The Fourth Western Novel

by H. H. Knibbs

  “Perhaps it would be best,” she murmured, and took Bailey’s arm. “I’ll be waiting for you at the Dodge House, Silent,” she told Sutton.

  Ridges of muscle knotted Sutton’s hard mouth. He took his saddlebags, and slow anger smoldered in his eyes as he walked to the Occidental Hotel and registered in the old ledger.

  What was Molly Jo doing in Dodge City? Colonel Jim Benton owned the J Bar B down near Uvalde in Texas; his range adjoined that of the C Bar C owned by Crail Creedon. Creedon had been more than an uncle to Sutton, whom he’d raised like an only son. And Dodge City was no place for a girl like the colonel’s daughter.

  The clerk sorted out a key, coughed slightly, and led the way to a room. He opened a window, and closed the door behind him as he left. Sutton was washing in a granite basin when a knock sounded.

  “It’s Buffalo McGrew, Silent. I’m coming in and bringing some friends of mine.”

  Sutton showed no surprise when McGrew introduced his companions.

  “Meet the mayor, and Judge Bisley Jordan. Gents, this here is Silent Sutton. He ain’t much on the talk, but you both saw him in action. Break it to him gentle, Your Honor.”

  Jordan made his proposition quickly.

  “We’re asking you to take the job as marshal of Dodge, with full authority to run the office as you see fit, Sutton. Name your own salary, pick your own deputies and rod the law the way it ought to be done!”

  “With the town trustees behind you all the way, Sutton,” Mayor Pattern added. “You saw what happened to me and the judge, and our last marshal got away just in time to save his skin.”

  “Silent saw Deputy Joe White stop a dozen slugs,” McGrew said dryly.

  Sutton dried his hands and hung up the towel. He stared at his scarred gunbelts lying on the bed, thought deeply for a moment, after which he picked up the belts and buckled them on.

  “I’m a cowboy, and I’m going to raise cattle,” he said slowly. “The trail-herds have been losing a heap of cattle, and I came up to Dodge to find the answer. I’ll take the job for a month until you get a marshal who won’t booger easy.”

  Mayor Patton was the only man in Dodge City who wore a necktie every day. He glanced at the judge with a smile of satisfaction. Judge Jordan produced a badge and administered the oath.

  Sutton listened as the judge admitted there was practically no law in Dodge. Trail-herds had been rustled within sight of the Arkansas River and their crews killed. The rustled cattle had been diverted to Wichita or Ogallala, and Dodge was crowded with outlaws and rustlers.

  “Stud Bailey,” Sutton said slowly. “Is he bossing the rustlers as well as Dodge City?”

  “He runs the Alamo Saloon, and the Red Rose Dance Hall,” Jordan answered slowly. “He buys cattle on the side, and he’s done a lot of business with men like Colonel Jim Benton, Dollar-Sign Sibley and Crail Creedon, your uncle.”

  “That’s how he came to get acquainted with Miss Molly Jo,” McGrew explained to Sutton. “You’ll find Stud plenty mixed up in your business, Marshal. How about swearing me in as deputy?”

  “You’re hired!” Sutton accepted instantly, and he reached for his hat. “I’ll see you men at the court room in an hour.” He ended the interview when he heard boots stomping down the hall.

  Sutton was watching at a window when a giant of a man rattled the door and then threw it open. Sutton flicked his right hand down and covered the intruder.

  “Holster that hog-leg, you meddlin’ yearlin’!” A deep voice bellowed and a wide-shouldered old Texan closed the door behind him with a bang. “What’s this palaver I hear about you signing on to rod the law?”

  Crail Creedon spread his bog boots wide and his longhorn mustaches bristled with anger.

  “Sit down and rest your saddle-sides, old Crail,” Sutton said quietly. “News sure travels fast in this man’s town.”

  “Man and boy, I’ve raised you,” the old Texan bellowed. “I figured some day to cut you in on the C Bar C, but you up and dog it when I’m bowed and bogged down with grief. I lost half my steers on that last drive up from Uvalde, and what do you do? You hear there’s some fast gun-slammers pawing and a-bellering up there at the end of the trail. So you sign on with the law, hunting Glory!”

  Sutton smiled as he remembered that big Grail Creedon had taught him to balance a gun, how to line the sights as the barrel came up. The Texan had married Sutton’s aunt before Sutton was born. He’d raised Sutton the hard way.

  “Gun-fighter, that’s what you are,” Creedon continued scathingly. “Like your father was before you. Jesse Sutton was sheriff of Uvalde County for ten years and you know what it got him!”

  “You borrowed fifty thousand dollars to bring your steers to market,” Sutton said evenly. “Did you sign any papers?”

  “I’m Texan from hocks to horns,” Creedon roared. “My word is as good as my bond!”

  “So is mine,” Sutton said calmly. “I agreed to rod the law here for a month. Don’t wear your hardware north of Front Street. That’s deadline for six-shooters, and you wouldn’t have a chance against Stud Bailey’s hired killers.”

  Creedon’s features twisted with rage. “To hell with you and your law!” he shouted. “I’m fifty-six years old, and I’m wearing my hardware just like I’ve always wore my hat. I’m a-going to keep on wearing both!”

  “Sure you are, but not north of Front Street,” Sutton repeated. “That new town law is to protect men like you and the colonel. Take my word for it, Crail.”

  Creedon sucked in a deep breath, his anger suddenly gone. “I’ll stay south of Front Street, marshal,” he said in a husky voice. “If you change your mind, I’ll be at the Dodge House. You seen Molly Jo yet?”

  “I saw her for a moment.”

  “You ask her?”

  Sutton tried to control his anger. “I didn’t,” he answered stiffly. “You might do better at minding your own business.”

  “Stud Bailey ain’t tongue-tied,” Creedon stated harshly. “I passed that tinhorn on Front Street with Molly Jo on his arm. What you aim to do about it?”

  Sutton opened his mouth, trapped it shut instantly, and then he smiled. Both Molly Jo and Crail Creedon carried the best blood of the old South in their veins.

  “You aim to stand by with your tongue hobbled while that gambler cuts in on your game?” Creedon repeated. “When I was a young-un down in Texas…

  “Adios,” Sutton said abruptly, and whirling on one heel, he left the room and hurried from the hotel.

  CHAPTER II

  BEWARE THE STRIP!

  Molly Jo Benton walked with Stud Bailey under the board awnings holding her head high. The Dodge House was at the far end of Front Street at the northeast corner of the plaza. Two men leaped to their feet when Bailey held the door open for Molly Jo to enter. She took her father’s hand and spoke softly. “Silent was fighting again, Dad. He’ll be around to see you as soon as he makes himself presentable.”

  Colonel Jim Benton stroked his pointed white beard. He had been an officer in the Confederate Army, and his tall figure was erect and vigorous.

  “My thanks to you, suh, for escorting my daughter to safety,” he said to Stud Bailey. “May I present Dollar-Sign Sibley, of Texas? Sibley, this is Mr. Bailey.”

  Sibley was a stocky man of medium height, and close to sixty. He acknowledged the introduction without offering his hand.

  “I’ve heard much about the Dollar-Sign herds,” Bailey said with a smile. “Call on me at any time, Sibley.”

  Sibley frowned at the tone of equality. Benton took his daughter’s arm and turned toward the long hall before Sibley could frame an answer.

  “I have refreshments in my rooms, gentlemen,” Benton invited. “You will do me the honor?”

  Sibley offered Molly Jo his arm. Bailey followed with the colonel, and when his guests were seated in his sitting roo
m, Benton brought out glasses and a quart of whiskey. Bailey accepted his drink and offered a toast.

  “To the success of Dodge City and the cattlemen who made it what it is,” he said.

  “The cattlemen never made Dodge what it is today,” Sibley snapped. “Let’s change that some. To a Dodge City where honest men can deliver their cattle, and take the money back where the cattle came from. Here’s looking at you, Colonel, suh!”

  “To honest men,” Colonel Benton agreed, and downed his drink. Annoyance crossed Bailey’s face but he drank to the toast.

  “Dodge will learn something about square-shooting if the new marshal lives,” Sibley said slowly. “And he will live unless somebody shoots him in the back!”

  “Better men than Sutton have tried it,” Bailey said. “Boothill is filled with them, and most of them were shot in front. My apologies, Molly Jo,” he murmured.

  “You know Sutton, eh?” the colonel asked.

  “If you’ll excuse me, father,” Molly Jo murmured, and left the room.

  “I know of Sutton,” Bailey said lightly. “He’s kin to old Crail Creedon of the C Bar C. I can name a dozen men in Dodge who can beat him to the gun—and call their shots!”

  “Name one,” Dollar-Sign Sibley challenged.

  “Bat Masterson and Bill Tilghman,” Bailey answered.

  “Both law-abiding,” Sibley agreed. “And you, Bailey?”

  “Present company is always excepted,” Colonel Benton interrupted. “You wanted to talk business with us, Bailey?”

  “The big trail-herds have been losing too many cattle, Colonel,” Bailey answered smoothly. “I can offer some help to stop most of this rustling.”

  “I’m listening, and I hear well,” Benton murmured. “Keep on talking.”

  “A lot of cowboys have been killed,” Bailey answered. “I’m in a position to offer safe delivery,” he stated. “For a percentage of the profits.”

  “Just a minute, Bailey,” Benton interrupted. “Aren’t you and Percentage Parsons in cahoots?”

  “Parsons and I are partners,” Bailey agreed. “Parsons bosses fighters who risk their lives to protect the herds.”

  “Count me out,” Sibley said bluntly. “I won’t pay twenty-five percent to you or any other gun-hawk!”

  Bailey smiled and held his temper.

  “I lost more then fifty percent of my last herd, and the lives of four men,” Benton said quietly. “Creedon lost more than I did, and we’ve got to do something about it.”

  “Crail could have done something about it,” Sibley growled. “Silent Sutton could get up his own crew and outfight any gang of rustlers in the Strip!”

  “But Sutton is marshal of Dodge City now,” Bailey reminded. “I would have paid him double his present salary to throw in with Parsons and myself. Marshals come cheap, and they die young in Dodge!”

  “Parsons rode with Quantrill,” Colonel Benton said resentfully. “Quantrill raided both sides during the war. It goes against the grain to have any truck with his kind!”

  “I don’t like the man personally, but business is business,” Bailey murmured.

  “You’d make a good cattleman, but your present occupation is not conducive to confidence,” Benton said slowly.

  “I’ve always been a gambler,” Bailey answered. “Cattlemen like to play for high stakes, and my games are honest!”

  “With Sutton as marshal of Dodge, the crooks will have to get out,” Sibley stated.

  “Funny about Sutton leaving old Crail Creedon when he was needed most,” Bailey said thoughtfully. “There’s something in what Sibley says about a combine being behind this wholesale rustling.”

  Benton sat up stiffly. “If you mean Sutton has anything to do with it, you’re wrong, Bailey,” he said sternly. “Molly Jo and I have known Sutton most of his life. Damn his tongue-tied soul!”

  “Your daughter is a beautiful girl, Colonel,” Bailey said humbly. “Dodge City is no place for her.”

  “Her goodness is her best protection, suh,” the colonel answered proudly. “Every cowboy in Texas would fight for her!”

  “I also offer my protection,” Bailey murmured. “I can control even the wild bunch, in spite of the new town laws.”

  “You mean the trail hands will fight the law?” Benton asked.

  “Ordinance 6,” Bailey said with a shrug. “Only the constituted authorities will be permitted to carry firearms north of Front Street.”

  “A Texan packs his firearms wherever he goes,” Benton stated.

  “That’s the reason Sutton won’t last long in Dodge,” the gambler made his point “If cowmen are stripped of their weapons, they would be easy prey for anybody!”

  “Unless the law could protect honest men,” Benton said doubtfully. “I’ve always held with law and order myself.”

  “The war was over ten years ago,” Bailey said quietly. “There’s a difference between law and personal liberty.”

  “You forget that I was an officer in the Confederate Army, suh,” Benton answered. “That’s past and over now,” he admitted. “You and this Percentage Parsons guarantees delivery of my trail-herd if I pay this hold-up fee?” he demanded stiffly.

  “Where is your J Bar B herd now?” Bailey asked. “I’ll see that enough men are sent to protect them.”

  “They should be crossing the Canadian,” Benton answered sullenly. “Three thousand head and a crew of fourteen men. I’ll pay that fee, but I want nothing to do with Parsons!”

  “I’ll handle all the business transactions,” Bailey promised as he stood up. “It might be well to tell Molly Jo to stay inside tonight,” he suggested.

  “A Texas man or woman goes where he damn pleases,” Benton answered angrily. “Molly Jo is a Texan.”

  “As you yourself intimated, some of these riders are not too well versed in the social graces,” Bailey reminded. “The boys are riding in from the cow-camps down by the river. They’ll be wearing their hardware which the new marshal claims is against the law. Use your own judgment, Benton.”

  “I will,” Benton agreed. He rose to his feet, but didn’t offer his hand.

  “Good day, Colonel,” Bailey said respectfully. “I’ll do what I can to control the men.”

  Molly Jo appeared at the door leading from her bedroom, and her father turned quickly and gave her a warning glance. Molly Jo frowned at the gesture of parental disapproval, and she called to Bailey as she sidestepped to see him.

  “Thank you again, Mister Bailey,” she said gratefully. “I’m sure you’ll get along with the new marshal. I’ve known Silent for a long time and I’ve always found him fair and honest.”

  Bailey nodded and put on his black Stetson. He left the hotel, and walked briskly down the street.

  It was the hour before supper and Sutton was fully dressed when he stepped out of the hotel. His twin six-shooters were a part of him like his hand-made boots and the high-peaked Stetson.

  He walked slowly toward the plaza, and turned in under a sign which marked Judge Bisley Jordan’s court.

  Buffalo McGrew was inside the doorway when Sutton entered. A slender man, wearing gray wool pants and a buckskin jacket, stood beside McGrew. His age might have been anything between thirty and forty.

  “Howdy, Silent,” he greeted Sutton. “Buffalo said you wanted to see me. Count me in as a deputy and pass out my star!”

  “Neal Brown!” Sutton greeted the dark-skinned man heartily. “Long time no see, you old Injun,” he finished quietly.

  “Me and McGrew just finished a buffalo hunt,” Brown answered, as he took the badge Mayor Patton handed him. “We’re in for trouble but we can handle it.”

  Neal Brown was part Cherokee Indian. He was sparing of speech, and fast with guns. Sutton had never known him to pick a quarrel or run from one.

  “Bat Masterson rode in an hour a
go,” McGrew remarked carelessly. “Said he’d help you gun-whip the wild bunch if you asked him personal.”

  “Bat Masterson could have any job in town,” Sutton murmured. “He was sheriff of Ford County for a while and they never had a better one.”

  “I’m in the wrong place,” a deep voice said clearly, and Sutton whirled to face a tall man just inside the door. “When Silent Sutton goes to making speeches, it just ain’t him,” the newcomer said.

  “Bat Masterson!” Sutton called eagerly, and crossed the room to shake hands. “You’ll take the job?”

  “Dodge needed a marshal bad, and she got one,” Masterson answered. “You passed your word, Silent,” he reminded. “At least for a month, and you’re up against the toughest bunch of killers in all of bloody Kansas. Hand me a deputy’s badge, and I’ll mumble my answers to your questions.”

  Judge Jordan stood up and cleared his throat. “You deputies will take your orders from Marshal Sutton,” he stated. “Enforce the ordinances. It is unlawful to carry firearms within the city limits. We know it will be impossible to enforce the ordinance without some bloodshed, which up to now has been done by the outlaws. This court will remain open for business tonight!”

  The judge sat down and McGrew turned to Sutton. “I reckon your first job is down in the Alamo, Silent,” the old buffalo hunter said casually. “Sarge Billings was telling it scary; said he aimed personal to run you out of town.” Sutton’s long-fingered hands loosed the twin Peacemaker Colts in his holsters. Billings was a tricky gun-fighter who’d served a hitch in the cavalry at Fort Dodge.

  “Billings, yes,” Masterson spoke up. “But all the rest of those cowhands are full of hell and vinegar. We can arrest a few of them and it might stop the rest from making war.”

  “The trustees will pay two dollars and a half for every arrest,” Mayor Patton explained. “I suggest you pool it and divide it among the four of you.”

  Sutton nodded and left the courtroom. Masterson and Brown crossed the street to the railroad tracks. McGrew gave Sutton a twenty-pace start, then fell in behind to cover the marshal’s back. The Alamo Saloon was Stud Bailey’s headquarters, and McGrew knew Bailey had arranged with Billings to test the law.