Law at Angel's Landing: A Western Story

by Wayne D. Overholser

  “No you won’t,” Bailey said. “You own too many town lots to go off and leave ’em. And me, I’m going to send a big order to Durango. I’ll take it myself. It’s still our town. Maybe we’ll all get rich. Maybe not. Either way, we’ll stay and ride it out.”

  I think all of us agreed to that, but we still didn’t say anything for a long time. It was like sitting up with a corpse the day before the funeral, the corpse of someone we all loved. We knew what would happen, we knew we couldn’t stop it, and we knew we’d stay in Angel’s Landing. I don’t think any of us doubted that, though Rip had some questions.

  “We ain’t incorporated,” Rip said after a time. “You’re all the law there is, Mark. When you ran for sheriff, you didn’t contract to take on a job like this. You can resign and nobody will fault you for it.”

  “I’ll hang and rattle,” I said, a little sore that he’d think I’d quit. “I’ve got to hire some deputies and I’ll need more money to do it.”

  “You’ll have to see the commissioners,” Rip said. “I don’t know what they’ll say, though, with two of ’em coming from the west end of the county and not giving a damn about what happens to Angel’s Landing.”

  “And the third one a rancher who lives down the creek,” Doc Jenner said. “He ain’t gonna be much interested in spending more money, either.”

  “You’re gonna need two or three deputies,” Kirk Bailey said. “If the county won’t give you the money, we’ll raise it privately. We’ve got to keep the lid on from the start.”

  “By God, that’s right,” Rip Yager said through clenched teeth, “and I aim to help do it.”

  I didn’t know what he meant and I didn’t ask, but it was plain that they all had their doubts about how well I could handle anything more dangerous than arresting drunks and throwing them into jail to sleep it off. So far that was all I’d had to do.

  I never pretended to be fast with a gun or an alley fighter, and I knew damned well that these four men didn’t think I was tough enough or mean enough to handle a boom town’s problems. I wasn’t sure, either, but I was sure I wasn’t quitting.

  Chapter Six

  The Bremer County Courthouse was a two-story, frame structure that needed a coat of paint and a new roof. It had been built the year of the boom, when nearly all of the people of the county lived in Angel’s Landing or above it on Banjo Creek.

  That situation had changed with the development of dry farming in the west end of the county, where at least three-fourths of the county’s inhabitants now lived. The county seat would have been moved before this if there had been any town of consequence in the west end, but there were only a few scattered post offices and stores. Nothing more.

  So, with the courthouse already built in Angel’s Landing, no one pushed very hard to move the county seat even though it was a long and difficult trip for anyone in the west end to come to the county seat on business. I thought the distribution of the people also accounted for the rundown condition of the courthouse. None of the county officials except me gave a damn.

  All of this was very much in my mind as I climbed the squeaking stairs to the commissioners’ office. I was beaten before I started because I knew their attitude toward raising taxes or using county money for anything, even if it was available. They figured the best government was no government, that democracy would function without money if they refused to spend it.

  I didn’t see any way that Angel’s Landing could solve the problem of law enforcement unless we incorporated. That, too, meant more taxes, but, with the influx of people we were bound to have, we could afford it. We’d have to do it eventually, but it would take time that we didn’t have.

  Joe Loring and Frank Bohannon were the commissioners from the west end of the county. They were in Angel’s Landing only a few days each year taking care of their public duties. Both were farmers, and, since that was their means of making a living, they spent most of their time at home.

  The third commissioner, Paul Kerr, was a rancher who lived about five miles below town on Banjo Creek, and, although he was a little more sensitive to our needs than the other two, he was almost as tight-fisted as they were when it came to spending tax money.

  I found Loring and Bohannon in their office, puffing away on their pipes, their feet cocked on their desks. They spoke to me in a guarded sort of way, as if figuring I was there for some reason that they would not approve of. They were dead right.

  I didn’t like them and they didn’t like me, but it was not personal as much as it was a matter of attitude toward how the county government should function. I believed that paying taxes was not a bad thing if we, the people, got something for our money, but they held the notion that it was their business to see that no taxes were levied, therefore no tax money could be spent.

  “Paul around?” I asked.

  Loring shook his head. “He ain’t been in the office all week.”

  “We won’t be here after today,” Bohannon said. “We’re going home tomorrow and we won’t be back till harvest is over.”

  “Well, you’re a majority,” I said. “It’s a good thing I caught you today if you’re leaving town. Something’s happened that’s going to turn our lives around.”

  “That so?” Loring said, as if unconcerned. “I can’t think of anything that would turn my life around unless we get a dam and I’m able to irrigate my land.”

  “And that ain’t gonna happen,” Bohannon said.

  I told them about Catgut Dolan’s strike, adding: “I know how it was in the old days because I lived here. It wasn’t safe for a woman to go down the street. They had a man for breakfast every morning. People were robbed right and left. We’ll have it all over again.”

  “That ain’t gonna turn my life around,” Loring said complacently. “I’ll stay home if it gets that bad. Paul can do what has to be done. Me ’n’ Frank will do what we have to do by mail.”

  Bohannon nodded. “It’s up to you to enforce the law.” He grinned and winked at Loring. “It’s what you get paid for, ain’t it?”

  I felt like slugging him. I was paid in pennies and he knew it. I’d never have opened my mouth if the situation had remained as it had been when I was elected, but a man deserves more than pennies when he has to risk his life doing his job. I held on to my temper, knowing it wouldn’t do any good to blow up.

  “I want to hire two deputies,” I said, “and I want the county to pay their salaries.”

  “You’ve been feeding on locoweed,” Loring said.

  Bohannon put his feet on the floor and stood up. He said: “Mark, you know there ain’t no fund we can use to pay them. You’ll have to do the best you can by yourself.”

  I knew there wasn’t any such fund, but I figured they could find the money if they wanted to. I stood there a moment, staring at them, knowing that this was what I’d hear and still being disappointed. I realized I’d had a slim hope they might at least listen.

  “The next time you come to Angel’s Landing,” I said, “you’ll know why I asked for deputies. I think you’ll wish to hell you had provided a couple of them.”

  I wheeled and stomped out of the office, knowing that I had to get out before I told them what cheapskates I thought they were. I left the building and walked around to the back, where the jail was located.

  The jail was a log building. The front half was one big room, which was my office; the rear held the cells, a large one I used for drunks, and two small ones barely large enough for a bunk and space for a man to stand up. These cells had no windows and no peepholes in the doors, so it must have been hell to have been locked up in one, especially during hot weather. I never had used them, although I’m sure they had been used before my time as sheriff.

  I sat down at my desk and smoked a pipe, thinking the situation over. The more I thought, the more I came to one conclusion. I had to have at least one deputy to start with, and I had to have him before the boom hit Angel’s Landing.

  There was no county money, so I
wound up with one answer that didn’t suit me worth a damn. I’d pay him myself. Later, I’d hire more than one. That meant I’d have my own private army to enforce the law, which in turn meant I’d have the leverage to force other businesses to pay their share. Illegal, sure, but I figured I’d be justified in doing it, and I knew it had been done in other places in similar situations.

  The first job was to find the right man. There wasn’t any in Angel’s Landing, so I’d have to go to Durango. I had one man in mind, but I wasn’t sure I could persuade him to take the job. There was one other thing I intended to do, and that was to see Paul Kerr, the third commissioner.

  I knew I’d hear the same story from Kerr that I’d heard from the others, but I had to try. When a man is standing in the path of an avalanche, he’ll do anything he can, and I figured the avalanche wasn’t very far above me and moving mighty damned fast.

  I saddled up and rode down the creek. I stopped at Kerr’s ranch, but I was told he had gone to Durango a couple of days before and was expected back any time. Luckily I met him on the road about a mile below his place.

  I stopped, saying: “I’ve just been to your ranch to see you, Paul. I guess this is my lucky day.”

  He grinned. “Sure, Mark. Any day you see me is a lucky day, but I don’t know if it’s my lucky day seeing you. What law did I break?”

  “None that I know of,” I said, and told him what happened, and about my session with the other commissioners.

  Kerr nodded sourly. “I heard about Catgut’s strike before I left Durango. You’re sure as hell right about what’s going to happen.” He scratched his long jaw, squinting at me, then added: “I don’t agree with Joe and Frank about most things, but they’re right as far as the county money goes. We just don’t have any to pay a deputy, and we won’t until the next budget is drawn up, which will be too late.”

  “You were here in the old days,” I said. “You remember what Angel’s Landing was like.”

  “I sure do,” he said. “I’ve been in other tough camps, too. I don’t want to see it happen here. Some good men will come in, but we’ll have the scourings of hell, too. It’ll overflow down here to my spread, so I’m as concerned as you are.” He shook his head. “What do you aim to do?”

  “I’m going to hire one man now,” I answered. “I’ll wait and see how it goes, but I know I’ll have to hire more.”

  “You figure they’ll work for nothing just for the privilege of packing a star?”

  I laughed. “I wish they would. No, I’ll pay them myself for a while, then I’ll bill the county.”

  “You’d be wasting your time,” he said. “You know and I know that I’m a permanent minority. The other two commissioners represent the farmers in the west end of the county, and them farmers don’t give a damn about what happens over here. On anything that costs them money, they care even less.”

  “I sure couldn’t afford to pay my deputies very long,” I said. “Maybe I’ll just have to let the plug-uglies take the camp over and run it.”

  “No, Mark,” he said. “You can’t do that, either. The only suggestion I have is to talk your businessmen into raising the money themselves. I’ll throw something into the kitty, and I’ll talk to the others if you want me to.”

  I hadn’t expected this from Paul Kerr, mostly because I hadn’t figured that he’d see how much the lawlessness would affect him. I said: “Thanks, Paul. I may ask for your help. I had thought about trying that. It was my ace in the hole if nothing else worked. I’m just not sure we can raise that much money. If I’m guessing right, I’ll need a big force of men before it’s over.”

  “Who are you going to hire?”

  “I’m going to try to get Tug Ralston,” I answered. “I worked with him on the XL several years ago. He’s a good man.”

  Kerr nodded. “He rode for me for a while. He is a good man. He might take the job. He’s about to go under trying to run his ten-cow spread.”

  He nodded and rode on toward his place. For some reason I felt a hell of a lot better. Paul Kerr carried considerable weight in our end of the county. He might be able to help.

  Chapter Seven

  Tug Ralston was three years younger than I was. He was big and strong, and as independent as hell. During the time I worked with him, he was always talking about having his own spread. He never gambled; he didn’t drink or smoke. Every nickel he could save went into the bank in Durango.

  I had never met any other cowhand who had the drive Ralston did. After we drifted to other jobs, I heard he’d married a girl who had grown up on a shirt-tail spread south of Durango and had bought the Rafter B, a rundown little outfit a few miles down the creek from Kerr’s spread.

  I’d heard the same thing that Kerr had told me, that Ralston just didn’t have the money to make a go of his ranch. The buildings needed repair, he had to buy more cattle and horses, and he had to have money to pay his hands. In the end he wound up doing the work himself and letting his hands go, and that meant losing stock and not having enough money to pay taxes and meet the bank interest.

  In a way I hated to talk to him, but he was the only man I knew who could fill the bill, so I turned off the road and followed a lane that ran between two hay meadows to the Rafter B buildings. I hadn’t been here for several years and everything looked a hell of a lot better than it had the last time I’d seen it.

  The roofs of the buildings had been repaired. The house had been painted. There were white curtains at the windows and flowers in front of the house, and I could see a vegetable garden back of the woodshed. I had wondered what kind of a woman he’d married, but from the looks of things I’d have to say she was a good one.

  Ralston was working on one of the corrals, so I reined over to him. He saw me coming and dropped his hammer. He yelled: “Well, by God, here comes the law!” He held up his hands. “Don’t shoot. I surrender.”

  “Cut it out, Tug,” I said as I stepped down. “I hear that kind of joke too often.”

  He laughed and held out his hand. “I’ll bet you do, Mark. I guess it ain’t funny to you. Come on into the house. The wife’s probably got some hot coffee.”

  I shook my head. “I want to talk to you. If you’re not interested, I’ll ride on and there won’t be no need to bother your wife.”

  He was a bigger man than I had remembered, taller than I am and heavier. When I had worked with him, he’d had a booming laugh and a friendly word no matter how much had happened. He’d been a happy man, but now I saw the nervous tic of a pulsating muscle in his cheek. Right then I began to doubt my own judgment and to wonder how much he’d changed.

  He nodded toward the barn. “Let’s go sit in the shade.”

  I left the reins dangling and walked with him to the splash of shade at the side of the barn. I told him about Catgut’s strike and described how it had been in the boom days. He nodded. I knew he hadn’t lived here then, but he’d heard the stories and knew what I was talking about.

  “It’s too bad,” he said. “I mean, for us who live here. Most of us have liked this county the way it is. I don’t cotton to crowds of people. I like ’em a few at a time. Of course I’m glad Catgut finally made his strike, but what’s good for him ain’t always good for the rest of us.”

  He dug his pipe out of his pocket, filled it, and fired it, scowling and shaking his head while he did it. “But you probably have heard about me. I ain’t making it, Mark. I just didn’t have enough capital to start with, and now I’m going to lose the whole shebang.”

  “I’d heard you were having trouble,” I said. “I’m sorry. I remember how you used to dream about owning your own outfit.”

  “Yeah, I know I used to talk about it a lot,” he said bitterly. “So I got myself the best woman in Colorado and the smartest and purtiest baby in the world, and now I’m gonna be broke by fall and I’ll have to start over and try to support ’em on a cowhand’s wages. I can’t do it, Mark.”

  “I’m here to offer you a job,” I said. “I don�
�t know if you want to leave your outfit yet, but, if you do, you’re the man I want. I need a deputy, a man I can trust and a man who’s got the moxie and the guts to do the job.”

  He took his pipe out of his mouth and stared at me, then he laughed. “You’re clean loco. I don’t know nothing about being a lawman.”

  “Neither do I,” I said, “but I’m going to learn fast in the next few days and I can’t do the job by myself. I’ll pay you fifty dollars a month and guarantee you four months’ work. If the situation doesn’t change, it’ll be more.”

  He swallowed and kept staring at me. He asked: “You get that kind of money out of the county commissioners?”

  “Not by a long shot,” I said. “I’ll pay you myself. I’ll probably hire two or three more if it gets as bad as I think it will. Eventually Angel’s Landing will incorporate and tax themselves to pay a town marshal, but that takes time and we don’t have much time. I figure to get help raising money for my deputy’s salaries, but right now I’ll be responsible.”

  He held his cold pipe in his hand and stared beyond me at the red wall of the valley. Finally he said: “That’s two hundred cash dollars. Where would I live?”

  “We can fix you a cot in the sheriff’s office,” I said. “There’s a stove in it if you want to cook your meals. It won’t cost you much to live.”

  “I can bring stuff from here,” he said, paused, then added slowly: “I dunno if Sadie will live here by herself with the baby or not, and I hate like hell to ask her, but, if she would, we just might make it.”

  I could see the direction his thinking was taking him. I still didn’t know what kind of a wife he had, but I didn’t discourage the way he was leaning. He knew his wife. I wanted him, and, if he figured she could live here by herself, it was their business and I’d stay out of it.