by Ben Bridges
Jessica shook her head. ‘No, don’t disturb him. He needs the rest, and we’re not staying. Only stopped by to have a word with your guest here.’
She swung down from the saddle, a tall, heavily-armed warrior-woman in a long oilcloth coat, her serious, bitter face with its high cheekbones and violet eyes obscured by the shadow of her hat-brim, and only her distinctive yellow bandana standing out visibly. She passed her reins to Ethan—thrust them into his hands and forced him to grip them, more like—and then strode towards me, her twin belt-buckles glittering silver as they caught the light. She resembled nothing so much as a soldier in that moment, a hard-bitten, fearsome professional fighter, and I thought that, if only they could see her now, the Amazons of old would have been proud of her.
‘Well?’ she said when she was directly in front of me. ‘What fine plan did you come up with, Colter?’
Her tone was cold, challenging, impatient, and I thought I knew why. Ethan Dunbar had not been the only casualty of the fire at their store. It had taken a toll on Jessica as well, only a less obvious one.
It had affected her mind in some dark way, so that now she was reluctant to talk but eager to fight.
Fortunately, however, there was still enough of the other Jessica left in her to consider the broader picture, the innocent people who might otherwise get hurt. She knew that I was right to press for a peaceful end to their troubles here, albeit grudgingly. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.
Quietly I told her that I had indeed come up with a plan, and carefully I outlined it to her.
Afterwards she said, ‘And that’s the best you could do, is it?’
In belligerent mood, she was trying to pick a fight with me, but I would not be drawn. My only reply was a simple, ‘Yes.’
‘It’ll never work.’
4We won’t know until we try.’
‘I know. You’ll be wasting your time. Everyone’s time. And only delaying what you and I both know is inevitable.’
‘You said you’d put it to the others,’ I reminded her. ‘You said you’d let them decide.’
‘And so I will.’
‘Well, there it is, then.’
Her suede Plainsman hat dipped once in the fading day. ‘Yes,’ she agreed stiffly. ‘There it is.’ She turned then, and went back to her horse. She took the reins from Ethan’s slack grip and mounted up. ‘I’ll be back when I have their decision.’
I nodded cautiously. ‘Ride carefully, then.’
She turned the horse around and cantered off into the darkness, and her husband, obeying some half-understood instinct, slapped his team across the rumps, got his wagon turned around and rattled and jounced away after her. Without a word, Mary and her children went back inside, but I stayed where I was, watching the Dunbars go, then listening when I could no longer see them.
After a while I released my breath and suddenly grew aware of the tension that had gathered in my neck and shoulders. All at once I realized with some surprise that I was relieved to see the back of Jessica Dunbar. I did not like to be around the woman she had become, the woman the Association had made of her. I sensed danger within her, an erratic, changeable, deranged and brutal nature that events here had unleashed. I felt compassion for her, of course, for as she herself said, she had not asked for the life she now led—any more than had I.
But I feared her, as well. God help me, I actually feared her.
We saw nothing more of her for two days. Word reached us that the Association had impounded the unmarked cattle of a man named Steel, and that there had followed a fight in which Steel had been viciously beaten. Then, along about sunset of the second day, I heard the creaking of Ethan’s wagon as it worked its way down over the southeast pasture and I rose from my ladder-back chair beside the oilpaper window and went outside to meet them.
The Dunbars came in at a slow pace. I wondered what news they would bring, whether or not the rest of the settlers would accept my plan, in spite of what had so recently happened to Steel. My throat closed down and my breathing grew shallow. Then they were right there before me, and Jessica was speaking.
‘Go to town,’ she said shortly. ‘Plead your case, for all the good it will do. I’ll be back tomorrow night to hear how it went.’
Relief washed through me, for here at last was my chance to settle this business before it got out of hand. Before I could open my mouth and reply, however, Jessica was tugging on her reins and turning back into the gathering gloom, the conversation, such as it had been, at an end.
Next morning I led my mustang from the newly-reconstructed corral and slowly saddled up. The horse was fidgety and eager to run after so much inactivity, and I was eager too, but for a different reason.
I swung astride and turned to Mary Franklin, who was watching me on the porch. She said, ‘Good luck,’ and I nodded an acknowledgement, then heeled the horse into a run.
Little more than an hour later, Beaver Dam’s H-shaped cluster of buildings came into sight, and I sent the horse down over the bridge and along First. My appearance attracted the attention of the people I passed almost at once, but I paid them no heed. The horse picked a leisurely pace along the thoroughfare while I rehearsed in my mind everything that I hoped to say this morning.
Then, without warning, that sixth sense I mentioned earlier made me look to my left, and there, on the boardwalk, stood Ward Jameson, his arms folded across the chest of his bib-style denim shirt, watching me come.
I let my eyes graze across him, and relaxed a little when I did not perceive any immediate threat or challenge in him. I drew abreast of him and he opened his mouth to say something, but I was here to talk to more important men than he, and I turned my face back to the front and rode straight on past, and did not look back.
Presently I started up towards the magnificent blue and white house on the hill above the town. We dusted into the yard and I dismounted just as the front door opened and the Negro servant in the powdered wig and blue velvet jacket came out and asked my business.
I told him I wanted to see Lindeman and the other Association members, and he asked me to wait right where I was—no invitation inside, this time—while he ran the message. Five minutes later, James Carbonne came out and down the steps to greet me, his sober young face showing surprise.
‘Colter!’ he said. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’
Bleakly I replied, ‘Trying to make peace.’
He frowned. ‘How’s that again?’
Briefly I explained the purpose of my visit, then said, ‘Are they all here, the Association members? Will they see me?’
Carbonne thought about it before answering. Then he clapped me on the arm with sudden resolution and said, ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’
As if on cue, the same black boy who had taken my horse the first time now reappeared to take him again, and I followed Carbonne into and through the house until we reached his office. He told me to wait, then went to Linderman’s door and knocked. I heard Lindeman tell him to enter, and he went inside.
Ten minutes passed before he came back out and called my name. With some unease I went through to Linderman’s office and Carbonne closed the door softly behind us.
A sea of faces was turned to watch my entrance, the Association’s seven members, all seated in big, button-studded leather chairs, with crossed legs and coffee cups in hand. I returned their wary scrutiny with one of my own, and saw thin men, fat men, short men, tall men: men with gray hair, black hair, red hair and hardly any hair at all. There were men whose ages began at fifty and stopped around the middle sixties, and whose faces mirrored the good, easy life they led, whose fine suits and silk shirts and watch-chains and heavy gold rings spoke eloquently of money.
I looked from face to face, from one set of hostile but curious eyes to another, and I wondered just how much these men really knew about the cattle industry. Their smooth, manicured hands and pale faces gave me my answer. They were most likely investors from the East, or England and Scot
land, and their only qualification was money, and the skill to invest it in such a way as to make them even more.
Eventually I found myself trading looks with Robert Linderman, the Association secretary, crammed fatly into his Sleepy Hollow chair, his bloated, jowly face wearing an expression that was part expectant, part vaguely bemused.
Well, Mr. Colter,’ he said. ‘This is a surprise. Though we heard, of course, that you had taken sides against us in this affair.’
I gave them all one more searching sweep, then said, ‘I’m here to make peace, Mr. Linderman. Try to make peace, at any rate.’
I expected him to say something, but he didn’t, so I carried on. ‘The first time we spoke, you made it clear in no uncertain terms, that you planned to get rid of the newcomers to this county by force. I have come here today to try and convince you that it needn’t come to that.’
Still he didn’t speak. None of them did. Then he shifted a little, and his chair groaned a protest, and finally he said, ‘And how exactly do you intend to do that?’
I pulled in a heavy breath. ‘By offering a compromise. And, if needs be...a warning.’
That sent a muttering through them, and a few sidelong glances. But I ignored that, and went over to the large county map on the wall to my right. Lord, I had studied my own little map for so long that I knew every landmark by heart. Now, working my way slowly down the approximate centre of the map, I pointed from one spot to another, saying, ‘Richardson’s spread. Scott’s, Daniels’, Steel’s, Lee’s, Tragg’s, Hopkins’, Franklin’s. And here— Mayberley’s place, Johnson’s, Hamilton’s, Wheelahan’s and Clay’s. And here—Taggart’s, McCabe’s and Houston’s. These are the so-called “squatters” you’re after clearing out of the county. Sixteen small spreads that together occupy less acreage than any one of you can presently lay claim to—and all confined to this one strip right through the county. One strip, approximately fifty miles long and between ten and fifteen miles wide.’
One of the Association members, a broad-bellied man with still-red hair, said in a Scottish accent, ‘Jest whut is it ye’re leadin’ up to, man?’
‘This,’ I replied readily. ‘That if you relinquish any claim you might think you have to this stretch of land and leave these sixteen families to settle peaceably and make a life for themselves there, with some additional land here...and here...should they eventually want to expand, they will, for their part, agree to acknowledge your right to the remainder of the county, and not challenge your claim in the courts.’
Another man echoed Jessica Dunbar’s pshaw sound and shook his graying head.
‘Show this man out, Carbonne. He’s wasting our time.’
But Carbonne didn’t move, and I was grateful to him for that. ‘Look,’ I went on earnestly. ‘Your spreads occupy land here and here, on either side of the settlers’ strip. The most you stand to lose between you is about six hundred square miles. What’s that, compared to the two thousand you can still lay claim to?’
‘You’re forgetting something, Mr. Colter,’ Lindeman said flatly. ‘This isn’t just about land. There’s a principle here, as well. These people are intruders, interlopers. If we allow them to move in unchallenged, what’s to stop others from following their example? Will all the people who come after them be happy to ranch or farm in this mythical strip you suggest? And will the squatters you now claim to represent allow them to sink down roots in the strip? It’s my guess that they will resist whoever comes after them just as determinedly as we intend to resist them.’
‘I’ve tried to allow for that,’ I replied. ‘By my calculation, there’s upwards of seventy square miles here that can be used to accommodate any late-comers, at no extra cost to you. All you gentlemen have got to do is be bigger than your greed and avarice, and at least give it a try.’
The Scotsman spoke up again, tight-faced and angry. We’re businessmen, laddie, an’ we’re protectin’ whut’s ours. Neither greed nor avarice comes intae it.’
‘With respect, sir, that is a matter of opinion. But in any case, the fact remains that you people have a problem here, and I am offering you a way of solving it peacefully, and at no great sacrifice, relatively speaking. If you’re wise, you’ll take it, and try your damnedest to make a go of it, because I know the settlers will, and I can imagine only too well the price you’ll all pay if you don’t.’
‘How long have you been around here, son?’ asked a sixty-year-old with a cigar plugged into the corner of his wide mouth. ‘A week? Just how well have you come to know these squatters, to vouch for them the way you are?’ He sat forward in his seat, green eyes squinting through the blue-gray haze of his Cuban. ‘I’ve lived a lot more years than you, son, and I know men, I know what they’re like. They might be satisfied with what they’ve got today, but when tomorrow dawns, they’ll start looking at what the other fellow’s got, and then they’ll start spreading out. How long do you really think these people of yours will be satisfied with the trade-off you’re proposing?’
‘If you don’t at least give it a try,’ I bit back quietly, ‘we’ll never know.’
‘If it comes to that,’ asked a thin, elderly man whose black garb made him look more like an undertaker in search of a funeral, ‘how will these squatters know they can trust us? You’ll never get it to work, mister.’
‘Compensating Jessica Dunbar, I mean really compensating her, would be one way of gaining their trust,’ I answered. ‘Releasing and returning all the impounded stock to their rightful owners would be another.’
That suggestion was met by more self-righteous mutterings, into which Linder-man chuckled coolly. ‘Normally, Mr. Colter, I would ask you to wait outside while we discuss your, ah...proposals. But I believe we are all of a mind in our thinking.’
There were murmurs of assent from the other men around the room. The lids over Linderman’s moist eyes came halfway down, increasing his resemblance to a frog. ‘I thank you for coming here and sharing your little, uh, “notion”, with us. But we have already decided upon the course of action we must take, Mr. Colter. So you may go back to your new-found friends and inform them that they have exactly seven days to get out of Fairfax County, and that if they are still here at the end of that time, we will burn down their homes and slaughter their stock and run them out by force.’
Several of the Association men nodded and muttered their support of his statement.
‘You do understand that they will fight you?’ I said. ‘That men—and possibly women and children—will die because of that?’
Lindeman spread his hands. ‘It doesn’t have to be that way. The choice is theirs. But let us be absolutely clear on one thing. This land is ours, and we intend to keep it. We have built upon it and amassed great herds upon it, and we are not prepared to share it with anyone, not now, not ever.’
My voice became a near-whisper. ‘And for that you are willing to start a war?’
‘For that,’ Lindeman replied, ‘we are more than willing—as you and your friends will find out if you are still here seven days from now.’
I couldn’t believe that men could be so callous and corrupt. Not over mere land, and certainly not when they could already lay claim to so much. But hard on the heels of that thought came another. Yes. Yes, looking at these men, I could believe it.
‘Mr. Colter?’
I looked across at Carbonne. He said, ‘I’m curious about something you mentioned just now. Something about a warning?’
‘A warning,’ I repeated slowly, almost tasting the word. ‘Yes. A warning.’
Linderman and the others fell quiet, listening cautiously now for what I had to say next. I did not keep them waiting. I said, ‘When you talk of war, gentlemen, you all sound confident of victory, as if the outcome of any such conflict is a foregone conclusion. It isn’t. And before you do anything you may regret, I feel it only fair to caution you that the settlers will meet force with force. They will fight you every inch of the way, and it will not be a piecemeal effort, gentle
men. It will be an orderly and orchestrated defense of what they rightfully consider to be theirs... Because I have not merely been speaking on behalf of sixteen separate families here today. I have been representing the newly-formed Montana Stock Growers’ and Farmers’ Association.’
For an instant there was total, stunned silence. Then, as one, they all started shouting. Obviously the idea that the settlers would or could organize themselves had never entered into the thinking of these arrogant men. I listened to what they were saying. They were telling me that the settlers could not do what I had already encouraged them to do. I held back for a moment, enjoying the scare I had thrown into them. Then, raising my voice above theirs, I said, ‘For everyone’s sake, I urge you to reconsider your decision.’
‘Never!’ hissed the Scotsman. ‘It’s war, laddie! An’ by God, we’ll teach yon upstarts a lesson they’ll not forget in a hurry!’
I looked directly at Linderman. ‘Well, if you need to get word to me, I’m staying at Ernie Franklin’s place.’ Pointedly I added, ‘Franklin’s new place.’
I turned away and Carbonne opened the door to let me out. He escorted me back through the house, and he had to hurry to keep up with me, for my stride was quick and angry, and I was keen to get out of that house of wealth and corruption.
‘It was a brave try,’ he murmured, deliberately keeping his voice low. ‘But it’s as they said just now. They had already decided upon their course of action.’
I slowed down a little and glanced over at him, at last allowing some of my apprehension to show. ‘Will they really do what they say? Surely, it’s a bluff?’
Grimly he shook his head. ‘It’s no bluff. I wish to God that it were.’ Then he looked hurriedly over his shoulder, as if realizing he might already have said more than was wise. ‘Look, I can’t say much now, but...’ Without warning he reached out and gripped my arm. ‘Be careful, Colter. You’re a target in this fight now. Perhaps the most important one, now that the Association knows for sure that you’re behind any resistance the settlers plan to put up.’