Texas Trails 1

by Patrick E. Andrews

  “I reckon you’re right about that,” Sims said casually. “We only got three men left out to the hideout. And not only we ain’t gonna get more, but they’ll be leaving if Pierson ain’t took out of the picture. Which he might not be.”

  “Why the hell not?” Witherspoon demanded to know.

  “If we try to hang him, them cowboys will break him free,” the sheriff said. “So there ain’t no way that he’s gonna be dancing at the end of a rope here in Duncan.”

  “Hell! He’s in a cell, isn’t he?” Witherspoon asked, exasperated. “Wouldn’t it be like shooting fish in a barrel for somebody to get him there?”

  “Townfolks is too close,” Sims said calmly. “And it’s broad daylight.”

  “Then why didn’t you do something last night or the night before?” Witherspoon demanded to know.

  “Wasn’t necessary,” Sims said. “I know this judge.”

  Witherspoon said nothing for a moment as he stared at the lawman. He was most interested in the direction the conversation seemed to be taking. And he knew it was going to take some effort on his part to get all the information possible out of Sims. “How well do you know him?” he asked.

  Sims shrugged. “I’ve knowed him for a long, long time.”

  Witherspoon felt a surge of hope. “Can he be—well, persuaded—to see things our way?”

  “You mean can we buy him? Sure,” Sims said. “But it’ll cost at least a thousand.”

  “What about the prosecutor?”

  “Five hundred,” Sims said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s well enough,” Witherspoon said. “Now we must worry about the jury.”

  “Won’t be no jury,” Sims said. “The judge will declare there ain’t enough of folks around that can be fair and square. He’ll say he’ll make the decision. He’ll sentence Pierson to be hung from a rope slung across the cottonwood tree at the end of town. Arid that’ll be before this day’s sunset.”

  Witherspoon shook his head. Sims’s conversation was confusing him. “Wait a minute. Even if we get a conviction, you said it wouldn’t do any good.”

  “It will if I have my way,” Sims said.

  “How?”

  “Leave it to me,” the sheriff assured him. “All we need is to have Pierson sentenced to be hung.”

  “Damn it, Sims!” Witherspoon said exasperated. “You’ve told me that would be useless.”

  “It won’t get him hung, but it’ll keep him in jail a tad longer,” Sims said. He smiled sardonically. “That’s all I need. Providing you put up that money I mentioned.”

  Witherspoon began to understand that Sims had a plan. “In that case I would like to speak to the judge and prosecutor before the trial.”

  “I’ll bring ’em here directly when they arrive,” Sims said. “And don’t worry about nothing. When the dust all settles and Pierson is gone, we’ll get some more hired guns and end that cattle drive to Kansas quick enough.”

  “If all this works out, I’ll see you get some extra compensation,” Witherspoon said. “Perhaps we should have put you in charge of this project rather than Ed MacWilliams.”

  “Maybe you should have, Mr Witherspoon,” Sims said. “I’ll see you soon.” He turned and opened the door, wasting no time in leaving the boardinghouse and getting back to his office.

  Witherspoon felt a lot better. The New Yorker had a lot of faith in Sheriff Dan Sims. The man was quiet and observant—a sure sign of shrewdness and determination.

  Witherspoon lit one of his cigars and poured some brandy from the bottle he kept in his suitcase. It was an expensive brand he’d brought with him from New York. He even dipped the tip of the cigar in the drink as he enjoyed the small luxury afforded by the smokes and liquor.

  After finishing the drink, he stayed in his room only long enough to smoke the cigar to a stub. He flipped the remnants of the tobacco out the window, and went downstairs for a leisurely lunch in the kitchen. He paid Mrs Malone extra to feed him alone. Although the food in the boardinghouse was far from being gourmet, the woman was a skilled enough cook to make it tolerable to his palate.

  After the meal he returned to his room for a brief nap. He’d just gotten to sleep when there was a knock on his door. “Yes?” he called out.

  “It’s me,” Sims said. “I got Judge Carson and Mr Hennesey with me.”

  Witherspoon almost leaped off the bed. He went to the door and jerked it open. “Come in, please, gentlemen! So good to see you!”

  The judge was a short, pudgy man, yet there was no softness about him. His face, though round and almost cherubic, had a quality of cruelty and evil much like that of a half-grown wolf cub. It was easy to see he was no man to be taken lightly if he became angry with someone. His voice was deep and almost bubbly. “We don’t have much time. The sheriff tells me that we got a bad hombre to be rid of here.”

  “Indeed, sir!” Witherspoon said. “My name is Witherspoon.”

  “Howdy,” the judge said.

  Next Witherspoon offered his hand to the prosecutor. “I’m Witherspoon.”

  “Hennesey,” the prosecutor said. He was the judge’s physical opposite. Tall and gaunt, he had a long face sporting a drooping mustache.

  Witherspoon glanced over at Sims. “Since the sheriff is a mutual acquaintance of us all, perhaps it would be best to let him lead this conversation through its logical sequences.”

  “Pierson is got to be sentenced to be hung,” Sims said bluntly. “It’s worth a thousand to you, Judge Carson. And five hundred for Hennesey.”

  Carson glanced at Hennesey. “He’ll get a death sentence.”

  Hennesey nodded.

  Witherspoon reached in his coat pocket and withdrew an oil-paper packet. He handed it to the judge. “Fifteen hundred dollars,” he announced.

  “Yankee dollars, I presume,” Carson said taking the package.

  “That’s the only kind we have in New York State, Your Honor,” Witherspoon replied with a slight smile.

  Carson turned to the sheriff. “We’re wasting time, Dan. Where’s the trial to be held?”

  “The best place is the Deep River Saloon,” Sims answered.

  “The Deep River?” Hennesey said with a dry laugh. “There ain’t nothing like even a shallow creek in these parts.”

  “It’s a sentimental name for Big Ed MacWilliams,” Witherspoon explained. “When he and I were in business in San Angelo he used to speak wistfully of his glory days on the Mississippi.”

  Carson looked at Witherspoon. “You wouldn’t mind telling me why you’re so all-fired anxious to hang this Pierson feller, would you?”

  “I would,” Witherspoon answered.

  Carson shrugged and patted the. oil-paper packet now in his own coat pocket. “I reckon it makes no never-mind.”

  Sims opened the door to let the judge and prosecutor leave. He glanced at Witherspoon. “Be down in the saloon in, about a half hour.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Witherspoon replied. He nodded a farewell to his visitors, then went back to the window to stare out over the Diablos. Once more his mind turned to the value of the sprawling land that lay out before him.

  After treating himself to some more brandy and another cigar, he got his hat and left his room, going downstairs. Witherspoon left the boardinghouse and strolled slowly through Duncan to the saloon.

  There was plenty of activity around the frame building. Various vehicles with their dumbly patient horses were parked helter-skelter around the main street. The Diablos ranchers and their families lounged on the porch of the Deep River as Witherspoon eased his way through the throng. As a stranger, he was given unabashed stares of open curiosity. He ignored what he considered ill-manner rubes as he went inside. He saw Big Ed MacWilliams, who indicated a chair he was saving for him.

  Big Ed grinned. “Sims says it’s in the bag.”

  “Yeah,” Witherspoon said. “Just keep your voice down.”

  “You’re a nervous nellie, ain’t you, Cal?”
>
  “Damned right! What about those saloon whores of yours?” Witherspoon asked. “They seem to be everywhere—listening and looking. They might queer this whole thing.”

  “Don’t worry,” Big Ed assured him. “They been sent away for a while. I got ’em entertaining the boys out at the hideout.”

  “I’m sure the boys’ll appreciate that after all the weeks of staying out on the Diablos,” Witherspoon said. He looked around. “There’s the prisoner over there.”

  “That’s him all right,” Big Ed said. “And I ain’t ever seen him looking better.”

  Rawley Pierson, handcuffed and wearing leg irons, was seated at a chair next to the bar. Near him so they could speak, Nancy Hawkins and Chaw Stevens were doing their best to be cheerful and encouraging.

  “Don’t you worry none,” Chaw told his friend. “This’ll be cleaned up in a jiffy. You’ll walk through that door a free man ready to make the drive up to Kansas.”

  Rawley, awkward in the fetters, affected a grin. “I got to tell you something. Being on this side o’ the room in a trial is a lot more worrisome than when I was a sheriff.”

  Nancy smiled. “Never mind, darling. Things will turn out fine just like Chaw says they will.”

  “Order in the court!” Sheriff Sims shouted out, interrupting the buzz of conversation in the saloon. “This here court is called to order in the name o’ the law of the State o’ Texas! The honorable Judge P.J. Carson is presiding.”

  Carson, standing behind the bar, rapped on it with his gavel. “Since there is hard feelings running through town about this case, I’m gonna hereby rule that a trial by jury is waived. It wouldn’t be possible to find twelve unprejudiced men. I’ll do the deciding.”

  Rawley spoke up. “I object. I want to have—”

  “Objection overruled!” Carson said. He looked over at the prosecutor. “Call your first witness.”

  “I want Edward MacWilliams to take the stand,” Hennesey said.

  Big Ed left his chair and walked up to a position beside the bar. He raised his hand at Sims’s request and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  “Was you here on the night that a man knowed as Shorty Clemens and another knowed as Curly Brandon was killed?” Hennesey asked.

  “You bet,” Big Ed said.

  “Tell us about it.”

  “I was out at the porch and heard some commotion. I walked in the bar and seen Rawley Pierson there accusing Shorty and Curly of cheating Tim Hawkins at cards,” Big Ed said. “They said they hadn’t done nothing wrong and then Pierson shot ’em down in cold blood.”

  “They drawed on me!” Rawley yelled out.

  “Order in the court!” Carson shouted. “I ain’t putting up with any disturbance, Pierson. You’ll have your say.”

  Rawley quieted down, but his face was still red with anger.

  “Did they have their pistols drawed?” Hennesey asked.

  “Their irons was in their holsters,” Big Ed answered in an outraged tone of voice. “They was murdered in cold blood.”

  “Thanks for the testimony, Mr MacWilliams,” Hennesey said as he dismissed Big Ed. Then he announced, “The next witness is Tim Hawkins.”

  Chaw leaned forward and whispered in Rawley’s ear. “I don’t know why the prosecutor is calling him. He’ll back up your story.”

  “Yeah,” Rawley agreed. “Since them yahoos was cheating in that game.”

  Tim was sworn in, then he turned and faced Hennesey. When asked to tell what happened at the card game in question, he said, “I was playing cards with some fellers here, and all of a sudden Rawley Pierson walked up to the table and said that Shorty Clemens and Curly Brandon was cheating me. They got mad and yelled at him, then he shot ’em.”

  “Did they draw on him, Mr Hawkins?”

  “No, sir,” Tim answered.

  “Was they cheating you at the game?” Hennesey asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “On account o’ I was winning, sir,” Tim answered.

  Hennesey shrugged. “I can’t see how you could have been cheated if you was money ahead.”

  “Me either,” Tim answered.

  “That’s all,” Hennesey said. He turned to the judge. “The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

  “Thanks, Mr Hennesey,” the judge said.

  “I’d like to question Tim Hawkins!” Rawley exclaimed.

  “I rule against it,” Carson said. “But you got a right to testify on your own behalf.” He glared at Rawley. “Well? What do you have to say?”

  Rawley struggled to his feet. “The first thing I got to say is that this trial ain’t being run right,” Rawley argued.

  “Now how do you know that?” Carson asked.

  “I was a sheriff before and seen plenty o’ trials,” Rawley said.

  “Are you a lawyer?”

  “Hell, no!” Rawley answered.

  “Then don’t tell me how to run my court,” Carson admonished him.

  Rawley knew he was being railroaded. “That bunch was cheating Tim Hawkins. When I was there, he was losing heavy.”

  “Got any witnesses?” Carson asked.

  “Well,” Rawley said uncertainly. He looked around. “There was Rosalie Kinnon and Hannah O’Dell. If I could get them, they’d back me up.”

  “Who are they?” Carson asked.

  “They work here,” Rawley said.

  “They’re dance-hall gals, Your Honor,” Sims interjected.

  “You ain’t calling in no lying damned whores in my courtroom!” Carson exclaimed. “Anything else to say?”

  “Yeah! I killed them fellers after they drawed on me and they was cheating Tim Hawkins,” Rawley said in a rage.

  Carson frowned. “You already said that. Don’t repeat yourself.”

  “I don’t know why Tim Hawkins said I killed them two in cold blood,” Rawley said. “But he’s lying!”

  Carson banged his gavel. “The defense rests.” He took a deep breath. “Two witnesses said Rawley Pierson shot down Shorty Clemens and Curly Brandon in cold blood. One of the witnesses, who was supposed to be getting cheated at cards, says he was coming out winners. That only leaves one verdict. Guilty! And I sentence you, Rawley Pierson, to be took from here day after tomorrow and be hung by the neck till you’re dead. Court adjourned!”

  Rawley got to his feet in a fury, but the restraints hampered his movements. The ranchers in the saloon kept calm, but their angry grumbling was apparent as Sims grabbed Rawley’s arm to take him back to the jail.

  Chaw, although his face was drawn and pale with anger, controlled himself. He took Nancy’s arm and led the weeping girl front the barroom.

  Twenty

  Big Ed MacWilliams stepped from the stirrups and planted both feet on the ground. Although he appeared determined, a strong sense of uncertainty dominated the large man. For a few moments, he stared up at the Circle H Bar ranch house knowing that Nancy Hawkins was inside. He felt a strange combination of happiness and dread as he thought of the young woman.

  Finally, after taking a deep breath to steady himself, Big Ed MacWilliams looped the reins around the hitching rack and walked up on the porch. He knocked on the door. “Miss Nancy?” he called out, peering inside the house’s parlor. “Miss Nancy?”

  Nancy Hawkins appeared a few moments later. She didn’t say anything for a few moments, only glaring at the unwelcome visitor. Finally the young woman said, “I cannot believe you’ve come here, Mr MacWilliams. Particularly after all the unhappiness that’s come to us in your saloon.”

  “I’m right sorry you feel that way,” Big Ed said. “And I ain’t surprised about how you think about me. But I wish you would hear me out.”

  “There is nothing for you to say to me,” Nancy said calmly and coolly.

  “I beg your pardon,” Big Ed said. He took off his hat and held it in his hands to give an impression of humility. “I feel I have done no wrong toward you nor yo
ur’n, Miss Nancy. Most folks would say I don’t warrant such a cold treatment as you’re showing me now.”

  “You have condemned the man I intend to marry to the gallows,” Nancy said.

  “Oh, no! I only told what I seen, as God is my witness,” Big Ed said. He rolled his eyes heavenward. “I only wanted to see justice done. And it’s writ in the Good Book that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

  “How dare you speak of the Holy Bible, sir! “ Nancy exclaimed.

  Big Ed looked back into her face. “Anyhow, it was the judge that sentenced him to suffer the indignity of a necktie party, not me. And he done what he done legal under the laws of the great State o’ Texas.”

  “Why, oh, why didn’t you tell the truth!” Nancy exclaimed. She began to feel she could make Big Ed change his testimony.

  “Miss Nancy, I swear to you that Rawley Pierson went into the saloon and drawed on poor ol’ Shorty and Curly,” Big Ed said. “He shot ’em down in cold blood after accusing ’em of cheating your brother Tim at cards. Them two boys didn’t have a chance.”

  “I believe they were cheating Tim,” Nancy said.

  “But he was winning,” Big Ed said. “Why, Tim is a close friend o’ mine, and that’s God’s truth. Anyhow, when a feller gets cheated, he loses, Miss Nancy. And Tim said hisself that he was raking in the pots. So I reckon that ought to wrap up that argument right proper.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to talk with Tim about the situation,” Nancy said. “He’s been avoiding me.”

  “He’s prob’ly as heart broke for you as I am,” Big Ed said. He touched his breast in what he hoped was a dramatic gesture. “And I purely feel your pain, Miss Nancy.”

  “Then go to that judge and tell him what really happened,” Nancy insisted. “When Rawley Pierson went to town that night, he did it as a favor to me. There was never any talk of shooting anybody. And he’s most certainly not that sort. Rawley has always been a gentleman.”

  “Oh, Miss Nancy,” Big Ed said. “You yourself know that he’s a gunman and a former sheriff. Most lawmen is pistoleros at heart. That’s why they get into that line o’ work. It was only natural for him to walk up to that game and start a gunfight. I bet he done it just ’cause he. thought you’d approve of it.”