Powder Burn

by William W. Johnstone

  “Wait a minute,” Luke said, looking directly at Moe Garvin. “What was that you said about Tanner stayin’ in Fort Smith?” Moe shrugged, but didn’t answer. “If he’s a marshal ridin’ outta Fort Smith,” Luke continued, “he ain’t got no business in Texas. He’s just another drifter when he’s on this side of the Red.” His assumption captured his brothers’ attention right away.

  “I swear . . .” Rubin muttered. “That is a fact, ain’t it?”

  “That’s right,” Luke said. “Them Oklahoma lawmen ain’t nothin’ but dead meat when they come into Texas. Let’s get goin’.”

  Convinced that the three of them were no longer about to murder everyone in the saloon, Moe was encouraged to mention the destruction of his property. “You fellers oughta pay me for that mirror you shattered. That mirror cost me seventy-five dollars.”

  His request caused the three brothers to pause before reaching the door. “You’d best count yourself lucky it wasn’t nothin’ but that mirror that got shot,” Luke said. Then when the fancy lamp sitting on the stand near the end of the bar caught his eye, he drew his .44 and shattered it with one shot. “There,” he crowed, “ain’t that better? Now everythin’ matches.” His action drew a chorus of rough guffaws from Rubin and Buck. They filed out of the saloon, leaving a collective sigh of relief from Moe, Sam, Ellie, and the rest of the customers.

  Outside, the three Cheney brothers climbed on their horses. “That oughta tickle Pa when he finds out it’s been Tanner’s cattle we’ve been stealin’ all along,” Buck said as he threw his leg over and settled down in the saddle.

  “Maybe we ought not kill him right off,” Luke joked, “just burn a new brand on his behind, like we do with his cows.”

  * * *

  A little before dark, Mutt Samson and Billy Wilson had ridden into the barnyard at the J-Bar-J just as Will and Shorty were coming from the stables. “Any sign of those rustlers?” Shorty asked as the two men dismounted.

  “Nope,” Mutt answered. “Didn’t look like they paid us a visit, at least not along the north ridge where me and Billy checked today.” He eyed Will with curiosity, waiting for Shorty to introduce the solemn stranger. “Musta been Thompson’s or Williamson’s turn last night,” he said, referring to the two closest ranchers to the J-Bar-J.

  “Musta been,” Shorty agreed. “This here’s Will Tanner,” he said then, nodding toward him. “Mutt Samson,” Shorty announced to Will. “This scruffy-lookin’ young feller with him is Billy Wilson.”

  “Will Tanner,” Mutt echoed, and took the hand Will offered. “I’ve sure heard a-plenty about you. I thought you was somebody Shorty made up. I’m glad to meet you.”

  “You can’t believe half of what Shorty says,” Will replied. “I thought everybody knew that.”

  Will and Shorty went on up to the house then to eat supper while Mutt and Billy took care of their horses before joining them. Will was pleased to find out that Slim had not exaggerated when he praised Anna’s ability to bake biscuits. They were on equal footing with Ruth Bennett’s biscuits back at the boardinghouse in Fort Smith. The comparison caused his thoughts to wander momentarily to Ruth’s daughter, Sophie, and her upcoming wedding to Garth Pearson. He was happy to be distracted right away by a question from Mutt Samson.

  “You aimin’ to ride night herd with us, Will?” Mutt asked.

  “I don’t know. I thought I would,” Will replied. “That would let us cover a little more of our range, but I ain’t sure they’ll be out rustlin’ tonight after what happened in the saloon.” He looked over at Shorty. “I ain’t sure what would be the best thing for me to do, since I mighta brought some trouble down on us in town.”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ about that,” Shorty said. “The old man is gonna have more on his mind than rustlin’ a few cows. You think they might be payin’ us a visit here at the house?”

  “I don’t know,” Will answered. “If they’re as mean a bunch of snakes as you say, they might try something like that. And if they do, I’d like to be wherever they show up. They might be more apt to try to catch me off by myself, watchin’ the cattle, instead of takin’ their chances in an open gunfight. I’m hopin’ they don’t connect me to the J-Bar-J, so you boys won’t have to deal with ’em at all.”

  Puzzled by the conversation, Mutt glanced back and forth between Shorty and Will before interrupting. “Somebody tell me what you fellers are talkin’ about. Who’s liable to try what?” Slim told him about the incident in The Cattleman’s. “I swear . . .” Mutt drew out, trying to picture which brother was called Levi.

  “Levi was the youngest,” Cal said. “And the old man ain’t gonna be too happy when he finds out about it.”

  “Cal’s right,” Shorty said. “The old man ain’t gonna set still for this. He’s gonna be lookin’ to settle the score with you.” He turned back to Cal. “Does he know who Will is? Did anybody call Will by name?”

  “I don’t think so,” Cal said. “Nobody had time to do much talkin’ about anything when Will suddenly showed up.” He looked to Slim for confirmation.

  “That’s right,” Slim said, trying to recall the exact moment when Will had appeared at the saloon door, a moment when he thought he was facing sudden death at the hand of Buck Cheney. It was hard for him to remember anything but the sneering face taunting him. “Everything happened so fast, when Levi went for his gun and Will cut him down. They didn’t know who he was. And Buck didn’t ask his name. He was too busy worryin’ about his brother. I don’t think he had time to think about anybody’s name before he rode outta town.” Neither Cal nor Slim recalled everything about that fateful moment, most importantly the fact that Cal had blurted out Will’s name the moment he walked in.

  “Sounds to me like the other Cheney boy don’t know who shot his brother,” Shorty said. “But the only place they’d go to look for Will would be back in town. Somebody might tell ’em who he is and where to find him.”

  “There weren’t nobody in there that mighta claimed knowin’ Will but Moe Garvin and Sam Harvey,” Slim said. “And they ain’t likely to tell.”

  “You’re probably right,” Shorty said. “Moe wouldn’t set ’em onto Will if he could help it. Sam wouldn’t, either. And I don’t reckon there’s any reason for all of us to ride night herd again tonight. If it is the Cheneys that have been raidin’ our cattle, they’re gonna be busy havin’ a funeral tonight.”

  It was settled then—only one man would ride night herd that night, and the unlucky one who drew the low card was Mutt. The rest of the crew were looking forward to a welcome break from a routine that they had been following for most of a month, when they first started missing cows. Instead of cutting out a fresh horse to ride night herd, Will left his saddle in the barn and stowed his saddlebags and his war bag of personal items in the bunkhouse with Billy Wilson. Since only Billy and Mutt were sleeping in the bunkhouse now, Will had a difficult time finding one of the rolled-up straw ticks that wasn’t infested with bugs. He finally settled for his own bedroll on the wooden bunk. After another talk with Shorty regarding the general progress of the ranch, Will returned to the bunkhouse, where Billy was already snoring. He crawled into his bedroll and tried to get comfortable on the boards, but soon concluded that this might be a long night. Still, he preferred the hard planks to being eaten alive by what appeared to be a healthy colony of bugs in the old straw ticks. The fire in the little stove had long since died out when finally he succumbed to his need for sleep.

  * * *

  It was well past midnight when Luke Cheney rode his horse up beside the house and threw a flaming torch crashing through the window of the parlor. He then galloped back to join Buck and Rubin at the corner of the corral where they waited with rifles ready. Always the reckless one, Luke had volunteered to make the bold dash across the open barnyard to set what they hoped would be a blaze big enough to burn the ranch house down. Whether it succeeded in destroying the house or not, they figured they could count on it to bring the occupants runn
ing outside, where they would be easy targets. Although it was Will Tanner who had actually killed Levi, the three brothers decided that the rest of the J-Bar-J hands should share the blame. Having no knowledge of the recent hiring of Mutt Samson and Billy Wilson, they anticipated dealing with only three men in addition to Tanner. It seemed the opportunity to clean out the J-Bar-J and take possession of the ranch and cattle. There was no one to stop them from taking what they wanted, no law in the territory beyond that occasionally seen from the Texas Rangers, who were too far away to worry about.

  After having watched the place for a good while, it had appeared that any activity at the ranch was concentrated in the house. There was a building below the barn that looked to be a bunkhouse, but it appeared to be deserted. At least there was no smoke coming from the one stovepipe extending from the side of it. The three brothers had concluded that Will Tanner and the others would most likely be sleeping in the house, anyway, so that was where they concentrated their attack.

  “Good work,” Rubin said when Luke reined his horse to a sliding stop beside the corral and hurried over to join his brothers.

  “See anybody?” Luke asked anxiously as he fell in between them and brought his rifle to bear on the door of the house.

  “Not yet,” Rubin replied, “but there ain’t hardly been time.”

  “What if it went out?” Buck wondered, referring to the crude torch Luke had fashioned using a tree limb, rags, and gunpowder he emptied out of some cartridges.

  “Even if it did,” Rubin answered him, “the noise from that broke window oughta wake somebody up. Hell, I could hear it from here.” He was hoping for better results from the burning torch, however, for the idea of burning the house down had been his. And he felt sure his father would be proud of him for thinking of it. A few minutes later an excited exclamation from Buck brought him satisfaction.

  “Look yonder!” Buck blurted, and pointed toward the house when a glow of flame suddenly bloomed in the window.

  “Hot damn!” Luke exclaimed. “Won’t be long now!” All three got set to aim their rifles.

  * * *

  Inside the unsuspecting house, the only person to have heard the window breaking was Anna Sanchez, who was sleeping in the bedroom next to the parlor. Not sure if she had heard something or not when first awakened, she lay there for a few minutes, listening. Then smelling smoke, she got out of her bed and opened the door to discover flames consuming the sheer curtains Miss Jean Hightower had hung when her husband built the house. Screaming an alarm, she ran to the back of the house and banged on Shorty’s door, awakening him as well as Slim and Cal in the other bedroom. They ran to the parlor while she ran to the kitchen to get the bucket of water she had drawn to cook with in the morning in case the pump was frozen.

  By the time she returned to the parlor with the water, the fire in the curtains had caught one corner of the carpet on fire. “Throw that water on the curtain!” Shorty yelled to Anna while he and Cal rolled the carpet up over the part that was on fire and smothered the flames. He looked around the room, but there was no other sign of fire. It was then that he saw the broken glass and the remains of the torch lying under the window. He yelled to Slim to stop when he reached for the front doorknob. “Don’t open that door!” Shorty exclaimed, realizing that the fire had been deliberately started. “Somebody’s waitin’ for us to come out that door! Grab your rifles!” he called after them. “And bring mine with you.” He remained behind to try to get a look at what might be awaiting them outside.

  On his hands and knees, he crawled under the front window, then raised up just far enough on the other side to peer out into the yard. “Stay down till we find out what’s goin’ on,” he told Cal when he handed him his rifle. “Anna, you stay away from the windows.”

  “See anything?” Cal asked.

  “No,” Shorty answered. “Too damn dark.” He thought a moment before saying, “I don’t know if Will and Billy know we’ve got company, so I think I’ll make sure.” He levered a cartridge into the chamber of his rifle and fired a shot through the broken window. “That oughta wake ’em up, if they ain’t awake already.”

  * * *

  “What the hell?” Buck Cheney blurted when he heard the rifle shot. “Whadda they shootin’ at? They can’t see us.”

  They waited, watching the house for someone to come outside. When it became obvious that their plan to burn them out had failed, Luke said, “They put the fire out. They ain’t comin’ outta there.” Although coming to him after the fact, it occurred to Rubin that it might be a good thing that the house failed to burn down, since his father might have been planning to move in after they killed everybody. He didn’t choose to confess his revelation to his brothers.

  “Whaddaya reckon they shot at?” Buck still wanted to know.

  “Most likely just fired a shot to let us know they was ready,” Rubin answered him. “Damn it,” he cursed, disappointed that his ploy had failed to provide the easy targets he had envisioned. But he was also relieved when he thought about the hell he might have caught from his father for the stupid plan to burn the house down. “Ain’t nothin’ left to do but make it hot for ’em, and maybe we’ll get lucky and hit one of ’em.” He pulled his rifle up to his shoulder and aimed at the front window. “Let’s give ’em a dose of lead,” he said.

  For the next five minutes, they set off a steady hail of .44 slugs, peppering the front of the house, splitting out chunks of wood and shattering the windows, but to no effect beyond that. The besieged crew of the J-Bar-J was not only secure in the sturdy ranch house Jim Hightower had built, they were now returning fire from a couple of the broken windows. At this point, it appeared to be a standoff as the Cheneys continued to use up their ammunition. “This ain’t no good,” Luke finally announced. “I’m gonna be outta cartridges pretty soon if we keep this up. We gotta figure a way to get ’em to come outta the house.”

  “What if we go back to the barn and run their horses off?” Buck suggested. “They might have to come out to try to stop us.”

  “Good idea,” Rubin said. “You and Luke go back and open the stalls and the corral and run the stock out. I’ll stay here and wait for ’em to come outta the house.”

  The two younger brothers moved back from their positions at the corner of the corral. Hunkered over to keep a low profile, they ran along the back rails of the corral to the back door of the barn. Inside the darkened interior of the barn, they were met with a sudden eruption of gunfire that dropped both men to the ground, dead. “Careful,” Will cautioned, and both he and Billy dropped to one knee, watching the barn door to see if anyone followed the two lying on the floor. When they had been awakened a few minutes before by the single shot fired by Shorty, Will guessed they might be under attack. A few minutes later, they heard the barrage of gunfire on the house, so he and Billy slipped out a back window of the bunkhouse. It didn’t take long to determine where the snipers were positioned, and they moved quickly toward the barn to get behind them.

  Not sure how many were in the attacking party, they waited in the barn for a few moments longer, listening to see if the shots upon the house continued. When they did not, Will figured the two just shot were the only shooters, or there was possibly one more and he was running. Chambering another round in his Winchester, he moved cautiously through the barn door toward the corral, arriving at the back corner too late to stop the lone figure galloping away in the dark. He threw one shot after him, knowing it was wasted. “There were three of ’em,” he said to Billy. “Go light a lantern and we’ll take a look at those two in the barn.” Billy went at once to get a lantern, and Will called out to the men in the house. “Come on out, Shorty! It’s all over. Anybody hit?” In a few moments, everyone but Anna was gathered around the two bodies in the barn.

  Will had naturally assumed from the first that their attackers were Cheneys, and a moment later his suspicions were confirmed. In the light of the lantern, he recognized Buck as the instigator of the trouble in The
Cattleman’s that took the life of one of the Cheney brothers. “I know who the ugly one is,” he said. “He was with the fellow I shot in the saloon.” Cal informed him that the other body was Luke, leaving only one of Ike Cheney’s sons alive.

  “That would be Rubin that rode off. And there’s gonna be hell to pay when he gets back and tells his pa that two more of his sons have been killed,” Shorty predicted. “It’s hard to say what he’ll do about it, but I guarantee you he ain’t gonna let it pass without doin’ something.” He looked at Will and shook his head, concerned. “So I’m tellin’ everybody to keep your eyes open, especially those in the back of your head.”

  “I think you’re right, Shorty,” Will said. “And I reckon I’m the cause of this trouble, so I think it’s up to me to take care of it.”

  “I reckon you could say I’m the cause of it,” Slim said. “You just showed up in time to save my bacon.”

  “That’s right, Will” Cal said. “We’da been a whole lot better off if you had just let Buck Cheney shoot ol’ Slim.” He could not resist making a joke, even in circumstances so dire. No one laughed.

  “I’m the one they want,” Will continued. “And so I think it’s best if I make it easier for them to find me. If I don’t, none of us will be safe away from the ranch for fear of gettin’ shot in the back.”

  “Whaddaya thinkin’ about doin’?” Shorty asked.

  “Well, I reckon I’ll set up some bait to draw ’em out, and away from the J-Bar-J,” Will said. “We’ll load these two up and I’ll take ’em into town. I’ll have Sam Harvey nail a couple of coffins together and we’ll set ’em up in front of The Cattleman’s, stick a sign on ’em sayin’ this is what happens to rustlers in Sulphur Springs.” He thought about that for a moment, then added, “I’ll sign it, ‘Will Tanner, Sheriff.’”

  Shorty didn’t say anything for a second or two, then commented, “Yeah, I reckon that’d do it, all right, or you could just stick that Winchester up under your chin and pull the trigger.”