyes hard. One thing that was not done in the West was manhandling a good woman. Raping meant a sure rope or bullet.

  “Yes,” the doctor said. “Who did it, Victoria?”

  “Lightning and Circle V riders,” she whispered. “The cowboys called Burl and Dixon and Rusty and Tulsa. Ned from Lightning. I don’t know the name of the other one.” She closed her one good eye and began sobbing uncontrollably.

  Matt and Sam galloped up. The brothers listened to Jack relate what Victoria had said. Jack grabbed Sam by the arm. “We do this by the book,” he warned. “No losing control. You hear me?”

  “I hear you,” Sam said, his face dangerously hard. “But you know that those men will just alibi for each other. Nothing will be done. No one will be arrested. No one will stand trial. She’s Mexican. I’ve seen what happened to men who raped and even killed Indian women. One and the same thing: nothing.”

  “That won’t be the case here, Sam,” Jack said, but everyone knew they were hollow words.

  “Sure won’t,” Matt said, spinning the cylinder of one of his .44’s and filling the empty sixth chamber. “Book justice doesn’t always equal what’s right.” He held up the Colt. “But this does.”

  Sixteen

  Sheriff Linwood told Matt and Sam to keep their butts in town and to stay the hell away from Lightning and Circle V range. If they didn’t, he promised, he’d put them both in jail and their reputations as fast guns be damned, he’d still get lead in them both.

  The brothers believed him.

  They returned to the sheriff’s office and sat with Dewey, drinking coffee and talking. Finally Sam stood up and walked out of the office, saying he was going to check on Victoria.

  Juan and Anita were sitting in the doctor’s small waiting room. Anita’s eyes were red and puffy from crying and Juan’s face was stony hard, dark and terrible Spanish vengeance plain in his black eyes.

  “They will be brought to justice, Juan,” Sam said, taking a seat.

  “Sí.” the man replied. “One way or the other.”

  “Have you spoken with the doctor?”

  “Sí. Her physical wounds are not serious. But mentally. . . ?” He shook his head. “Those are terrible men to do something like this. I never dreamed I was capable of so much hate.”

  “Cold hate is better, Juan. You cannot think during hot hate.”

  The father cut his eyes and smiled at Sam. “Yes, I know. You perhaps have some Spanish blood in you as well, Sam?”

  “My Cheyenne blood boils just the same as yours.”

  Doctor Lemmon stepped into the room, drying his hands on a towel. “She’s sleeping now. I sedated her very heavily. She should sleep for hours. There is no need for any of you to stay. The ladies from the church are going to take turns staying with her during the night.”

  Sam stood up. “Come on. I’ll walk with you back to the café.”

  “The café will be closed for this night,” Juan said.
“But the cantina will be open.”

  They passed people on their way; all stopped to express their horror at what had been done, and to wish Victoria well. The outpouring of sympathy seemed to make the father and mother feel better, just knowing the majority of the townspeople were with them in their grief.

  Matt joined Sam in the cantina part of the establishment and both of them had a beer. Juan came back in with a long-bladed knife and a honing stone. He took very small sips of tequila while he honed the wicked-looking blade. The brothers had a pretty good idea what he intended doing with it.

  If Juan got hold of any of the rapists, they were going to be very uncomfortable sitting a saddle for a long, long time.

  At dusk, Jack and Charlie entered the cantina and ordered a pitcher of beer. Jack threw his hat down on the table in disgust. Juan had honed his knife to razor sharpness and sheathed it, putting it away. He sat quietly, waiting for the sheriff to speak the words he already knew would come out of his mouth.

  “They alibied for each other,” Jack said, after taking a big swallow of beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “The hands on both spreads all said the men had not left their sight all day.”

  “Blake and Hugo?” Sam said.

  “They also gave their men alibis—and did so with real smirky, smart-alecky grins.”

  “Well, that cuts it as far as I’m concerned,” Matt said. “Every man-jack on those spreads is trash. And that includes the owners. Did you see any of the men Victoria named?”

  “Saw all of ’em,” Charlie said, a bitter tone to his words. “They was all scratched up around the face. That gal must have fought ’em to a fare-thee-well. They said they all been brush-poppin’ cattle and got their faces tore up. But they all grinned and pulled at theirselves whilst they was sayin’ it. The bastards!”

  Jack stood up, an angry look on his face. “I’m sorry, Juan. I’m truly sorry. I like Victoria. I like you and your wife. You’ve put up with me while I was blunderin’ around actin’ like a lapdog for Dale. And I apologize for that.” He took a ragged breath to try and settle his nerves. “Maybe it’s time to settle this with guns. I don’t know. I don’t know if I can keep my own temper in check. If I don’t do something to cool down, I’m gonna blow my top.” He tossed way too much money on the table. “That’ll pay for the broken window.”

  “What broken window, señor?” Juan asked.

  Jack picked up his beer mug, drained it, and threw it through a side window. “That broken window, Juan.”

  * * *

  The next morning, after checking on Victoria, the brothers told Jack they were going to ride out to the Box H and they would stay clear of Lightning and Circle V range.

  “And if you run into any of Blake or Hugo’s hands on the way?”

  “We won’t draw first,” Sam assured him.

  “Hell, boys, don’t neither one of you need to drag iron first.” He smiled. “You got more nerve than I have, headin’ out to Pete’s place. Tell me if his boy can sit down, will you?”

  Matt laughed. “Right!”

  If Robert could get his aching bones out of bed, he probably couldn’t stand up. The father had literally whipped the snot out of his son. Then he dumped a bucket of well-water on him, dragged him to his boots, and beat hell out of him again, just for good measure.

  Millie said it was a terrible fight to behold.

  “Did your mother see it?” Matt asked, while Sam was rummaging around in the kitchen, filling a sack with doughnuts.

  “Yes. Robert confessed everything. He’s really not a very brave person. Daddy’s going to take him in to the sheriff this afternoon. In a wagon. Hands are filling it with hay now. Robert couldn’t sit a saddle. Daddy broke several of his ribs. He’s all taped up. That new hand we hired just about two months ago was really one of Red Raley’s men. He left while Robert was getting his trashing from Daddy.”

  “Then taking him into town is no good, Millie,” Matt said quickly.

  “Why the hell not?” Pete demanded, slamming open the screen door and stepping out onto the porch.

  “ ’Cause that hand that pulled out went straight to Raley and Raley went straight to Chrisman and Dale. You’ll never get your son into town alive. At least here on the ranch, you have a chance of keeping him alive.”

  The rancher sat down. His big hands were bruised, swollen, and knuckle-cut. “I hadn’t thought of that. I been so damn mad I’m not thinkin’ straight. You’re right.”

  “What we can do is have the sheriff come out here with two townspeople to act as witnesses. We write it all down and that should be enough.” He then told them about Victoria.

  “Good God!” Pete said, jumping to his feet. “And Blake and Hugo backed up their alibis?”

  “To the hilt,” Sam said.

  “Those sorry . . .” He bit back an oath. “Well, that tears it for me, boys. I got no use for either of them. None of the hands would tell the truth?”

  “Not a one of them.”

  “I better not catch one of them in gunsights,” Millie said. “I got no use for men like that.”

  “No more ridin’ alone, girl,” her father told her. “And I mean that.”

  “I understand, Daddy. I won’t. And that’s a promise.”

  Pete looked at the sack in Sam’s hands. “You get enough doughnuts, boy?”

  “It’s a long ride back to town,” Sam replied.

  “I’ll let you borrow one of my packhorses,” Pete said dryly.

  * * *

  Sheriff Jack Linwood and Jimmy left early the next morning with two townspeople, heading for the Box H to listen to and take down Robert’s confession. Jack had wired the nearest judge to get an opinion on it and the judge had wired back that once the confession was taken in front of witnesses it would hold up in a court of law.

  Of course the rumors were flying, and Chrisman and Dale had heard them; but they were going about their business as usual. Both looked a little strained around the mouth and the eyes.

  One rumor had it that Hugo Raner had walloped the tar out of Denise’s rear end and confined her to the house, under guard. Blake Vernon had sent his wife, Martha, off to visit relatives back east and was sending out wires to hire more hands, offering them fighting wages. Hugo had done the same.

  “Who are they going to fight, each other?” Jack questioned. “Have we missed something here? Once we get Robert’s confession, it’s over, ain’t it? If those two try to fight Louis Longmont, he’ll hire a damn army.”

  “That confession of Robert Harris is not gonna be worth spit,” Charlie opined. “It’s just his word against Dale and Chrisman, and both of them are respected—more or less—businessmen. It’ll never come to trial. I’ve toted a badge in too many places not to see that.”

  “But it will cast suspicion and bring a lot of things to light,” Sam said.

  “What it’ll do is start some shootin’,” Charlie said. “And maybe that’s what it’s gonna take to bust this situation wide open.”

  Sam walked down to the doctor’s office to see about Victoria, and Matt lounged in front of the office. Dewey walked the town while Charlie cleaned the sheriff’s department’s weapons, loading them all up full. He was too old a hand and too wise to the ways of the world not to know that war was only a step away.

  Some sheepmen were in town, buying supplies, and a few farmers had rattled up in wagons with their families. The town seemed serene. But Matt had sensed an undercurrent of tension, as if everyone was just waiting for the lid to blow off. And tomorrow was Saturday. Hands from Box H, Circle V, and Lightning, as well as the Spur, the Horseshoe, and several other smaller spreads, were going to be wanting to come into town for tobacco, a few drinks, and cards and conversation. And Matt would bet that the men who had assaulted Victoria would be among them.

  In a way, he hoped they would come into town.

  Jack returned, the confession in his pocket. He was not put off by Charlie’s sourness that the confession was no good.<
br />
  “It’ll make Chrisman and Dale pull in their horns, Charlie,” he told the grizzled old gunhandler.

  “No, it won’t,” Charlie countered. “Not unless Denise Raner goes along with what Robert said. And I’ll bet you she’ll deny the whole damn thing.”

  “Matt and Sam saw them together and, uh . . . doin’ what comes naturally,” the sheriff stood his ground. “And saw them meet with Red Raley. Both of them will testify to that effect.”

  Charlie leaned back in his chair. “And you know what will happen if this comes to trial, Jack? That little Denise Raner gal will come into town with her hair all done up nice, gussied up in a white dress that’ll make her look so pure it’d melt the heart of a snowman. She’ll bat them eyes at the jury and when she speaks it’ll be pure honey comin’ out of her mouth. She’ll say that she don’t know why Matt and Sam is castin’ them terrible aspersions agin’ her character. And she’ll cry a little bit, and that jury will play right into her pretty little hands. I’ve seen it done, Jack. More’un once.

  “And Chrisman and Dale? Why, they’ll deny the whole damn thing. We got no hard proof, Jack. In the end, Robert Harris will be made to look like the damn fool he is; he’ll be left way out on a limb, all alone, and them lawyers will tear him to pieces. It’ll be his word against dozens of folks. We got nothin’, Jack. Nothin’ at all.”

  “I’m ridin’ for the county seat in the mornin’, Charlie,” the sheriff told him, “to meet with the judge. You’re in charge until I get back.”

  “Take the stage,” Charlie told him. “You’ll be safer against that damn sniper thataway. And take Jimmy with you. Matt and Sam will be around; we’ll handle it. I got me an idea on how to shut down Saturday night.”

  “Play it your way, Charlie,” Jack said.

  * * *

  “What?” Dale and Chrisman both hollered.

  “I told you, the saloons are shut down tight,” Charlie repeated.

  Saturday morning in Dale, Colorado. A bright, sunshine-filled day. Peaceful so far, and Charlie intended to keep it that way. The sheriff and Jimmy had just left on the stage, heading for the county seat and a meeting with the district judge.