by R. B. Conroy
The sound of men’s voices could be heard as Jon and Cliff approached the outskirts of the camps near Ned Sloan’s place. Jon saw one of the men waving his arms and gesturing angrily as he barked at the others.
“If they will kill Curly, they will kill any of us!” he shouted.
“Yeah. They mean business—that’s for sure,” came the reply.
Just outside Ned’s camp, Cliff’s horse reared and whinnied as a snake slithered across the trail in front of her. The miners scrambled for their guns.
“Back off, boys,” Ned admonished as the glow from the fire revealed the faces of Jon and Cliff. “It’s Stone and Stoudenmire.” The men drew down.
“Sorry, fellas. We got spooked back there,” Jon said.
“No need for apologies, Jon. Come on in,” Ned replied.
Jon and Cliff dismounted and stepped into the camp.
“Let me introduce you to these hombres who are thinking about joining the fight,” Ned said.
Thinking about it? Jon was hoping that Ned had already convinced the other men to join in.
“This here ornery critter is Jack Malone. He’s the former deputy sheriff from Ellsworth, Kansas, I told you about. Jack and his wife Nell came out here last year to work their claim. Since then, they have been doing quite well. Lately, they’ve been getting a lot of heat from Stanton and his boys.”
“Howdy, Jack. I spent some time in Ellsworth. Rough town. I’m sure you’re no stranger to trouble. Nice meetin’ ya,” Jon said as the two shook.
“This here fellow is Red Elliot. He and I were both officers under Jackson. Red got three commendations for bravery and was a fine officer.”
“Pleased to meet ya. Maybe you should be runnin’ this thing, Red,” Jon laughed as he tipped his hat to the former officer.
“Howdy, Jon.” Red chuckled nervously at the compliment.
“Can I get anyone a cup of coffee?” Ned lifted the pot off of the fire.
“Thought you’d never ask,” Jon answered.
“How about you, Cliff?”
Cliff nodded.
“Jon, I’m sure that Cliff has told you that old man Harmon went missing last night.”
“Yeah, he did, Ned. It’s a shame. Heard any more about him?”
“Yes, unfortunately we have. One of the miners found his body today. It was partially buried under a pile of rocks about two hundred yards from his camp. It looks like when Curly arrived at his campsite this morning, someone was waiting on him. Poor bastard never had a chance. They shot him in the back of the head. Then they dragged his body to some nearby brush, dug a shallow grave and threw him in. They tossed rocks and dirt on the body and swept the tracks away. At first we couldn’t find the body, but later on, a miner was riding by his camp and spotted some spots of blood leading toward the bushes. He dug into the brush and found Curly’s body,” Ned said sadly. “The miners have been in an uproar ever since. They’re confused and frightened.”
“Yep…that’s just what Stanton and his boys want,” Jon explained. “They want to scare the hell out of everyone so we’ll turn tail and run. Nothin’ would make them happier. But we can’t run, because if we do, this town will be lost forever. Stanton will control this whole territory, and a man and his family won’t be safe anywhere. It’s time to ban together and beat these cowards. They shot old Curly in the back of the head—that shows how far they will go to get their way.” Jon challenged the other men into action.
The men seemed moved by Jon’s speech, but they had families to think about. Jack was married, and Red had two little boys at home. The two men were quiet as they pondered the situation.
Jon waited patiently; these were tough men, used to facing death and violence. He was pretty sure that they’d come around.
“Well, what is it, boys? Are we going to stick together and take these cowards out, or are we gonna have more good men shot in the back of the head?”
“You’re right, Jon. Everything you said is right,” Red said. “I’ve seen these kind before. They won’t let up. I’m willing to fight—count me in.”
All eyes turned to Malone. “I’m in,” he said. “I never had any doubts. Curly was a friend of mine. What’s next?”
“Glad to have ya on board, men,” Jon said quickly. “Now here’s the plan. Ned, I want you to call for a meeting of all of the miners. When you get ‘em all together, ask for several volunteers to act as lookouts. Then post these sentries at every entryway to the camp. If the sentries see any of Stanton’s boys coming into the camp area, they need to tell you right away. Then all you boys need to ride out together and trail them at a safe distance, but close enough so they can see you. I want them to see you. This is important for two reasons. It will make them real nervous to know that we’re watching them. Also, they won’t be shooting anybody in the head with the likes of you four behind them. I guarantee ya that.”
“I’ll get on it right away,” Ned said.
Jon made eye contact with each man. “If they make a false move,” he said gravely, “let ’em have it.”
The men nodded.
Jon stood up to leave. “I have a date with Dave Barton. I best be goin’.”
“Barton, huh? He’s a bad apple,” Malone said. “I had a run in with him in Ellsworth.”
“Yeah, he’s a real fine fella,” Jon said quietly.
“I’ll ride with ya, Jon.” Cliff started to get up.
“No, Cliff. You’re to help Ned for the time being. I can take care of Barton.”
Cliff frowned and dropped back down next to the fire.
“Be careful with that hombre!” Ned shouted as Jon jumped on Babe, reined around and headed for town.
As he rode along, thoughts of Libby raced through Jon’s mind. He could see her lovely face and feel her gentle touch as he moved toward yet another violent showdown. His Colts bounced at his side, the same Colts he promised her he would put away when he left Arizona. “Forgive me, darling,” he whispered. “But these men need killin’.”
As he approached the edge of town, Jon felt uneasy. He had a sense that something was very wrong. He reined up and pulled off to the side of the trail. He looked around and found a much less traveled route around and behind the buildings that fronted Main Street. He nudged Babe forward along the path, trying to keep out of the sight of people passing by on the road. Soon, the back of Hank’s livery stable was in sight. He rode in carefully, dismounted, tied Babe to an abandoned shed and approached the back door of the stable.
“What the—!” a startled Hank exclaimed as he came out back to grab a bale of hay. Jon quickly put his finger to his lips. Hank recognized Jon. He motioned to a little room at the rear of the stable near the back entryway. As he and Jon ducked into the room, Hank grabbed a kerosene lamp off of a hook and lit it. He pushed the door shut, and the two men began to talk.
“Have you noticed anything unusual going on in town today?” Jon carefully grilled the old timer.
“Oh yes. Barton rode in a while ago and stopped at the Dead End. The town’s real nervous. They think there’s going to be a showdown between Barton and you for killing Injun Joe.”
“Did ya see anything else?”
“I don’t have the best angle to see the entire town here, but I can see the Dead End.”
“What’d ya see?”
“Barton was talkin’ to Lou Stanton out by the front door, and Lou was pointin’ toward the edge of town to where George lives. Barton mounted up and headed toward Stanton’s. Lou mounted up and rode the other way. He told me earlier he was leaving to spend some time with his lady friend down in Escondido. That’s the last thing I saw. It was just a couple of minutes ago.”
“I’m going to give Barton a little surprise party when he comes back to the Dead End,” Jon said coolly. Thanks for the tip, Hank.” Jon hurried out the back and untied Babe. He quickly walked past the remaining buildings to the end of town, brushed himself off, mounted up and rode slowly into town. The busy townsfolk hurried to get out of th
e way when they saw Jon coming. He stopped across the street from the Dead End and tied down. After looking around, he walked slowly across the dusty street to the saloon. Pausing briefly, he scanned the street one more time, then lowered his hat and pushed through the batwing doors. Once inside, he backed quickly to the left, pushing the swinging door up against the wall. Expecting a trap, he cased the room. His instincts told him a shooter was in the saloon. The nervous patrons got stone quiet—another tip off.
Jake the bartender saw Jon come in. Jon looked over at Jake; Jake raised his eyes up toward the landing. As Jon’s eyes shot upward, he saw a dark figure moving in the shadows on the landing above the gambling tables.
Like a flash, he pulled both guns and cocked the hammers. Patrons screamed, chairs rattled, drinks spilled as the gamblers quickly ducked out of the way. The lantern light reflected off of his shiny six guns as he pointed them toward the landing.
“Come out here where I can see you, mister. Make it nice and easy, or I’ll start shootin’,” Jon shouted at the shadowy figure.
The figure paused on the landing. The crowd hunkered down even more, expecting a violent exchange to start at any second. Suddenly the man spoke up. “Don’t shoot!” he pleaded. “I’m comin’ out!”
The culprit moved out of the shadows, hands up. Jon began barking orders at the frightened gunman.
“Now take your left hand and very carefully unbuckle that gun belt and let it drop on the floor. If you make one false move, you’ll be history!”
Jon motioned for a man at the bottom of the stairs to go up and retrieve the guns. The man hurried up the stairs. He looked nervously up at the shaken gunman as he cautiously reached for the fallen guns. He grabbed them and quickly scampered back down the stairs.
“Now, move over to those stairs, and come on down nice and slow.” Jon dropped one gun in the holster and moved over to the bar. “When ya get down, come over here where I can get a good look at ya!”
The man moved nervously down the oak stairs. Eyes wide and sweating profusely, he reached the bottom of the stairs and walked to where Jon was standing. Jon wrapped his fingers around the man’s collar, spun him around and slammed him up against the bar. Jon could feel the terrified man’s heart pounding as he tightened the grip.
“Now, damn you! Tell me what you were doin’ up there in those shadows with a gun belt on—and this better be good!”
“I’m just a hired hand, mister, doin’ my job, that’s all.”
“Start talkin’!” Jon tightened the grip and shoved him higher on the bar. The frightened man was gasping for breath as he squeezed even tighter.
The red-faced man strained to get the words out. “Uh…uh…o…okay, okay, I was waitin’ on ya, all right. I…I was…uh, supposed to shoot you if Barton didn’t get the job done.”
“Who hired ya?”
The man hesitated, afraid to answer. Jon pushed the cold barrel of his six gun against his neck.
“Stanton,” the man said almost inaudibly.
“That’s what I thought. It’s that son-of-a-bitch Stanton,” Jon barked as he let the man slide slowly down the bar. He loosened the grip on his neck, stared at him for a minute, yanked him around and shoved him toward the door. He pulled his gold watch out of his vest pocket and quickly checked the time. “Go find Barton and tell him I’ll meet him in an hour, at six o’clock. Out on the street,” Jon shouted, as the surprised man stumbled out the door. Jon stared at the swinging doors for a second and turned around. “Gimme a shot Jake.”
Jake set a shot glass on the bar as he spoke to the crowd. “It’s okay, everybody. The trouble is over. Let’s get back to whatever you were doing.” He motioned for the piano player to start playing again. Sounds of the old favorite “Tumbling Tumbleweeds” soon filled the room.
Jon watched the whiskey flow in the glass. “Thanks for the tip, Jake.”
“No problem. I don’t like Stanton and his gang any more than you do, Jon.”
Jon leaned back as he downed the shot. He set the empty glass on the bar and reached in his pocket.
“No,” said Jake. “This one’s on me.”
Jon smiled at the friendly barkeep. “See ya at six. If you need me for anything, I’ll be down at Callahan’s. Keep it under your hat,” Jon said quietly.
Jake nodded as Jon turned and left the saloon.
- - - - -
Things were frantic down at Stanton’s mansion. The sentry had just arrived with Jon’s message. Stanton had gathered his boys together for a quick meeting; he was pacing in front of his huge stone fireplace smacking a buggy whip on the palm of his hand.
“What the hell went wrong?” George shouted. “I thought you had a plan, Barton, and now this!”
Barton’s eyes shot toward Stanton. “We had a plan, damn it! One of the boys saw Stoudenmire out at the camps just before I left. I thought we had plenty of time, but he got to town sooner than I expected. It doesn’t make any difference, anyhow—he’s a dead man either way!”
“Calm down, Dave,” Stanton replied, anxious to calm his vicious gun.
“I wouldn’t take this Stoudenmire too lightly.” Buck Johnson, Stanton’s right hand man, jumped into the conversation.
“Just what do you know about him, Buck?” Stanton asked.
Buck replied, “He’s a drifter, gambler and good with a gun. One of the boys out at the mines is from Dodge City. He knew Stoudenmire when he was a younger man, just startin’ out. Says he has a real bad temper when someone messes with his friends. He’s a dead shot and not afraid of anything.”
“Uhmm! And isn’t Cliff Stone his cousin or something?” George’s brow furrowed.
“They grew up together back in Indiana. They go way back.”
“You’re one of the best, Dave, but this man’s already killed Injun Joe, and now he wants to try and kill you. I think we should hold off, not fall into his trap.”
“Hell, I’m not afraid—”
Stanton interrupted. “I know you’re not afraid of him, but I can’t chance getting you killed right now. We’ll take care of this Stoudenmire when the time is right.” Stanton scribbled a note on a piece of paper and ordered one of the men to deliver it to Jake at the Dead End.
Barton frowned and spit on the floor. “You better know what you’re doin’, Stanton, ’cause you’re makin’ me look real bad. I’ll be out back shootin’ if anyone needs me.” He stormed angrily out of the house to the courtyard.
A disgruntled Stanton watched the gunman leave. “Where in the hell is Sheriff Cook when we need him?” he barked, trying to quickly change the subject. “Go find him and tell him to figure out a way to run this Stoudenmire fella out of town. That’ll save a hell of a lot of trouble.”
“Sure enough, boss,” Buck said as he hurried out the door.
Suddenly, the shy Pedro stepped forward and grabbed Stanton’s arm. “Got a minute, boss?”
“Why yes, uh...yes, Pedro. What is it?”
“It’s about yesterday when I went to deliver the flowers to Miss Callahan. I think we should talk in private, in your office.”
“Certainly, Pedro. Come right in.” Stanton’s head nodded toward his office. He turned to the others. “Meeting’s over, boys. Stick close in case something comes up.” The boys dispersed as he and Pedro stepped into the den.
Chapter 12
Jon sat on the corner of his featherbed at Callahan’s loading his six gun as someone began pounding on the door. He snapped the cylinder shut and moved over next to the door.
“Who is it?”
“Sheriff Cook. Open up, Jon. I need to talk to you right away.”
“Are you alone?” Jon demanded.
“Yes. Open up.”
“All right, Cook, but listen to what I’m tellin’ you. I am going to open the door, and I want you to show me your hands first and then come in very slowly. Any quick moves, and I’ll blow your damn head off. You understand?”
“Calm down,” Cook replied as he reached for the handl
e.
“Don’t get smart, Cook. Just do what I say!” Jon snarled as he leaned back against the wall.
The sheriff came through the doorway hands first. Jon looked through the crack in the door and out to the hallway. There was no one else out in the hall.
“Come on in,” he ordered.
The cautious sheriff came slowly in the room nervously looking around for Jon. Jon poked him in the side with his gun. “Move over a little,” he ordered as he quickly closed and locked the door. The sheriff took a couple of steps toward the center of the room.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Sheriff? With all the trouble that’s brewin’ around here, I thought maybe you found a reason to leave town or somethin’,” Jon said sarcastically.
Cook scowled. “You’ve already killed one man, Stoudenmire. We don’t need any more killins’ around here. The folks are gettin’ nervous.”
“No more killins’, huh? Why don’t you tell that to that sidewinder that was waiting upstairs at the Dead End a little while ago?” Jon said angrily. “I guess it’s only murder around here when people try to defend themselves. Anything involving George Stanton never seems to be outside of the law around your little hellhole.”
Cook glared at Jon. “You’re trouble, Stoudenmire,” he growled. “You shot a man in cold blood at the Dead End Saloon. People are nervous. Seems like our town’s been turned upside down ever since you arrived. We don’t need your kind in El Cabrera, Jon. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, partner.”
“Go right ahead, Sheriff. I shot Injun Joe in self defense, and everyone knows it.”
“Just watch your step,” Cook barked.
Jon grinned at the pompous sheriff as he unlocked the door and ushered him out of the room. Jon knew that deep down the sheriff realized that he was in over his head with this situation. This visit was just to impress Stanton. When push came to shove, Cook would stay out of the way.
Jon splashed water on his face from the white porcelain pan next to his bed and patted dry. Now that Cook knew where he was, he was afraid he might get a surprise visit from Stanton’s boys; he wanted to be out of the room.